The Ethereal Dream: Part 1

I was sitting by my piano, crying for I lost the only person that I started playing the piano for in the first place. Her name was Annabeth. I loved her so very much and wanted to make her proud of me, but I forgot in all the countless hours of practice that even relationships need effort and patience, just like anything else.

It was October 23, when we first met. She was a person, just so perfect for me. She liked classical music, but not loved it as much as I did. When we first met, we had an almost hour-long discussion on who was better, Haydn or Mozart. We got up exhausted from the park bench and laughed all the way home.

We were in the tenth grade when I started taking my Piano lessons more seriously. With piano, I also started with Violin, but couldn’t go too far with it, so I asked Annabeth so start learning with me, and she did really! We were so happy for a year or so, our duo was known as the muse birds. 

Some times, Annabeth would come to my house and watch me practice endless degrees of scales and tremolos and what not. I would have no idea, and when I used to get up, she always asked me this, “When are you gonna start the real playing Ed?”

I would smile and reply, “Beloved, this is what true practice is, but soon though I would start with repertoires as well.” And she would smile and snug into me. Her body used to be cold, I still remember, from walking in chilly winds in winter, and that bittersweetness of her body was all that meant to me.

After four months of exhaustive practice, I started learning repertoires and all was going great.

Annabeth’s father also had a great inclination towards the classical world, and he would come to our house to listen to me practice with a lot of wrong notes. The first piece I learnt was from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Prelude in C major, by Bach. I played it for Annabeth’s dad, and he was delighted that his daughter had befriended a guy who could play the piano. He used to come to our house on Sunday mornings when it used to be my time to practice.

One Thanksgiving, Annabeth’s and my family, were having dinner together, and after the toast and dinner, Annabeth’s dad spoke up with juvenile energy, “ Hey Ed, weren’t you learning some Debussy recently? Why don’t we listen to you tonight?”

I was flustered by this sudden provoke of emotions, which I blamed the turkey for, but I replied uncertainly, “Yeah, Uncle Smith, but I am not very fluent with my phrasing for the last few measures, so the end might sound rusty and crusty.”

“Don’t worry kid, you have been playing great, just for once, think of Annabeth, while you play.”

This gesture of Uncle Smith was also kinda go-go for our dating, so we know that the last month of hiding that from him was all a waste.

I sat on the piano and started to play Clair de Lune. The music came out effortlessly, and I even did fairly good for an ending. By the time I finished, both of our moms were on the verge of tears and Uncle Smith was smiling blatantly. He stood up and patted on my back, saying, “ Great work Ed. God bless!”

All was good before I turned 17.

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I started giving most of my time into practice and was scarcely connected to the world anymore. I used to cancel all our plans, just to practice. I stopped texting and answering calls.

Annabeth still used to come to my house and sit, but she became more and more miserable with time. She could see where we were going. She would smile at me after I used to get up to take a break and hug me. I used to hold her close, but never sense her crestfallen calls to get me back. I spoke into her ears all the time, “Ann, I will make it to Curtis at purely my talent.” She used to smile and whisper, “But not at this.” melancholically. I never understood it that time, but it all makes sense now.

I would play to Annabeth a variety of pieces, some which expressed love others which were passionate. Sometimes I would also play her some sad tuned, which she seemed to like more than my usual playing, but I never used to mind. I would always speak to her while playing, “One day when I will become a soloist, I would take you around the world with me. We could even marry sometime and have a little honeymoon thingy while on a world tour.

Annabeth would smile to this, but her eyes didn’t light up as they used to some time ago. I was lost into playing, and she was trying to pull me back, but I pulled harder and messed it up for all of us.

Days passed and things started changing, which I solely failed to notice.

I was so entangled within me that I forgot to notice the absence of Annabeth from my room. I started living in this made-up world and was soon lost. Mom and dad could not be prouder at my growth, but they feared I might turn into an anti-social creature if this is how things went.

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I had given my audition at the Uni and was waiting for the final scrutiny list. As soon as I saw my name on the final list, I was overwhelmed with joy. I ran to tell this to Annabeth, but all I could meet was a closed-door. I asked what was wrong but all I could hear was sobbing from the other side. I begged Annabeth to let me in, but she continued sobbing, and all I could do was wait helplessly. I walked down into their kitchen and found Uncle Smith sitting by the fireplace. I asked him what this was all about and he said with grief, “Listen, Ed, you are great at the Piano, no one denies that but kid, the thing is, Annabeth wanted a guy who could always look out for her. You were way too busy with your goal and you forgot about her. She loved you with all her heart, and when she started to see you change, she could do nothing but give-up hopes of a life ahead with you. Sorry kid, but still you can come here whenever you want. You will still be loved here by me and my wife.”

Listening to all this was bringing back horrible memories when I failed to understand Annabeth. I walked back up toward Annabeth’s room. The door was still shut. I kept a shuddering hand at the door and could feel Annabeth sitting on the opposite side. I whispered to her, “Annabeth, I am so so so very sorry for all that I have done to you. Please, please come back to me. I started my life as a pianist just for you. I beg you please.” And tears started streaming down my cheeks.

A sheet of paper came sliding out of the door slot. It had just a few words written, all scrubbed badly. It seemed that Annabeth was also crying.

 It read, 

 “ Dearest Ed,

I am really happy for you, but it can’t be with us more. We must part ways. I love you forever.”