Status: new chapter to come out on or before the 15th!!!
Piano Keys
A Little Fable
Fingers. Fingers on keys. That was all it took. Fingers. Fingers on keys. Ella loved to play the piano. She loved the way her pink skin looked against the stark contrast of the white and black keys. She loved the feel of her foot on the pedal and the sound of a sustained b-flat. She played in local concerts and each year at the county fair. She played anywhere she got the chance to.
Ryan loved to watch Ella play. He loved to watch the flustered look she got on her face when she made the slightest mistake. He loved to watch her body sway with the tune she played and the smile that bloomed in her face and cheeks when she sustained her b-flat until she couldn’t hear the faintest of sounds. He loved watching her wherever she played, and never missed a single performance.
Her hands glided across the keys like an angels would, and though she was only sixteen, many predicted great future successes. All in all, though, she really was a hometown girl. Everybody knew her, and everybody couldn’t wait to see what she’d do.
He’d known she was a flawless musician since he’d begun turning pages for her at the Conservatory. His teacher, who was also hers, enlisted his assistance so that he could observe Ella up-close.
When Ella tired of playing, she and Ryan would talk. They’d talk of music, and art, and schoolwork. After a few years, they began talking of friendship and religion. And on Ella’s seventeenth birthday, a month after Ryan’s, the two began to talk of dreams, and hopes, and love.
Ryan loved to listen to Ella’s talk. He loved to listen to her spill out of herself with emotion. She’d talk of wanting to get away, just her and her piano. She talked of flying to some far off place where nobody could find her. She talked of wanting to be in control of her own passion for playing, and of wanting to live a life of normalcy that did not include any special talents or gifts or passions.
She asked him to talk, but he preferred staying quiet. He preferred listening to the intonation of her every word. And when she was finished talking, he’d ask her to play for him, and she’d play the same song every time. A Little Fable. It had been her favorite piece as a little girl. Her father would play it for her each night before bedtime, but no longer did because Ella had grown. Ella had grown into a girl who could play the song for herself.
Ryan loved the way she played that song. Every time, though she knew it by heart, she’d lay out the music in front of her and read every chord one-by-one. He could hear it in his head any time he thought of her, and he thought about her often. He’d loved her since she was barely fourteen, and would probably never stop, but when she talked of her dreams she made no mention of him. She made no mention of him, so he assumed she didn’t love him back.
On his eighteenth birthday, Ryan went to find Ella to say goodbye. His bags were packed in the blue pickup truck he’d bought last winter. When he arrived, Ella was not there, and so he left without bidding farewell.
And when she went to find him, he was gone.
Ryan loved to watch Ella play. He loved to watch the flustered look she got on her face when she made the slightest mistake. He loved to watch her body sway with the tune she played and the smile that bloomed in her face and cheeks when she sustained her b-flat until she couldn’t hear the faintest of sounds. He loved watching her wherever she played, and never missed a single performance.
Her hands glided across the keys like an angels would, and though she was only sixteen, many predicted great future successes. All in all, though, she really was a hometown girl. Everybody knew her, and everybody couldn’t wait to see what she’d do.
He’d known she was a flawless musician since he’d begun turning pages for her at the Conservatory. His teacher, who was also hers, enlisted his assistance so that he could observe Ella up-close.
When Ella tired of playing, she and Ryan would talk. They’d talk of music, and art, and schoolwork. After a few years, they began talking of friendship and religion. And on Ella’s seventeenth birthday, a month after Ryan’s, the two began to talk of dreams, and hopes, and love.
Ryan loved to listen to Ella’s talk. He loved to listen to her spill out of herself with emotion. She’d talk of wanting to get away, just her and her piano. She talked of flying to some far off place where nobody could find her. She talked of wanting to be in control of her own passion for playing, and of wanting to live a life of normalcy that did not include any special talents or gifts or passions.
She asked him to talk, but he preferred staying quiet. He preferred listening to the intonation of her every word. And when she was finished talking, he’d ask her to play for him, and she’d play the same song every time. A Little Fable. It had been her favorite piece as a little girl. Her father would play it for her each night before bedtime, but no longer did because Ella had grown. Ella had grown into a girl who could play the song for herself.
Ryan loved the way she played that song. Every time, though she knew it by heart, she’d lay out the music in front of her and read every chord one-by-one. He could hear it in his head any time he thought of her, and he thought about her often. He’d loved her since she was barely fourteen, and would probably never stop, but when she talked of her dreams she made no mention of him. She made no mention of him, so he assumed she didn’t love him back.
On his eighteenth birthday, Ryan went to find Ella to say goodbye. His bags were packed in the blue pickup truck he’d bought last winter. When he arrived, Ella was not there, and so he left without bidding farewell.
And when she went to find him, he was gone.