The Way We Were

His fingers played expertly along the keys, effortlessly finding the right notes. The chords pounded through me, as if each individual finger was pulling a trigger at a rapid pace, slamming volley after agonizing volley through my body. I felt myself swaying backwards, but I quickly steadied myself, leaning back against a wall. Looking up from his blur of fingers, I traced a line with my eyes across his wrists, his jerking arms, his shoulders, his face… his face. His eyes were closed tight, and he was grimacing in what appeared to be deep concentration. His lips were slightly parted, revealing clenching teeth. He bobbed his head to the beat of the music, his long black curls bouncing on and off his face. The one bright light in the otherwise dim room shone from the music stand before him, shining harshly on his face. The sharp contrast of light accentuated the shadows, giving further character to the curves and angles of his stern expression. It seemed as if he were not only playing with his fingers, but with his entire being, inside and out. I could feel the tension on his face by the pounding chords and dissonant harmonies. The jagged lines across his young face were magnified by the nearly blinding light. I could feel him reaching into his innermost anxieties and exploding forth into a forceful, breathtaking melee of sound. His whole body shook as he brought his hands up and slammed them down on a final fortissimo chord. He flung his head back, his chest heaving. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. Unblinking in suspense, I watched with a hand on my pounding chest as he placed his fingers on the keyboard, his eyes still closed, and played a softer, more melodic chord. Instantly, his face relaxed, and he slowly rolled forward, leaning into the keys, gliding them along the surface of the keyboard fluidly and languidly. His wrists and arms moved in a soothing wave, and the sound that glided forth was evocative, almost poetic… music. This was music. The light from the music stand no longer sharpened his face; the result was luminous and radiant. The light shone softly off his black curls as he nodded his head passionately, feeling the music course through him in a calming sensation. His pale brown skin seemed as ivory as the keys themselves in the light, apart from slightly rosy splotches on his cheeks. It looked as if he were part of the instrument, and not merely a musician; he was a performer. One hand over another, he played up the length of the keyboard, ending in a final note, his middle finger poised delicately on a C. He lifted both hands simultaneously and rested them on top of the keys so gently, not one note was audible. He bent over his hands, his black curls cascading over his eyes. His back rose and fell softly, as if he had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. He remained that way for a painfully long amount of time, then he let out a sigh. At that moment, the performance was complete. The pianist had ceased his musical memoir. The artist had set down his brushes. And the completed work of art was…

“Beautiful.”

His eyes snapped open, and his sat up straight in one mechanical motion. He stared at the music before him, shocked. Then, slowly, as if dreading the outcome, he turned his head and stared… at me. I gasped, pushing myself off the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” I breathed hurriedly, stumbling forward and heading for the door. As I ran, I heard the piano stool scrape against the hardwood floor, and footsteps gaining behind me.

“Rachel!”

I stopped in my tracks, frozen. In an instant, I wished I hadn’t, because I felt a body collide against my back. I stumbled forward, catching my balance. Strong arms wrapped around my waist.

“Easy there.”

I brought my hands to my waist and clasped the arms surrounding it. So warm, so protective… For a few precious seconds, I wanted to stay in those arms forever. I didn’t let myself.

“You didn’t have to do that, Jason.” I said bitterly, prying myself away. Jason stepped back, holding his arms up as if I had threatened him.

“Sorry, geez. Why did you run away in the first place?” he asked, taking a few more steps back. I turned around and stared at him. Without the light shining in his face, he seemed less of a performer, and more of a… human.

“I wasn’t supposed to be listening in.” I said, looking down at my shoes. My eyes trailed across the floor and caught sight of some scuff marks from my frenzied escape. I winced.

“You didn’t tell me you were here. I would’ve let you listen in if I had known.” Jason said, brushing a few curls from his eyes.

“It wouldn’t have been the same.” I said honestly, not wanting to look him in the eye. “You sound so passionate when you play in your solitude. When you play when no one’s watching, it’s as if I can feel what you’re feeling… kinda like you’re baring your soul and all of your pain.”

“That’s why diaries are the most emotional pieces of writing out there.” Jason said, grinning. “They hold the heart and soul of the writer, but they’re only meant for the writer’s eyes alone. That’s pretty much how it is with my music.”

“So, I shouldn’t have been listening.” I repeated, turning around and walking down the hallway. Jason ran up beside me.

“Oh come on, Rachel, don’t be like that. I confide in you about pretty much everything.”

I stopped and looked at him. Looking into his eyes again for the first time in years, I felt tears spring up from behind my eyes. I winced at the burning sensation.

“Not anymore.” I whispered, clenching my teeth. Jason looked at me guiltily, then gulped and dropped his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready.” He said. A year ago, when he had first left me, I would have accepted that answer. But he had grown, and I was right there for him, and still in love with him as ever before, and here he was saying that he still wasn’t ready to be with me.

“Then I’m not ready for you.” I sighed, then turned my head and kept walking.

“Rachel, don’t do this.” I heard Jason’s voice behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from coming out.

“Mem’ries… light the corners of my mind…” I began singing to drown out the echoes of his voice in my ears. “Misty watercoloroed mem’ries… of the way we were… scattered pictures… of the smiles we left behind… smiles we gave to one another… for the way we were…”