"I may have saved her from the monsters that crawl through the dark, but she saved me from the worst monster of all. She rescued me from who I would have become without her, the monster that would have easily conquered my body."
* * *
Reese Chambler...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
˜˜˜
THE COOL TIPS of my fingers slide easily over the smooth surface of the old piano keys. Dust gathers and coats my finger, forming a ring with my bare skin at the center. My thumb quickly rubs over the pads of my index and middle finger, whisking away the particles. I watch as the little clumps of dust float peacefully down, finally finding their way to the floor. A heavy sigh rumbles from between my chapped lips as I fight off the urge to sneeze.
My fingers align themselves over the keys once again, but they do not move, for they are unable to move. I can't play anymore.
I drop my stiff hands to my lap in defeat. The bandana covering my face is ripped down roughly in sheer frustration. Then my hands rise up, feeling for the brim of my ball cap. I tug it off of my head, feeling the strands of my wild, unkempt hair fly away as they take the rare opportunity to be freed from the suffocating hat. My fist tightens around the bill, bending the thick material even more. The bill is almost completely curled around itself, but once I let it go, it slowly starts to form its original shape.
My eyes narrow as I look at it, thinking about how the dark blue color has faded after months of protecting me from the harsh sun. Stains cover the cap in blotches, and a thin layer of dirt has settled over the entire thing. I stare down at the embroidered blue musical note. Jutting off of the note is a sharp wing surrounded by yellow.
Looking down at the sleek and bold design, I take a guess that this emblem once belonged to a sports team that no longer exists. On the back of the cap, the stitched-on words read, St. Louis Blues, though I unsure what the St. Louis Blues were. It doesn't matter anymore, so I flip the cap back over.
I found and stole this cap from a store many months ago, before I myself was found. The blue note caught my eye instantly, and I just knew I had to have it.
My fingers build up their courage once again and gingerly drift up to run along the length of the piano, bumping up and down as they hit the cracks between the keys.
Silky colors fill my head as the ghosts of the now-silenced notes circle around me, taunting me with a sick smile. I remember how the keys felt against my fingers as I pressed them down, sometimes harshly, other times as soft as a whisper. Their resilience always fascinated me. The keys wanted to be played so badly they would always rise again no matter how hard I tried to force them down.
I remember sitting at my grandpa's piano, the one he kept polished for me at all times, before he had to sell it (along with his house) to pay for his cancer treatment. It would be nearly impossible for me to forget the sound of his heavy chuckles and the feeling of his rough hands as he guided my small ones over the keys, teaching me how to play.
We used to sing together, but after the cancer took his piano and then his lungs, and I was left with just my voice. A voice that my grandpa said could make all the angels in heaven cease to so much as breathe just so that they could hear it. Music, whether it be the from radio or an orchestra, is something I miss very dearly.
