Page 82 of Scoring the Player
The need for one particular answer burns above the rest.
What is the source of his pain?
It’s the question I’ve been asking myself since I touched his scar, and the need to know only intensified after Catharine’s party.
Because of my brother, I recognize a soul altered by grief.
But with Blue, there’s something else. There are hollows.
Back erect, eyes closed, and a slight part of lips—his fingers are the only movement in the room.
I haven’t yet explained his nickname to him.Blue.
My dad used to say,“If you can’t find peace, wait for the blue hour before dawn, and free your wrestled fears to fate.”
I’m not sure Blue has ever found that hour, but when I think of it, I think of him.
Pulling from beyond a veil, each press of his fingers to the keys draws us closer.
This song isn’t for us.
Some songs are for ghosts. Locked away in rooms, preserved by its lack of exposure, and released for the haunted on their own time.
As it should be.
There’s a kind of anachronistic thinking that’s lethal to who we are.
Like the hate post I saw earlier about me and him. The drag of the past chains itself to our feet, making the present not present enough.
As the piece comes to an end, I want to wedge something through the door that’s closing.
The chills running up my arm hint that I can let go. This song will play long after other memories from today fade.
Whistles and applause sound through the room, but I sit motionless.
He opens his eyes, and a lightness radiates from his timid smile.
“Is that one of yours?” Ty asks.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. A nocturne. Still workshopping the title. For now, it’s ‘Bitter Blood.’”
Or “Burial Solitude.” It’s like a graveyard hymn.
Kieran’s face is a pristine mirror of our awe as he exclaims, “Wow!”
“Take a ticket,” Sid teases. “He has a whole team first in line to buy the album.”
Blue laughs and wrings his hands before beginning to play again. “The request line’s open.”
Tommy whistles.
“We love this song.” Kieran swoons, blanketing his shoulders with Tommy’s arms.
I force myself to move when the song ends. “Seriously?” My fingers mock-explode against my temple.
His smile deepens, coupled with the light in his eyes.God help me.
I point to my useless mouth.
