Melodious Healing

Eva softly closed the door behind her, dusting off the paint chips that rained down from the once-white but now peeling door. It was still raining outside, but the pouring had subsided and gentle rays of warm sunshine started to peek through the windows. She walked aimlessly through the hallway, her mind blank and body numb. 

At the end of the hall, she timidly turned right instead of left, coming face to face with the closed door of her mother’s bedroom. She opened the door and stepped inside. The room still smelled like her mother, a mix of vanilla and paisley with a hint of something else – cinnamon, maybe? As she snuggled into the blankets on the bed, a rush of emotion overcame her, and she finally let loose the river of tears she’d been holding back at the funeral. Her tears slowly subsided and turned into soft snores as she fell asleep, still wrapped in her heavy, damp funeral clothes. 

Eva awoke the next morning, tangled in her mother’s sheets. Her heart felt heavy, but she breathed a sigh of relief that she was just old enough to avoid Child Protection Services. They’d tried to take her away from her mother, years ago when her father had left them.

When her father had left without giving any clear explanation. He'd left over a decade ago, but her heart still wrenched with anger. Why had he left? Were she and her mother not enough for him? He hadn’t shown up to the funeral – did he not know her mother had passed, or had he simply chosen not to come? 

She had grown up resenting him for hurting her and her mother. She thought he loved her; every night before bed, she had watched, mesmerized, as her father played her a lullaby on his guitar until she drifted off. His fingers moved swiftly across the strings, the gentle pings intertwining to create a beautiful melody. When she was old enough, she begged him to teach her, and he had bought a little baby guitar that fit her chubby hands perfectly. Whether it was because she had watched him play for so many years, or simply genetic talent, guitar came to Eva like second nature. 

Simple lullabies soon blossomed into family music night, as Eva and her father harmonized with each other on the guitar, and Eva’s mother joyfully sang along. It was such a warm memory; anyone who saw her family would never expect it to become broken so soon. 

After he left, her mother had forbidden her from playing the guitar. She said it was too painful for her, and Eva had sorrowfully complied because she loved her mother. Without even the music of her guitar to comfort her, Eva’s sadness turned into bitterness towards her father. 

Wait. Her guitar.

In a moment of epiphany, Eva sprang up from the bed and frantically searched the room. Where could her mom have hidden her guitar? She needed it now for musical comfort, regardless of the memories attached to it. It seemed to be nowhere in the room, so she ran up to the attic. Pushing aside boxes and pieces of dust-collecting furniture, Eva prayed her mother had kept the guitar. Finally, after lifting a scrap of plastic, Eva came face to face with her guitar. The same one her father had bought for her more than ten years ago. But as quickly as her heart had leapt for joy, her face crumpled in dismay. Her old guitar was much too small for her now – her fingers struggled to even stay between frets. 

Dejected, Eva turned to leave, when something else caught her eye. She hurriedly pulled back other pieces of stray plastic, lifting them away to reveal her father’s guitar. She thought he’d taken it with him when he left, but here it was, out of tune, but still exactly the way she remembered it. She ran her fingers over the light brown Sitka spruce wood, tracing every curve and ridge. The decorative swirls carved into the body of the guitar seemed to come alive again as Eva gently wiped the dust away. 

Sitting down on an overturned box, Eva placed the guitar on her lap. All the hugs and bends of the instrument fit snugly in her arms and legs. Taking a deep breath, she started to play. Despite her soft fingertips – the once hardened calluses long gone after years of unuse – each chord rang out, clear as day. The soft notes of a nostalgic lullaby overwhelmed her with bittersweet emotions. 

Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. Coupled with her ability to play by ear, her muscle memory resurfaced the unending list of songs she and her father used to play. With every song came a past memory of her once-perfect family. 

When they went to the beach and laughed at the seagulls fighting over an abandoned bag of chips. Eva had learned to swim that day. Or when they went camping at the state park and stayed up all night stargazing. Her parents had let her adopt and name a star at the gift shop. Or when they got snowed in for Christmas and had to finish all the pies by themselves instead of having extended family over. Banana cream was her favorite.

Eva played and played, almost as if to make up for those years the guitar had been sitting untouched in the attic. Almost as if, if she played for long enough, it would bring back the perfect life her family had had. She became lost in the richness of the music, unaware of the salty tears spilling over her cheekbones. Eva played for hours, head nodding and body swaying to the rhythms, completely ignoring her aching fingertips, until one of the strings snapped with a disruptive twang, jolting her out of her trance. She sighed. It made sense that a string had snapped – the guitar hadn’t been played in years. 

She held onto the guitar and stood up, making her way to the stairs, only to look up and see a tall figure leaning against the door frame. 

“You need help fixing the string?” the figure asked.

“Dad?” Eva’s voice broke. How long had he been there listening?

Her head was swirling with different emotions. Should she lash out at him for leaving? Should she run to him and hug him? But she just stood there, paralyzed, body and mind torn between what to do. 

“I’m sorry I missed the funeral. The heavy rain blocked off some roads.” Eva could hear the sorrow in his voice, and even a twinge of regret. He pulled her into an embrace, engulfing her in a sense of long lost familiarity.

Once again, the dam broke and Eva’s tears flowed freely down her face. Only this time, they absorbed into the soft cotton of her father’s forest green shirt. She could tell he was crying too. Questions would come later, she decided. Right now, they both needed the comfort. Maybe even a song on the guitar.