AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And I’ll prove her wrong again because I’m certain she’s more determined than ever to throw up a wall between us after what happened the other night.
A trumpet riff brings me back to the present, the cello and piano slowly unravel the smoky melody around the rapid trumpet. Only music and Star can save me on a day like today, and I need as many saviors as I can get.
I hear a light tap on the door, but I can’t move to answer it. The music has taken over, inundating me with memories. Memories of sitting beside him in this very room, turning the pages of the score he’s playing until he goes off script and improvises, spontaneously composing on the spot. That memory morphs into a darker scene of him gripped with delusions—of him beating me with a stick.
My brilliant, terrible father.
Today, on the day he finally took his own life.
The knob twists open. The swooshing sound of the opening door is followed by a cool breeze over my skin.
The music grows louder, the trumpet riffing fast and swirling in my head.
I hear Star moving quietly, not wanting to interrupt my reverie, and I love her more for it.
The music, it hurts to listen to. A lump in my throat squeezes. It aches so bad…so I hum. I hum to ease the anguish, to distract from it. It’s a soft sound, almost drowned out by the volume of the music coming from the speakers.
But I hear Star’s little gasp. She’s heard my humming.
Eyes still closed, I tilt my head to the side.
I hear a tiny giggle.
I move my arm off my face.
My eyes pop open.
Startled, Star steps to the side too quickly and bumps into a low bookcase. It wobbles a little. She puts her hand out to steady it.
Her eyes clash with mine and whatever she sees sobers her. My nostrils burn from unshed tears.
I’m glad she’s here, today of all days. Her presence soothes me. It always has, even on the days I went to school after the horrid nights when my father paced the living room, jazz music blasting through the house with the windows open for the entire neighborhood to hear.
Lulled by her presence, my heartbeat slows down, the choking sensation of a rope wrapped around my throat eases. It’s not totally gone, but it’s bearable. I close my eyes and fall back into the world of sound. Listening is a task of its own, like meditating. My father taught me that. It was the only thing that would calm him, listening to music and playing his trumpet.
I hear Star dragging a chair beside me and sitting down.
I know the piece by heart and the moment after its swelling crescendo and finale, my eyes flicker open.
I rise onto my elbow and say, “Nice.”
“Nice?” One side of her mouth ticks up. “Not exactly the words I’d use to describe it.”
I suppose there are parts where it seems like a runaway train going off the rails.
“Thelonious Monk is one of my favorites.”
Intrigued, she leans forward. “Who?”
“Thelonious Monk. The composer. The guy playing the piano. He’s something of a genius.”
“I don’t know…at times, it sounded like he was attacking the piano, not playing it,” she replies.
My eyes crinkle with mirth. My lips twitch. That’s a really accurate description. So apt. So like my father when he was well. It’s funny—funny in a painful way. I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh.
Star jolts a little in her seat, mesmerized by the thick column of my throat.
She jerks her gaze away from me. It bounces off the walls while her fingers flutter in front of her, looking like butterflies seeking a place to land. Flustered, she grabs her backpack and drags it toward her, practically hugging it to her chest. She opens it and digs around, ducking her head to hide the way I affect her.
