Good Enough (Scomiche)

Ch 7. Center

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“Will you play for me? Sing for me?” 

“I haven’t… touched a piano in years. They.. they already knew I could play, so they didn’t... ” he just let his voice trail off.

“I know you can. You’ve always been able to.” 

He seemed unsure, almost afraid to try. “I don’t know.” 

“Please?” 

He hesitated,  the doubt flickering momentarily.

“I can’t ” 

I think now, looking back, that he really was afraid. I think not knowing was an easier thought than trying and failing, if that makes any sense. Probably not, but then again few things ever made sense when it came to Mitch. It all made sense to me soon enough. 

That was the day I started to take note of the insecurities in the man I loved. All of the things I had never seen before he disappeared, all of the emotions I’d never seen reflected in those brown orbs began to stare back at me. I didn’t know how to end his insecurities, but most importantly I didn’t know how to end his fear. 

I was full of it myself, but Mitch was consumed by it. His fear was different than mine, and still I can’t be sure of what exactly he was afraid of … AdAstra? Us being separated? Himself? 

.

The next day I asked him again. Again he declined, but this time he decided to rebound the request back at me. 

“Will you play for me?” 

It was an odd moment for me. The day Mitch “died” was the day my talent left me. I had no joy left in me and music was nothing more than a chore. I left it behind when I left Mitch behind. I hadn’t done anything more than hum along with the radio now and then. The keyboard sat against the wall collecting dust. 

I wasn’t like Mitch. I wasn’t just good at everything at any given moment. I couldn’t just sit down and hope to remember something that I hadn’t done in years.

“I don’t remember how.” 

“That’s not true, you just don't think you do.” 

“Mitch, I can’t just-“ 

“Try?” I don’t know why he wanted me to try so badly. “Try? For me ?” 

I started to understand what he was so afraid of. I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t, but if I tried and the capability was actually gone it would just make it all too real. But could I really expect him to attempt it if I, myself, was too afraid to.

Determined not to be hypocritical, I agreed to try. I moved to the keyboard, taking a seat and turning it on. I sat frozen for a moment, letting the feel of the keys beneath my fingers sink in, hoping they would remember something, anything. They began to move. It was a bit slow, broken and staccato. My fingers didn’t seem to remember how to move the way they used to. I felt disappointment in my chest, but even more so than that, a new determination. Be damned if I was going to let my body deny me what I had loved for so long. 

I tried so hard. I pushed at myself, trying to force my hands to remember the movement that had been second nature for years, but it didn’t seem to want to listen. It all felt wrong, it all sounded wrong. 

I wanted to scream, and yet I refused to stop.  I kept pushing and pushing.

Until... 

His arms encircled my waist from behind, wrapping around my upper arms and trying to pull them down against me. I came crashing back down into my reality. I hadn’t realized that tears were falling down my cheeks rapidly, and at some point I had started to sing. I don’t remember now what I had been attempting to get out, but I didn’t stop. I sobbed as my voice continued to try and sing whatever song I was murdering. I tried to pull away from him, needing to prove that I could still do it, but he refused to let me go. I fought against him, tried find a way out of his iron grip, even though I knew that I could have never bested Mitch at strength. I don’t know why I broke down like I did, but something inside me had snapped. I finally slumped forward, letting him pull me into his embrace. I cried like a child throwing a tantrum. It was degrading, and yet I couldn’t stop it. My fingers clung to the arms holding me steady.