The Piano

There she sat. The pearl white keys of the piano felt cold against her warming fingers. The movements brought back the heat to her long dead cold hands. She felt as dead as the cold sensation she had in her hands.

The whole world resumed itself to the movement of her hands and nothing more. The whole room was no bigger than the whole length of the gathered keys. There she didn’t know her feelings; she knew nothing outside the invisible bubble the music created. No one dared interrupt her; the girl that feed of the movements of their hands and survived of the song she could not hear but inside her mind.

No one but him dared go far enough to stop the music, to break the enchantment. No one but him reached forward. He, the loved son of the ones who forgot her so long ago at the cares of someone who could never understand her. The ones who never tried to become part of her feelings, assuming it was impossible and so, unworthy of their time.

He was the one. The one who had the courage to try to make her feel equal to every one else. The only one who dared interrupter her.

He stopped by her side, touching her shoulder carefully, knowing there was no other way for her to acknowledge him. No name, no whisper, no scream would make her turn her head from the piano.

All the maids seemed hypnotised by the song she was playing. All of them split around the room, but all far away from the young girl who was far too gone into the movements of her fingers to notice anyone.

Startled by the feeling of another human being, so suddenly, touching her, she lost the balance that her fingers had created with the keys of the piano, ending the song abruptly with a out of tone note.

The music stopped. The girl turned around. The maids all started moving again as if noting had ever interrupted them from their morning chores. The spell she had over them was gone as quick has a simple sound could go, as quick as the last note was forced to be played. The whole house sprang back to life, everyone already forgetting about the delicate music that came from the other room not so long ago. Everyone but the girl. The girl that had no more life inside her to give, the one that had no more than a silent soul and an incapable body.

Her and the piano.

The only one that could understand her. It too couldn’t play itself, nor hear what came from the simple touch between the fingers and the keys.

She just wished she had someone too, who would sit with her and play her keys. Help her sound like anything but the silence.

She couldn’t start to tell how she was sick of the silence. It had been there, with her, part of her, ever since she was old enough to remember. She just wished that she could at least remember the times when she still thought the silence felt right. When se was too young to understand how wrong she really was in this world full of noise. So young, so innocent, so naïve. Too naïve to completely understand the silence.

Now it just felt like a burden. The silence was no longer a part of her she accepted.

How she envied the ones that could do something as simple as playing themselves. The ones for who getting rid of the silence was nothing more than opening their mouth to speak. So easily. The ones she despised for wasting what she never had the chance to have. Something the money could never buy. A voice.

Oh, how she despised them for enjoying the silence.

He observed her. Her thin lips were pressed together firmly, becoming white, forming a straight line.

He felt sorry for her. She shouldn’t know. She couldn’t know. She’d do nothing more than despise him much like everyone else she despised. She was jealous of them. Of everyone. Of him too, maybe. Or maybe she could feel his misery and know he didn’t have anything she would envy.

Poor soul. Trapped inside a body with no life. She had lost her meaning in life a long time ago. He didn’t understand it; he couldn’t even start to understand it. She wanted him to think it was because he wasn’t condemned to silence, but he knew otherwise. Her body had never had a life.

It was her fault, deep down.

She never made an effort to break the silence. He knew she was like them, just like them. How could she blame them for giving up on her when she gave up on herself?

But he loved her. He had loved her every since he knew she existed. He had protected her, always. It was his fault too. His fault she didn’t know how to deal with the world.

But why is there always a reason someone should be to blame? What if that was just how it was, no one’s fault? Then maybe they could stop despising each other. Despising everybody. Stop this love hate relationship. Maybe start a usual sibling relationship where none of them had resentment for everything and everyone around.

No, he didn’t resent everyone around. He resented her, only her because she was never able to fight for herself, fight not to loose the life that she used to have. Now she was empty. All she did was sit at the God damn piano and play while she felt sorry for herself and hated everyone that could hear and had a voice, because she couldn’t, she hadn’t. And that was no ones fault.

She observed him too. The way his face changed so many times. She was only but wondering when he was going to leave.

She glanced at the piano, only wanting to touch it and nothing else.

It all came down to the piano.

He noticed too. Her glances. He could not have anymore of it. He was not to care anymore if she decided to waste her life. Just like the others decided to waste the gift she so much wants for herself.

And he would have told her. Had she been capable of hearing him. But she wasn’t even acknowledging him anymore; she was back to the piano.

The God damn piano he envied so much. So much. Because it could do something he had never been able to do. Captivate her, protect her. And much more important. Make her happy.

What an awful brother he must be, he thought as he left, the music from the piano filling his ears.

He didn’t know why he bothered coming here anymore.

Every time it all always ended up coming down to the piano.