Lavender Fog

I had to wait a week or two before I could see him again. Sometimes living in California had it's downfalls. It had sunny weather, clear purple nights, and crashing coastlines. Still, sometimes I missed Nevada and all of its government land, nuclear dump sights, and flashy lights. There I could drive in any direction and end up in a desert alone, but still know that if I drove in any direction from there I'd find someone who loved me. Where as here I felt surrounded by thousands and known by none. I drove into the heart of the city and went into a music shop.

The ding of the bell was minute compared to the majestic sound of the piano. A dark haired man sat with some fingers barely floating over keys while others seemed to fall onto the right keys like choreographed rain drops. I stood in awe, was it him? Casually I walked by and looked through the corner of my sunglasses. My heart felt deep in my chest, waiting to rise or sink. Of course, it wasn't. Blinking hard I slid my glasses to the top of my head and pulled out my phone to answer a text.

It was from Keltie.

I ran to her after it happened, she came into my life at the perfect timing. It was getting harder to perform, both on and off stage. Brendon and I were at the very end of the strings of our hushed relationship. Some days I didn't want him to even look at me either because I upset myself with my own actions or I made up things about him in my head. I was never sure if I started that relationship with her because I wanted to push Brendon away or if I actually felt that she could be a safe and understanding home to me. She was for a while and she provided a great beard. I thought I could make it work, so I proposed hoping she'd say yes and I could move on and feel as close to normal as possible. She said no, so as usual I slowly and silently removed her from my life. Just like everybody I else I loved her in an unconventional and possibly unexplainable way, which like everybody else missing from my life, still lingered when I thought about her.

Answering the text I hoped the message wasn't going to be a chain and actually written just for me. I read over it and bit my lip, half surprised and half enraged. My fingers, like the piano player's, hovered over my keys and swiftly typed a reply, then paused at a rest. Before I hit send the anger had already worn off and I deleted the message and shoved my phone back into my jean pockets.

The piano music that had become just a hum in my ear had stopped and the store felt empty as the man talked to the sales person about the instrument he was just twiddling on. I walked over to the guitar section and waited at the counter for a moment before a middle aged man helped me. After giving him my information for the guitar I ordered he walked to the back to retrieve it. I glanced over my shoulder where the pianos were like an army guarding me from leaving.

I signed the check and lifted the guitar case off of the counter. It fell to my knee and grew heavier and heavier in my hand as I stared at the dark pianos. The grand pianos ranged in size from grand to spectacular in the middle of the store. I had bought one before and put it in my dining room, but I never bothered learned to play, so I sold it. Grand pianos just felt too overwhelming to me, I bought it in the first place to make that overwhelming statement. Then I realized that it was a tiring statement. I liked the uprights lining the walls. They were discrete and felt like they could be apart of everyday life in my house.

Varnish gleamed at me as I went down the ranks. In the corner stand a dark and relatively simple brown piano. The legs were curved nicely, the back was sturdy, and the music rack was a solid slab that was trimmed ornately, but the center was simple. I set down my guitar case and pulled out the matching bench and read the hand written tag hanging "French Formal" and the rest was incomprehensible, plus I didn't understand the piano talk either.

Cautiously lifting the cover to the keys I stared at the ivories in front of me. They were neat like teeth and created a Morris code of pattern. Black, white, black, white, black, white, white, black…I eyed the line in front of me not daring to touch them. The man previously attending to the other musician had come over to me.

"Can I help you sir?" He asked happily and leaned on the wooden box of the instrument.

"Auh, yes. I'd like to know a little more about this one." I gripped the lip of the bench beneath me and rocked forward a little.

"Well, interestingly this brand is a mid-range brand, but this one specifically is an ornate version. The quality isn't professional and it isn't a brand a beginner would use, like say a Hall." I nodded like I knew what he was saying, "It has a harder time holding it's tune so it has a little more upkeep but, the resonance is wonderful."

"I'll take this one please." The conviction and certainty in my voice was loud in the quiet shop.

He looked startled for a moment, then I figured that it probably isn't common for someone to walk in, not play it, and then purchase it. It seemed as if my house would not be complete without those ivories waiting for me when I walked in the door everyday. I stroked my side and shut the lid.

"Ok, let's just go over here to fill out some paperwork."

Like that. Like that it was being delivered to my house. Just as the small bell at the door greeted me it bid me a farewell as I exited the store with the high of an exciting new purchase. I settled into my car as comfortable as I could with a guitar case shoved in the back seat and pulled out my phone again.

"I'm fine. Everything seems to be fine. Do you want to grab lunch?"

Moments later I received another text from her.

"Great. Sure. The usual sounds good."

Agreeing, I sent it and went on my way, but that day I hit every halting red light in California. So, waiting at traffic light I took out my phone again and searched through my contacts, a list a mile long that as rarely clicked upon.

"Spence. We should see each other again."

It was a step forward. It was a step forward, but that didn't mean it'd be accepted or if it was, that it'd go any further. There were a lot of things Spencer and I had been through, more than Brendon and I. That just meant that there was more foundation, more to apologize for, and more to regret. The car ride to lunch I left my phone in the cup holder and only fidgeted with the radio.

Keltie hadn't changed much, she was still a tall, blonde, dancing Greek Goddess. Everything seemed the same about her, every clump of mascara at the corner of her eyes, every strand of hair, and every freckle was in the right spot. Like I said, it was a complicated type of love. I cherished her like she was a rare gem, but it never amounted to more than care and respect.

"Hello, hello, hello!" She squeezed me and I grinned smelling her perfume.

"Whoa, hi there." I mumbled and chuckled as she let go and sat down.

"You look good Ry."

"Thanks. It's strange I haven't been getting much sleep lately."

"Really? It doesn't show. So! Ask me how life has been." Keltie playfully commanded and waited.

"Pancakes sounds really good," I said dreamily to myself as I read over the menu, "But it's after eleven…Maybe I'll get a burger. A burger and lemonade? No, a burger and lemon water."

"Ryan! Seriously, I really want to tell someone I'm bursting here."

"What's up then?"

"So, you know that show? Dancing with the stars?"

"Yeah." I smiled and knew where this was going.

"They asked me to be on it!"

"You'll have to get people autographs for me."

We both laughed and the waitress came over. We contained ourselves and told the woman our order. Overall the lunch was comfortable, that's what I liked about Keltie, even from the beginning. She was breezy and a bit of a distraction.

"Hey, thanks for not talking about it anymore." I stuck my head into her open car window and kissed the top of her sun warmed hair.

"It's no problem," She started the car and fumbled with the air conditioner, pausing for a moment, "I figured you'd bring it up if you wanted to say more. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright with it."

"Who told you by the way?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy…" I shot her a look, "Fine, Jon and Brendon and Spencer and Kayti and--"

"So everybody. Great."

"Yeah well you're not supposed to know that."

"Uh huh. I'll talk to you later."

"Love you babe." She blew a kiss, rolled up her window, and like that. My relationship with her was already back on track.

En route to my house I had a green moving truck on my tail. It kept it's distance. It was the piano delivery. I tried to keep it inconspicuous that I couldn't life heavy objects when I started to be snippy and impatient. But just like that the compact piano was wheeled into my house into my living room positioned under a mirror. The movers' clomping and muddy feet were soon enough off my floors. Everything was still.

Not even thirty seconds after shutting the door I was at the piano. My whole body seemed to hover over it as I gathered an unnecessary amount of courage to press a key to emit a note. Faltering I rested my hand on the ledge below the ivories then let it sashay back up to the polished white and black line. The veins in my body pumped with boiling blood, but not the angry kind. My eyes shut and I was running my hand over his arm, down to his elbow, then over his tattoo and landing and interlocking with his hand.

The room had a dark green glow to it and the sheets were plum like the wine we'd been drinking. A weight had been placed on top of my hand and the hammers struck the chords in the piano box. Brendon groaned and whined. The notes went up and down the scale, some quiet some loud until one final slam created a melody in the air. It resonated beautifully and we laid there staring at the ceiling slowly dozing and drifting away like the music.