The Mechanic

-Chapter Nine-

Location: Central

I've been plunking on the keys of the piano for almost two hours, and haven't succeeded in even making a tiny melody. Just sour, spoiled notes, like uncontrolled laughter. My own laughter, in particular.

Now, I'm staring at it, tracing the ivory keys with my eyes, wishing that I could hear that song that Femi played again. It sounded like the way I feel. I need to feel that again. Remind myself of what normal is inside myself.

Golden light from the one window creeps over the legs of the piano, making the ebony wood glow a deep, deep dark brown. Like the patches in Femi's eyes. And then the blue of the sky, contrasted.

Beautiful.

I shake my head, and step forward. I drop a few fingers on the keys, and the piano emits a strange collection of notes.

But it isn't the piano's fault, I know—it's mine. Why did I have to end up with such thick, insensitive fingers? Why couldn't I have had soft ones, ones that can feel the changes in the air and the texture of silk. I can't feel all of those things. Too many callouses. Too few nerves.

Footsteps sound behind me, and for a moment of desperate hoping, I imagine it's her, and I imagine that she's come to tell me that something held her back; that she feels what I feel.

That I can stop holding my mind captive.

But I doubt that will ever happen. She feels too little, these days.

Cold. Beautiful.

"Mechanic, what are you doing?"

I turn around and smile at Spero. His young face is bright.

I'm glad that I didn't die that time that I tried. I'm glad that life is still mine.

"Not a whole lot. Making something that's a horrible excuse for music. But it's okay, you know. It's not hurting anything."

"My ears, maybe," he argues, teasing.

"Shut it, kid." I shake my head, laughing softly to myself. "What did you come for this time?"

"'This time?'" he asks, looking confused. "I don't do stuff like this, a lot."

I shrug. "I was joking. But seriously, what's eating you?"

"My mind," he deadpans. "Nothing, really. Though I would like to talk."

"Talk, then." I pull up a cinder block to sit on and he sits on the floor.

"I talked to Capri the other day," he says, after a while of thought. "She actually talked to me."

"It's a miracle," I say, smiling.

He casts me a sideways smile. "I think she's getting used to me."

"You sure?"

"Will you stop teasing me?"

I laugh. "Sure. Sorry."

It takes him a few minutes to get his mind organized, all of the mixed up thoughts shining in his hazel eyes.

"You going to tell me, or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." He sighs. "Um, I talked to her yesterday."

"And?"

"She talked to me."

I try not to chuckle, or smile, or anything, because I can see how flustered he is, and it can't be good for his mind to be so upside down.