There was barely enough room in Nicola’s apartment to fit the little stand up piano. It was wedged against the oatmeal colored wall width-wise, overlapping with the end of his forest green couch. The only light in the room, a small lamp with a plain black shade he had also purchased secondhand had been moved from the floor to the top of the piano and his TV was now in front of the only window in the room.
The piano was an old sturdy thing with a floral design carved into the full stand above the keyboard. A few of the yellowed keys were chipped and one was even missing. Nicola wasn’t much of a musician these days but his childhood had been filled with the sound of the crisp notes played on his mother’s electric Yamaha.
Nicola winced as he played Hot Cross Buns. The piano was horribly out of tune. All the same, the familiarity of it was a comfort. It was like riding a bike, all muscle memory. He pressed the wrong key. Maybe it wasn’t like riding a bike at all.
He was perched on the bench, running his fingertips lightly over the ivories, remembering the best and worst time of his life when he played under the strict supervision of his tyrannical mother and performed at shows for the recognition she desperately craved.
Visions of grandeur that he thought were dead came rushing back to him all at once. The piano sang under the rough handling of old half-forgotten melodies as he swayed and leaned into music he no longer knew. He forgot about the clock ticking above the doorway and the traffic rushing outside of his window and his phone which buzzed on the kitchen counter.
“Dude what the hell is this?”
Nicola started at the interruption, banging on the keys as he was rudely shoved out of the past and back into the present. He looked into the red face of his best friend and roommate Alex, whose hulking form took up the entire doorway.
“A piano,” Nicola stated dumbly.
Alex strutted the few feet of the room to the instrument, sliding onto the bench beside Nicola. He was so big he had to tuck his legs under the bench to fit. “Dude that’s so fucking rude.” He snapped in reference to the noisy piece of furniture taking up their entire living space. “This thing is an elephant!”
“It’s actually pretty small for a piano.”
Alex snorted and messed up Nicola’s perfectly coiffed hair with his sweaty gorilla hands. “Where’d you even get this?”
“A yard sale. It was so cheap I couldn’t pass it up and the owner helped get it into the building. I-I guess I just got lucky.” His hands felt numb against the edge of the piano. “Sorry Alex, I didn’t think about you or what you wanted. I wasn’t even thinking about getting a piano. I don’t even really play anymore.”
“You’re lucky I’m such an understanding roommate.”
“So you’re not kicking me out?”
There was a twinkle in Alex’s blue eye. With his bushy black beard and bulbous nose he resembled a younger version of Santa Clause. One who wore Hawaiian shirts and spoke in low raspy tones like a chain smoker. “Fuck no man! Ladies love musicians! Teach me how to play something!”
Nicola guided his best friend’s sausage fingers across the keys, showing him how to play some simple tunes. Alex banged on one too hard and a loose key broke off, revealing the glue residue and rough textured wood underneath.
“Whoops,” Alex said sheepishly. “Done for today. Or forever. That wouldn’t impress anyone anyway. Where’d you learn to play like that?”
Nicola was five and for the first time he was allowed to touch his mother’s prized piano. She had Bach on the small stand and the notes spread across the page in a full dance intertwining and mingling, coming together and then parting again. Twisting, dipping, leaping.
He knew the placement of the keys, but it was surreal to have moved from his keyboard mat at the table to the real instrument. He found Middle C and pressed it three time, like a magic spell. Elaine leaned over him. She fluffed his hair and scratched her blunt nails across his scalp. She was warm and smelled like lemon polish. She firmly pushed him into proper posture and then showed him how to play the piece, making him mimic her until she was satisfied. He played until his little hands ached.
He resolved to do it everyday until she was happy.
The apartment was barely big enough for two people and the walls were paper thin but the rent was dirt cheap and the landlord mostly left the men alone. The arrangement suited them all just fine.
He awoke in the middle of the night to Chopin. Half asleep and chasing old memories he rolled out of bed and followed the music to the living room.
The floor was cold under his bare feet, and there was a freezing draft in the apartment that was welcome compared to the stifling heat in his room. He squinted into the faint city light and search the room for… something.
His phone read five past three. He picked the lamp up from where it had fallen onto the floor. The top of the piano had been opened, so he peered inside. For a brief moment he thought he saw something looking back. With a shriek he pulled back, slamming the top of the piano shut and tossing the lamp on top of it.
Nervous laughter bubbled up and out of him and he glanced toward the door. “That’s cool. I’m crazy.” The deadbolt was locked. The window was open, but they were on the fourth floor. Gathering courage, he opened the top of the piano again to find, predictably, nothing.
He gratefully returned to his bed, the only evidence anyone had been there was the lamp sat crookedly on the piano.
Sue down the hall was a portly middle aged woman with long red hair and chunky jewelry. She stopped him in the hallway.
“I heard the loveliest music last night Nicholas!” she always called him Nicholas.
“I’m sorry about the noise.”
“But it was lovely!” A thought occurred to him.
“Was it cold in your apartment last night?”
“Oh no! I was boiling. The Change of Life leaves me an absolutely mess.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “Well, thanks anyway.”
“Nicolas!” He half turned back to her. “I did notice a bad smell this morning. Not to be rude, but could you boys please take your garbage out? I have a sensitive sense of smell.” She waved scary long red nails in front of her delicate nose.
“Sure.” She watched him like she was waiting for something else so he went back in and pulled the almost-empty garbage from the kitchen. It smelled like nothing at all. He heard something fall and found the lamp rolling on the ground, flickering on and off. The piano was open again. In his rush he put it on the bench and left the top open. Sue was still standing outside with her arms crossed. Her beady eyes followed him down the corridor to the elevator.
“I’ll try to be more considerate,” he promised.
“You need to be more aware of how other people feel!” His sister screeched at him. He was seventeen and she was fourteen. She thought she knew everything. “You can’t miss my birthday for a stupid show!”
“I have to.” He calmly repeated.
“You don’t even like performing.” she pouted. He wanted to correct her, but she was right. Making music was like breathing; he just did it. “Isn’t there anything else you want in life?” she asked.
“Of course.” He avoided looking across the room, where a deliciously composed guitarist leaned against a painting.
His sister looked between them and he could see the gears turning in her head. “Whatever. Just don’t let mom find out.”
But she did find out, because unlike his sister who thought she knew everything, Elaine actually did. The conversation that fell on his sister’s birthday left him with sour memories and a new promise to them both.
He would never go home again.
Something was on his chest. Pressure radiated into his ribcage, pressed upon his bones and throat. His fingers were hot and chafed. He was awake and moving toward the piano before he knew what was happening. He heard it again – that soft haunting melody from the night before.
Alex came barreling into the room, looking bleary eyed as the music drifted to a close.
“Dude.” Alex started, but Nicola held up his hand. The bench was still pushed against the wall.
It was too strange to ignore. “Why do you keep opening the top? Is it cold in here to you?”
Alex frowned. “Yeah, now that you mention it. It was so hot in my room too. Maybe I should sleep in here. Since you’re done playing.”
He reluctantly turned to his friend. “I wasn’t playing the piano. I-I think it’s haunted.”
The burly man paled. He was the kind of person to believe in anything if he was told in the right fashion. “I knew I felt sick today. I don’t do ghosts man. You know I don’t do ghosts!”
Nicola watched the keys uneasily.
“WHAT THE FUCK WHY DID YOU BRING THAT THING IN HERE OH GOD NO WONDER YOU COULD AFFORD IT!” Nicola pulled the bench out and sat at the piano. “What are you doing? Dude don’t touch it! What am I supposed to do if your eyes start to bleed?”
“Take me to the hospital.” He played the song.
Alex retreated to the couch where he started breathing loudly through his nose.
In a rush of clarity he remembered how he and his mother had once bonded over the music. He felt the brush of Elaine’s hand through his bangs, the heat of her pressed against his side on the bench, her high hopes and aspirations for him apparent in the strict order she arranged his life into. He could smell the polish she used on the keys. For the first time in four years he missed it. He missed her.
He picked up his phone and called the house.
“Mom?”
His sister answered. “Hey to you too. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a week and now you decide to call me?”
“Not you. Mom. What are you even doing there? Don’t you have a house with Billy-whatshisname?”
“Smith. Billy Smith. It’s literally the easiest name to remember in the English language. Don’t tell me that genius brain of yours is too full of music you don’t use to remember my last name.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Her voice lost its sharpness and she quieted. “Oh Nicola, There’s a lot you don’t know. Where are you? I’ll fill you in over breakfast tomorrow.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“This isn’t the right time for this conversation.”
“Where’s Mom?”
Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry Nicki. “Mom’s gone. She had a heart attack a few days ago.”
He pressed Middle C three times. For a moment he swore he could feel lips press against the top of his head in a kiss that felt a lot like goodbye.
This story was a response to ordinary writing on DeviantArt. The prompt was “piano”. Thanks for reading!
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