Piano Man

Before the virus hit and everything changed, we would spend every night at the piano. I couldn’t play--I was never really a musical person--but Aimi was a musical genius with that piano. She could look at a piece of music and suddenly know how to play it almost perfectly. It was a nightly game between her and I: I would find a piece of music I didn’t think she could possibly play, and it was her goal to prove me wrong. I loved our nights on the small piano bench. It was a perfect excuse to enjoy each other’s company while music drowned out all of our troubles.

Now it just seemed as though there were more troubles than Aimi could drown out with the music.

The piano hadn’t been touched in three weeks. I asked Aimi to play nightly, but her answer was always the same: “I’m tired, Mariah. Maybe tomorrow.” I realized after about ten “maybe tomorrow”’s that she wasn’t going to be playing anytime soon. I get it, I do. The times have changed drastically. It’s scary to even step foot out of the apartment for groceries, but Aimi has to leave every day for her work. As an essential coder at an energy corporation, Aimi was necessary if anyone in Anaheim, California valued their electricity. She hated leaving and it drained her. I got it, I still get it. I just missed the sound. 

Meanwhile, I’m out of a job and at our apartment by myself day after day. A walk-around Disneyland character isn’t nearly as vital as a coder. While Aimi gets put together every day, I can usually be found on our couch in my pajamas playing Animal Crossing. I’m not proud of my response to the situation, given that I used to be up at the crack of dawn to work back when I could, wearing actual clothes and doing my hair and makeup. I just didn’t know what else to do. What’s the point of dressing to impress if I’m not leaving? What’s the point in trying if everything is hopeless anyway?

“Bye, babe. I’ll see you tonight,” Aimi whispered in my ear before applying her surgical mask and quickly exiting our apartment. I couldn’t even utter a “goodbye” before she’s out the door. This is basically the norm nowadays. Aimi hardly has any time to talk in the morning, and when she arrives back home she typically goes right to bed. I guess I didn’t just miss the music coming from the piano, I missed the person playing it. Aimi before all this shit was lively, she never missed out on a daily catch-up session at the piano. Aimi now is broken and anxious and exhausted.

I wanted the old her back.

My thoughts brought me to the piano, softly pressing down on the keys just to hear the faint sound emit from the large instrument. I had seen Aimi play dozens of songs with her seemingly magic fingers, but I hadn’t retained any of it. Part of me wishes I had. I’m tired of doing nothing, I’m tired of Aimi feeling bad, I’m tired of this. 

The protective barrier above the piano keys came crashing down. In a fit of anger I didn’t even realize that I had reached to shut it. Because of the impact, something came softly thudding down from atop the piano. I bent down to see what had fallen, hoping and praying it wasn’t the framed photo of Aimi and I at the piano the day she had gotten it. Thankfully it was only her dingy UCLA Bruins hat, the one she had had since before we met three years ago. Every time I saw the hat I smiled. She was wearing that exact hat on the day that we first met. 

Being a Disneyland character essentially makes you an attraction. People will actually wait in line to meet me--well, they’ll wait in line to meet Alice and Wonderland--and on one fateful day, the person waiting to see me was Emiko Tanaka. Aimi told me afterwards that Alice in Wonderland was always her little sister’s favorite movie, and when she found out she could actually meet Alice on their family trip to Disneyland, she was stoked. Aimi offered to bring Emiko to the character meet and greet area while their parents went to ride a few more things, and when they made it to the front of the line, there I was.

The first thing I noticed about Aimi was that hat. It was fairly evident that the hat was meant to hide something, a fact I respected given how many days I showed up to the parks with a hat over my tangly and knotted brown hair. I also noticed that she was absolutely stunning. I had never in my life seen a woman as beautiful as Aimi Tanaka. Emiko was the one I was signing an autograph for, but Aimi was the one who had my complete, undivided attention. 

After Emiko got her autograph and a few of the cutesy canned phrases Disney paid me to say, I looked at Aimi and said “Would your sister in the hat like an autograph?”

Aimi won’t admit it now, but she was definitely checking me out while I signed Emiko’s autograph book. What she will admit now is that she’s glad I asked her if she wanted an autograph. I left the typical character autograph, my personal cell phone number, and my real name.

And the rest is history.

We went out that very same night. Aimi had ditched the hat, and it was then when I realized she didn’t have any hair.

“That’s pretty badass,” I had told her, “the bald look. It suits you.”

She chuckled. “It isn’t really by choice.”

And that’s when I found out Aimi was recovering from leukemia. In the early stages of us dating I accompanied her to her chemotherapy treatments regularly, helping her have fun in such an uncomfortable area. She’s been in remission for a year and a half, and it’s been a while since either of us have thought about the times before.

Or at least I thought it had until that very moment.

“Shit,” I mumbled. No fucking wonder Aimi had been so on edge recently! “I’m a terrible girlfriend, aren’t I?” I asked the hat. It was preferable that it didn’t answer.

Aimi had recovered from cancer, but her immune system was weakened from the extensive chemo. Being out every day at more risk than most probably weighed on Aimi more than I could know. And here I am, not leaving the couch feeling bad for myself. 

I knew exactly what I needed to do.

` For the first time in about three weeks, I got fully ready. I did my makeup, put my long hair back into a braid, and put on my dress typically reserved for dates. When Aimi got home she was shocked to see me fully put together. Honestly, I was too.

“Mariah? What’s this for?” Aimi asked, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

“I want you to teach me how to play the piano.” 

Aimi’s smile faltered. “What? Why?”

It was all a part of my plan to make Aimi feel better, all she had to do was say yes. 

“I just want to know,” I semi-lied. It was the truth, sure, but not all of it. “I’m home all the time, maybe if I knew some of the general ideas I could practice while you’re at work?”

I could tell the idea didn’t thrill her, but she caved. “Fine, I guess. Just let me change out of my work clothes.”

I had a simple plan. If Aimi taught me the basics of the piano, I could learn the rest of it myself at home. Aimi had forgotten to take care of herself during all of this, getting so worried and throwing herself so deeply into her work. She just needed a reminder that she could take a breath every now and then. The world is hard to live in right now, especially for her, but I hated seeing her in pain. It was a simple act--just learning to play her favorite song then performing it for her--but I hoped that Aimi would realize through it how much I care about her. 

“You’re pretty good at this, Ri,” Aimi admitted about an hour into our lesson. Truth be told, I had watched a few videos before she came home, but she didn’t need to know that. Aimi had already taught me a few common chords--chords I needed for the idea I had in mind.

On our first date at the smallest diner in LA that Aimi could possibly find, she paid to have the jukebox play “Piano Man” by Billy Joel. She told me it was her favorite song because Emiko told her it reminded her of her older sister. All Aimi ever wanted to be was something to someone, and being Emiko’s Piano Man was more than enough. While we sat in chemo she would hum the song when things got harder, and it always made her feel better. Since this time was bringing back the memories of when she had cancer and worried her greatly, I figured her song of solace was what she needed. 

We practiced for about three hours that night, before Aimi insisted she had to go to sleep because she had work the next day. About a week came and went where I practiced every day alone, watching YouTube videos and Googling the hell out of every last detail of the song. At night Aimi was always willing to help, and she never once caught on to what I was doing. 

The day finally came on Sunday. Being candid, I probably could have performed well enough by Thursday, but I didn’t want well enough; I wanted perfect. Aimi was home all day Sunday, and I decided it was better to perform for her during our usual time.

“Are you doing alright?” She asked me at about two. I was very nervous I would mess up, and I guess she could tell.

“Yeah, I’m great!” I replied in a manner that definitely gave me away. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re picking at your thumb again.”

Shit. I did tend to do that when I was antsy. My left thumb was usually scabbed over based on the sheer amount I picked at it. I always praised the fact that my character at Disneyland wore gloves because of it. 

“I’m fine, I’m just tired. I hardly slept last night.”

And that wasn’t a lie.

“Oh, yeah. I felt you tossing and turning last night.”

Thankfully she didn’t question me past that. I’m a professional actor, but I couldn’t lie to Aimi. She mattered too much to me, I couldn't be false with her if I tried.

About seven o’clock rolled around when I finally told Aimi “I have something to show you.”

Aimi loved surprises. “Oh, really? What?” 

I situated myself at the piano and, without explanation, started playing the song. I wasn’t a singer, and I definitely messed up a few of the chords, but it was fairly recognizable as a Billy Joel song. Halfway through the song Aimi joined me in singing, and I could tell she was crying. In the presence of others crying I couldn’t help but weep myself so there we were; two girls hopelessly in love sobbing at a piano to Billy Joel.

When the song culminated she kissed me hard. I could feel the tears on her cheeks, and when she pulled away I wiped them away with my thumbs.

“I needed that. Thank you,” was all she could muster out.

“I know you’ve been hurting recently. It’s not fair of them to ask you to go outside every day when you’re immunocompromised.”

Aimi sat silent for a while. “I’m going to call my boss and tell him that I’ll be working from home from now on. Maybe if I’m here, you’ll learn more on the piano. You’re good, Mariah, and that voice!”

Aimi’s boss didn’t realize that Aimi was in remission, and heavily apologized for making her show up to work during the pandemic. After that, we spent all day every day together. Aimi worked (or tried to) and, for the first time, I was the one situated at the piano, learning a new song. I wasn’t at the same level as Aimi Tanaka, not hardly. 

But I was definitely Aimi’s Piano Man. And she’s mine.