Page 13 of My Lovely Tragedy
“I’m in a band. I sing, write music.” Small words that don’t even begin to encapsulate it all, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Oh?”
I can’t help the laugh that barrels out of me at his small‘oh.’I guess he really didn’t know.What a change of fucking pace.
“Ever heard ofThe Disorients?”
His lips purse, eyes narrowing at the corners. “I can’t say that I have.”
“That’s a fucking first,” I mumble, shaking my head.Seriously, what are the odds? Have I fallen and hit my head, and now I’m wandering some alternate universe?
If only I were that lucky.
“What genre of music?”
“Uh…” I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m never really sure how to answer that. Rock, heavy… nu metal? I don’t know. Something like that.”
Another hum vibrates the room. “My music leans more toward the instrumental side. I don’t listen to much with lyrics. Mostly piano. My own pieces and more obscure ones. But I do enjoy more renowned songs as well.”
My eyes seek out the piano across the room, gleaming with the fire reflected in the glossy sheen. The flames flicker, licking across the black. They seem so close, the heat of the fire heavy against my skin, like they’re desperate to devour everything in their path—and they would, if given the chance.
“So, you compose?”
“I suppose. Never anything worth a listen. Just an interest I dabble in.” I narrow my eyes at him. His stubble is short, a few days worth, and it’s unseemly on him. His index and middle fingers dig into the tender flesh at his temple, rotating a few times before his hand falls back into his lap.
“Play me something, then,” I challenge, my own words surprising me. Tobias’s eyebrow arches marginally, the only shift in his expression. But his eyes… they light up with surprised joy, the reddish-brown gleaming. After a moment, he tilts his head in a small nod and wipes his palms across the tops of his thighs before pushing to his feet.
From my lowered position on the floor, he towers above me, all gangly limbs and leverage. The sudden urge to even the playing field prickles my skin, but he turns away from me and takes his place on the bench, lifting the cover and placing his abnormally long fingers atop the keys.
They find their place with his eyes never dropping from where they’ve locked on the wall adjacent to him, particularly on a piece of art I don’t recognize as my own gaze follows his. It’s dark, a bit morbid with its abstract scratches of graphite on the bright, white canvas.
The low hum of music begins, flowing through the room with practiced ease. The notes start low before quickly rising, flowing back and forth in an easy, transcendent melody.
Tobias’s bodymoveswith the song, eyes now closed, and head bowed like he’s paying homage. His wayward curls have fallen across his forehead, the muscles in his biceps flexing beneath the fabric of his sweater.
The music slows down, gets softer. A melancholic feeling grows inside me, but it’s not cold. Or lonely. It’s… welcoming and warm.Comforting.
The cadence picks up once more, flowing into happiness. Wanting.
My own eyes close as I let my head fall back against the couch, the melody in my veins. It’s atmospheric, and I revel in it. The highs and lows and the places it takes me for those few minutes.
After the final chord rings out, then fades, leaving the room in melodical silence, I bask in the feeling. Of everything.
Then I smile, and for the first time in… a very long time, it doesn’t feel forced, and isn’t that just thedamndest thing?
“That was beautiful.”
“Lovely,” Tobias says, almost absentmindedly in a soft breath. Like a correction and a fact. I nod my head in agreement, hearing the shift of my hair as it moves against the fabric.
“What was it?”
“Ludovico Einaudi’s “Le Onde.” It’s one of my favorites.”
I nod in appreciation. “I can see why.”
“There’s a lot to be said about music that says so much without a single word.” A low hum comes from the back of my throat.
I never really thought of it that way, but Tobias’s simple statement speaks of things far past what most would think. WhatIthink.
