The Piano

As he ran his hand along the ivory keys, the boy couldn’t stop the repulsion that rose from within. Dust gathered on his fingertips, a testament of how little he cared about the piano. It sat in the middle of an uncomfortably pristine room, devoid of any colour besides white. Three large bay windows on the far wall revealed the ocean behind which arguably were the most interesting part of the room.

It had been years since he’d played; the boy had refused to touch the piano after he’d come to detest it so. With a deep breath he let his left hand drift up and down the keys in a soft c scale and let his gaze wander towards the window. Scales had been drummed into him since the age of 5. He’d practice them for hours on end. The boy brought his full focus back to the piano and paused. Tentatively, he moved his right hand down to join in unison with the other.

“Fuck!” He spat as his fingers tripped over each other awkwardly. His other didn’t listen like his left hand did, almost like it was a baby. Stupid and clumsy. With a sigh he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered out of the room.

It was quiet at dinner, albeit the obnoxious eating noises from his younger brothers Liam and Harry. 

“I got an A- in my calculus test today.” His sister Joanne offered, looking around at everyone hopefully. Silence. Everything about her screamed “notice me!”, yet their father barely looked her way. You could tell this just from a glance; she had pink hair bright enough to blind you and squillions of piercings, some large enough to stick your hand through. It was almost comical.

“I’m full.” Liam mumbled after a nudge from Harry. The amount of vegetables left on Liams plate were more than he’d been served. 

“Hi Phil.” Harry responded with a giggle, grabbing both of their plates and rushing off to the kitchen, Liam tailing behind him. 

“Please go after them Jo, make sure they do their homework.” The boys’ father said, voice smooth as butter. He was one of those men that just oozed authority. Often clad in a suit with greying hair slicked back. The boy absolutely hated him.

Joanne silently rose from her chair, gave her brother a sympathetic glance then traipsed after the twins.

His father cleared this throat and placed his hands awkwardly on his lap. “So, how’s your hand doing?” He attempted to appear nonchalant but the boy could sense the discomfort from the other side of the table.

“Same old.” He replied before shovelling the last broccoli into his mouth and rising to his feet. He turned his back on his father and was about to leave when his father spoke again.

“It’s just so quiet without…” His voice wavered so he paused, probably mortified that his son had witnessed him show emotion.

The boy continued on, leaving a grieving man alone at the table.

Chopin, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff - he hated it all. Piles of music sheets encased the boy, suffocated him even, and all he wanted to do was scream in frustration. There was only one score he wanted to find, one that his mother used to play, but it had somehow escaped him.

“Lost something?”

He turned around and saw his older sister leaning in the doorway, attempting to look cool.

“What do you want Joanne?” He sighed, “as you can see I’m kind of busy here.”

“Nothing I just-“ 

She broke off midsentence as Harry came barrelling past her into the room and started kicking over the piles of sheets. He kept glancing at his older brother as he did this, hoping to get a rise out of him. 

“Cmon Liam, help.” He said, exasperated as his twin stood idly next to Joanne. Liam took a step forward, grabbed a piece of paper and sat down with it. “Seriously!?” Harry watched on in quiet disappointment as the stone faced boy got off the floor and left.

“Good one Harry.” Joanne frowned at her little brother in disappointment.

Liam stood up with his newly crafted paper plane and tossed it at Harrys head.

The boy stood once again above the piano. His heart felt tight and his right hand seemed to ache at the sight of it. He’d injured it in this room several months ago. That day was burned into his mind forever.

The day started in a hospital room, he was seated next to the bed where his mother lay. About a few months prior she had been on her way to the theatre where she was to perform the piano for a local play. However before arriving she was in a car accident which ended up with her on life support. 

The doctor had left the room to answer a call from his father. As his mother had no known family, it was him who made all the important decisions regarding her. 

The boy remembered the doctor walking back into the room with a look on his face that may as well have been a punch to his gut. They were going to turn off the life support. 

“NO! YOU CAN’T KILL HER!” He lunged forwards and put himself between his mother and the man he saw as a murderer. The doctor bore no fangs or claws or sharp teeth or anything remotely scary. But in that moment the boy had never felt more afraid.

Joanne was there too, brunette and without piercings, but much to the boys disgust did nothing. She grabbed him tightly and due to his small frame was able to drag him out of the room.

Hours later he was face to face with his father at home.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THAT? I HATE YOU!” The boy screamed, throwing a fist towards the larger mans face. He dodged it with ease and ignored the child.

“You should practice your piano please, it’s what she’d want.”

The boys mouth dropped open is disbelief. "Wha-" He paused for a moment then stomped over to the piano and looked his father in the eyes. Suddenly he slammed all his fingers down at once and relished in the discord that bounced around the room.

“Yes how nice! I’m sure my dead mother would LOVE this.” He snarled, eyes ablaze with fury.

Then all of a sudden his mind became strangely clear. 

He stuck his right hand out, crushed it under the piano lid and yelled out in pain and sadistic glee.