It feels like rain…
“Rain – rain has always been a comfort for you…” Trevor said hesitantly.
“Not today… it’s not…” Joan confessed closing her eyes.
The frosty stars twinkled outside in the immense sky as rain fell in oversized, unusual droplets.
He heard Joan’s footsteps muffled by the damp grass as she walked. It couldn’t have been anyone but her. Her footsteps were uneven and hesitant.
“I like water, rain… you know...” Trevor said getting his voice back.
“Water is everywhere… isn’t it?” He continues to ramble-- ramble mixed words that eventually sum up to nothing.
His gaze finally settled over the lake, and slowly began to follow the splashes of raindrop against the water surface.
Rain has always been a comfort for Joan, but today rain feels like an old, hated enemy that flashes from time to time and leaves a dark painful scar in her heart. Rain no longer gives her pleasure, but it drains her, mocks her, taunts her…
Meanwhile silence floats in the air—silence as deep, as dark, as baffling as death.
Joan swallows, she opens her eyes in an attempt to speak, but she knows the right words will suddenly crash with each other and then she will mumble—mumble wise words--maybe… maybe not.
“Everybody used to say I had long slender fingers… piano fingers…” Joan finally broke her silence.
“I think you do…” Trevor replied with a fond smile. “Piano fingers-- piano…” He grinned.
As they entered the music hall, Joan eyes gleamed when she saw the black glistening piano sitting alone on the stage. Joan’s fingers were always ready to press lightly on the keys and produce deep fine notes of musical harmony.
She drifted forever in her dreams. The dim lightning gave a sort of dreamy enchanted feeling. This instrument defined perfection for Joan. Yes… every string was tuned to perfection.
In the middle of her daydream, one staff came interrupting and asked: “May I have your concert ticket ma’am?”
“My con—concert ticket?” She stuttered. She fumbled around in her bag to find the ticket. “Maybe it is tucked behind my gift card or maybe it is in front of my ID card…”
Joan could hear the staff tapping his foot in anger.
“Here you go.” Joan made a direct eye contact, but the staff didn’t say thanks. He was about seventeen, maybe nineteen. His tag name read “Jake” she assumed he was one of “those” teenagers that played on the school’s football team. He had a blond hair spiked up on the top of his head, you know, like those rock and roll type of teenagers who played guitar and sang… or just made noise.
She could tell he hated his job by the way he treated the attendees.
But no one, nothing, could keep Joan’s dreamy eyes from looking at this gleaming black and delightful piano.
She reached out to the piano. The gentle, polished wood reflected the room’s dim light.
The temptation to play the piano was irresistible.
“Careful not to smudge it!” Trevor pointed out warning Joan in a warm voice.
The instrument softly reacts to her fingers. As if the keys already know her next step gently pressing cords, octaves and random notes hesitantly.“Mhhh, uhhh, laaa….” Joan begins to hum. Suddenly something clicked, notes fused together like excited atoms ready to share their electrons and become octet happy ever after. Her fingers no longer played shyly; instead they began to dance over the keys. The melody began to take shape. It was a song of quiet glory and endless joy.
She doesn’t see her fingers moving, but she hears the music she is creating. Now—only now she enters the dark and playful world of her music. The power of impact became too much to bear. Her body started to move left to right, back and forth. Not to mention her hair that danced behind her shoulder’s like a snake. The soft waves of her deep hair fall like flowers from paradise. The melody seemed eternal. Every time the music died away, it burst again like a pent-up flood. More dominant and prevailing notes began to come to life.
Will she ever stops? No—Yes. Her fingers started to play quicker. No--- no she doesn’t want it to end. Re-creating her world by playing piano seemed much easier and happier than living in the real world. Her heart beats can bear no more, they begin to quicken. Racing time, her voice rise up and whisper tender words of wisdom, “Perhaps everything good comes to end…” She grinds, a mysterious grind that was, but a fond smile became clear on her face.
Feeling dazed, the last notes swiftly escape.
The music lingered in air and now silence seemed like a heavy dark cloud passing by.
With her slender fingers slamming the keys for the last time, she returns back to reality, but only to hear applauses loud as a sudden stereo in one’s ear. Hurrying crowds of men and women gather like clouds.
She doesn’t hear anything, she doesn’t see anything… she just waves.
And the last strains of Concerto #5 by Bach echoes in her head.
The first whiff of reality doesn’t end the long-lasting enchantment of the piano.