A broken chord

A broken chord

A Story by Lane-roe

She walked slowly to the piano; dust motes flying with every step she took. She sat down gently-her wrinkled hands hovering above the weathered keys. She looked over to the chair, where her mother always used to sit. She remembered how her mother always used to look, when the golden sun streamed in from the window, bathing her in his light; her black hair shining in it. The countless times those loving arms had held her; protected and shielded her from pain. She remembered the shock and hurt in those dark eyes, the day she left this house forever.


She took a shuddering breath and held her lips tightly; willing herself to stop the tears brimming in her eyes from welling over. She turned back to the piano, and looked at the weathered, ivory keys. She remembered her father, so strong and so tall, sitting next to her. She remembered the big, strong hands, gently touching the keys; she remembered his gruff voice, patiently explaining the pattern of notes in front of her. She remembered the joy in his eyes when she played a piece perfectly. She remembered his anger, the day she left this house forever. 


A tear ran off her cheek, hitting the keys silently. She looked at her hands; so weathered, so old. Would they still be able to play what she could so easily play before? She gently touched the keys; her fingers retracing the familiar path. She smiled with joy as the familiar tune seeped through the room; filling her world with beauty again. She smiled with pain, with sorrow, with regret as she remembered how long she had been waiting to hear that familiar, haunting tune again. 


Harry didn't approve of music. He said it was a waste of time. That it was for people who couldn't appreciate the beauty in front of them. She agreed with him; that having a piano in the house would be a waste of space. It was too expensive. They had groceries to buy, for goodness sake's! Besides, where would they put the new television? She didn't try to argue with him; he was so much smarter anyway. He always knew what was best; for all of them. Just like the day when she left this house forever.


She had packed her bags already. He was waiting outside, in his brand new car. He had spent the morning admiring it-cleaning and polishing the bonnet. She went into the room, looked down at the floor and quickly spilled out the words that she had been rehearsing in her mind for what seemed a lifetime. The words stumbled out of her mouth; clumsily finding their way into the silent room. She looked up slowly til her eyes reached the piano; not daring to look any higher. She remembered the pang that hit her then, when she realised that she would have to leave her precious piano behind. She didn’t feel the pain of leaving home at that instant-or the pain of leaving her parents. She knew that she would recover from that-that Harry would fill that particular void. But she remembered the aching feeling that left her body hollow. She remembered the unutterable sadness and grief she felt when she realised she would no longer hear the sweet music that swirled around the room, in bursts of passion and joy; sadness and despair. Yes, she remembered that feeling well; the passing of time seeming only to intensify it.


The day that her parents died, she was with Harry. He had held her; comforted her; told her that everything would be alright. She told him what she wanted to do: play the piano for them one last time. He told her how impractical it was. They lived halfway across the world, for goodness sake’s! Besides, they were dead. It wasn’t like they were going to hear it. She remembered her anger; the fury that shook her body. She remembered opening her eyes again for the first time in years. She remembered who she used to be, and how much she missed that person; so bright, so funny, so happy. She remembered looking in the mirror and realising, with a regretful pang, how many years she had wasted on him. How much she had sacrificed: her home, her joy, her security: all to belong to him. She had changed who she was; her own identity. She had given up her parents, her name, and her precious piano, all to please him, and instead of peace and undying love, it had only brought her loneliness and insecurity. She packed up her bags with a savage joy, and left his house forever.


Now she was old. She was alone. She was tired. She played the piano-that familiar tune-over and over again, regretting the many days where the keys went untouched; regretting all the birthdays she’d missed; regretting all the words that had gone unsaid. But despite the aching sadness; the loneliness; the regret; there was joy. She smiled for the fact that she was home again; for all the cups of tea she would have; for all the times she would play her piano again; for all the old friends she would meet again. She smiled because she was back where she belonged-where she didn’t have to hide, or change, for anyone. She smiled because, for the first time in her life, she knew who she was. All the houses she had lived in, all the people she had known; they all made her who she was today. All were patterns, etched into the tapestry of her life; making her different from everyone else. Harry’s selfishness-so cruel at the time-made her strong enough to walk out the door. Her parents’ love-so strong-made her brave enough to stand alone. She had to sacrifice most of her life to get to this point; but here she was. The tears, the loneliness, the heartache all led up to this point-all built her up to appreciate the joy of this moment- the moment of belonging again. The moment of belonging wholly and unequivocally to nobody but herself. She may be old and tired, but for the first time on her life, she was free.

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© 2012 Lane-roe


Author's Note

Lane-roe
Any comments would be much appreciated :)

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Featured Review

I like this story very much it does needs work to make it flow. Your story can be much more gripping. Try a rewrite and then read it out loud to your self. I’ll give you just a small example, if I may be so bold: In your last paragraph, line fifteen from the bottom to line thirteen, instead of “She smiled for the fact that she was home again; for all the cups of tea she would have; for all the old friends she would meet again” you might try something like, “Happy knowing she was home again; she looked forward to reuniting with old friends, sharing tea and Playing her piano.” I think you have a great first draft. Hope I’m not out of line?

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Lane-roe

7 Years Ago

Of course not, thanks very much for the feedback! It's been a while since I wrote this, so I think a.. read more
Paul McCall

7 Years Ago

I’m glad you felt it helpful, I’m not a published writer but I’m working on it. Good luck.



Reviews

Amazing. This story has a lot of heart and soul in it. I could truly feel the character and I felt like it was an open and honest story that could have very easily been a true story told from the heart. I really liked this one. You have a talent.

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Lane-roe

7 Years Ago

Glad you liked it :) Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, I really appreciate it!
This is the longest cry ever! : ) I would have loved to see, like in your poems you write, less semi-colons and more description into what creates these moments for the girl. The girl reminisces about what she is missing, but doesn't allow the reader to read and feel what "ticks" she may have.... like fears, scanning the room for familiar faces, the tunes "echoing" as a haunted reminder, and how maybe her posture slumps a bit when she is in thoughts like this. Your writing takes me all over the place.... it's kinda like a "chick flick" I would watch, where the title wouldn't bring me in, but watching it keeps me focused for the longest time and I completely relate to the characters and such!! Everything you write makes me want to hug you!! : ) I don't know if it's out of respect or character empathy. Beautiful Lane. xoxo -Mark

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Lane-roe

7 Years Ago

I am a bit too fond of semi-colons, it's true :P and I agree, there's lots of avenues I didn't explo.. read more
I like this story very much it does needs work to make it flow. Your story can be much more gripping. Try a rewrite and then read it out loud to your self. I’ll give you just a small example, if I may be so bold: In your last paragraph, line fifteen from the bottom to line thirteen, instead of “She smiled for the fact that she was home again; for all the cups of tea she would have; for all the old friends she would meet again” you might try something like, “Happy knowing she was home again; she looked forward to reuniting with old friends, sharing tea and Playing her piano.” I think you have a great first draft. Hope I’m not out of line?

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Lane-roe

7 Years Ago

Of course not, thanks very much for the feedback! It's been a while since I wrote this, so I think a.. read more
Paul McCall

7 Years Ago

I’m glad you felt it helpful, I’m not a published writer but I’m working on it. Good luck.

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Added on December 18, 2012
Last Updated on December 18, 2012

Author

Lane-roe
Lane-roe

About
Lane-roe is a young girl who enjoys writing about herself in third person, reading harry potter and watching too much reality television. She also enjoys playing piano and occassionally, knitting. But.. more..

Writing
Happiness Happiness

A Story by Lane-roe