Notes From My Heart

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One; Memories

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I lay awake at four in the morning. Yes, I know it's four because I have done it so many times. I quickly pulled off my comforter, suddenly feeling the cold against my skin. I waddled my way over to the window and took a peek outside. It was late November, so the sun wasn't out yet. 

Perfect. 

Quickly, I changed my clothes and tugged my hair with the comb, struggling to get it through. My eyes caught a moving figure in the mirror. 

"Up again so early, Arisa?" I heard someone mumble behind me. 

"Ahaha..." I said sheepishly, yet gave myself a mental face-palm. I told myself that I would be careful not to wake Baemi up. "Mianhae, Baemi-sshi. I'll try to be quiet." I placed the comb down and silently closed the door. "I'll be off," I whispered.

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.

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On nimble feet, I made my way to the music room — The place where I always escaped to. The place where I could be free. On the way there, I passed by the soccer field and sighed in relief. No one was there yet. No students, no instructors, no teachers. It was prohibited to enter the music room before the school opened. But, I had done it anyway. There wasn't even a proper lock on the door, so I easily fiddled the knob and pushed it, which made it creak ever so softly. 

Everytime I entered, the sight of the old, instrument-filled room took my breath away no matter how many times I've seen it. Two acoustic guitars, a wooden, traditional one and a smaller version stood quietly at the corner of the room, wanting to be strum. One, just one generic black and white electric guitar stood along with the acoustics. An African djmbe, Peruvian cajon, and an acoustic drum set were placed at the opposite side of the room, collecting dust at the tops which wished to be pounded melodically upon. Two violins and a cello sat atop their appointed stands with their bows at a small side table nearby. 

Lastly, I walked towads the piano and ran my fingers over the smooth, oaken top. It was probably the oldest instrument in the room and the least used. It bothered me since I knew that the piano was widely taught amongst most children. I remembered that I started playing piano at the tender age of five— I learned to play Mozart and Bach, not to mention Beethoven brilliantly, moving my fingers at an alarming pace.

I sat down on the torn piano bench and rested my fingers on the cold keys. They were so cold from the November air, but I was determined to make it warm up with a heated, soulful melody. Slowly, I started and pressed down on the piano keys gently and quietly and made a melody from the top of my head with harmonic notes. But, the pace only went faster as I scaled my fingers to the next octave to match the beat. Up and down and up and down I went from key to key. My soul was dragged out by the song, surrounding every inch of me in music. My head hung low as I was falling deeper and deeper into the melody, which started slowing down again. Slower and slower and slower. 

Finally it came to a stop with a complimenting grace note at G. I opened my eyes exhaled heavily as if I had been holding my breath. The music left me feeling mixed emotions. I was happy, happy to be lost in the word of song again, but then again... I was sad, and felt so-so... Lonely inside. I looked to the ground, only to see sheets of classical piano songs scattered on the floor next to me. I reluctantly picked it up and straightened the papers properly before spotting that it was Beethovern's Für Elise. I recalled playing it as a developing pianist at the age of eight.