Repeat And Coda, Page 2

played within her mind, she placed her fingers in their places on the ivory keys.

  Disaster.

  Her eyes flew open, widening. Her fingers became unsure, shaking. The sound of her own heartbeat, frantic, panicked, grew louder and louder, and Claire was sure that, not only Mike, but all of the tiny village could hear it.

  Disgrace.

  Upon the lovely keys, her own fingers began to look large and inept. How could she let such unsightly limbs touch such an elegant piano? Her breathing became labored. Sweat was gathering on her clammy brow, leaking in small drops down her frozen face.

  Devastation.

  The spotlight that was thrown upon her was burning a hole into the back of her pretty, lace-covered dress- the one her mother had gotten especially for this day. The nine-year-old Claire felt tears gathering in her eyes. She had messed up. In front of so many people, she had messed up. And on the song that her parents had personally asked her to play too! Claire had practiced and practiced and practiced, until her fingers had become sore and covered in blisters, and she had still messed up. How could she face her parents, who were so famous for their music? How could she face the crowd that was beginning to twitter loudly in confusion of Claire’s unfortunate mishap? Their whispers were so loud, filling up the auditorium, filling up her ears.

  Surrounding her even now.

  “Not today, huh?” Mike commented as Claire bolted from the piano bench, falling in a heap a few feet from the instrument. Mike rushed forward with a small trash bin as Claire started coughing, arriving just in time for the bile to fall neatly into the plastic lining.

  “I’m sorry.” Sweat and tears were running down her face. She looked so crushed.

  “Don’t apologize. You’ll get it one day.” He rubbed her back soothingly until she had calmed down, murmuring uplifting words all the while.

  It was a tragedy that what had happened eight years ago still haunted Claire whenever she attempted to play the piano, especially when Mike knew that the only true joy she found in her days anymore was when she was around music. He could see it whenever they listened to a CD together, or when she looked at a piece of sheet music. It was a downright shame.

  The ringing of the store’s phone called Mike’s attention. With one last concerned look at Claire, he stood and walked into the back room to answer. Unsteadily, Claire got to her feet again, wiping away the sticky perspiration on her forehead. She looked at her fingers, slender and long, weary from years of disuse, and felt her eyes fill with moisture once more- tears formed, not from pain, but the tiredness of a soul that had lost sight of the joys in life. Sitting at the piano bench, with her fingers on the black and white keys, she had been reminded. For the briefest moment, Claire had recalled the reason she had started learning piano in the first place. She walked haltingly back to the piano, gently touching the keys again, not noticing when Mike wandered back into the room.

  “That was the post office. Apparently I need to go pick up a few boxes. Will you be alright here?” Claire nodded slightly, still brushing the ivory keys. She sat down once more on the piano bench when she heard the lock click behind Mike and squared her shoulders, facing down her insecurities.

  Come on, Claire. There’s no one around to hear if you mess up this time. It’s just you and this piano.

  Could she really play it this time? Would she be able to? Already without Mike, dear as he was to her, watching her hopefully Claire felt lighter, less burdened. Perhaps without an audience she would be able to. After all, she hadn’t really tried after that horrific event. It was decided, she would attempt it once more. Tentatively, yet determinedly, she placed her fingers in their required position and deliberately pressed down, hammering out the beginning chord of the piece. The first hurdle was cleared; she had played an entire measure before she realized it.

  You remember the notes, the fingering. Remember the rhythm, and how much fun you had?

  Courageously she continued on, finding herself reaching the playful waterfall of notes and thirds. To Claire’s delight and surprise, she began to laugh, her face lighting up as she played. It was a clumsy, halting rendition of the piece, yes, but she was getting through it, which was much more than she could say for all her previous attempts. Her gaiety was challenged shortly by the upcoming portion of the song, the very portion that had jogged her memory earlier that day. For it was that portion, delightfully difficult and nightmarish to any who played, which had caused her to stumble eight years prior. Claire took a steadying breath as she reached the first chord and hammered out the torrent of notes the followed.

  That’s right. This is easy. You can do this.

  She coaxed out the complicated pattern with more ease than she had thought possible, passing through the section of the song with a concentrated persistence, finally being able to slow back down into the thoughtful and longing progressions which made the song such a brilliant and famous piece of art.

  But it was not sad. Not with Claire playing it. Though some would attribute the song as being a farewell from Chopin to his beloved homeland, Claire looked upon it, not as an ending, but rather a beginning- a way to return to the pathway before her that she had turned away from so long ago, where she was not overshadowed by her parents, nor by her self-doubt. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, playing out, step by step, the road that was hers completely. And, while there would be trials to persevere through, each step would bring her closer to the person she wanted to be.

  The final chord reverberated through the store in poignant clarity. Claire blinked a few times, not believing what had just happened, before a triumphant smile grew across her face. She beamed down at the piano, flooded with happiness. “I did it!”

  Behind the door to the back room, which had stood slightly ajar the entire time, Mike let out the breath that he hadn’t known he was holding and grinned contentedly into the dark.

  END

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