But, what the hell does he plan to do with the piano?
I sit back, my ears perched high like a canine on the defense. I listen as Asher says he wants to play a little something for the class. My stomach flops down when I hear the chords of “You Ruin Me” by the Veronicas. His deft fingers hit the keys perfectly. The ivory hums with the push and touch of every note of the song I dedicated to him.
My eyes close and the hairs of my spine stand up straight as the haunting melody resonates in the air. It hits my heart and touches my soul. My eyes well up from behind, the water threatening to fall—but I bite it back. My lips tremble, fighting emotion.
He is, literally, playing me like a symphony.
When the song is complete, I take deep cleansing breaths, bringing myself back to the moment. I lean over and grab the notebook. Inside, I see Asher has written back the lyrics to the song I wrote to him, matching me word for word.
The class is still in session when I lean my foot over and slam the door.
I know, I’m a glutton for punishment. I should be somewhere else right now instead of in my office waiting for another class to start.
In the other room, Asher hands out sheet music and has the students play a song I have never heard before. I hear the familiar voice of Mike, who teaches guitar.
What in the world is Mike doing in the cello class?
I look over at the notebook, a peach flower peaking out of the pages.
Sincerity.
The song of a guitar strum causes me to peek into the room. Mike is sitting at the front, on a stool, strumming the chords to a simple melody. Asher is seated beside him, the cello in place. I watch for a second as Asher starts to play. If I had more self-control in this situation, I’d keep myself from opening the notebook.
I don’t, so I open it and see the song is called “Save Me From Myself.”
I listen to the entire lesson. When it’s over, I know he’s standing alone in the room, waiting for a response. I slam the door, anyway.
Is he really bringing an organ in here?
I peer into the room, watching Asher and one of the maintenance crew push the one and only organ we have in the building into our classroom. It’s old, it’s made of wood, it’s on casters, and it has to weigh a thousand pounds. I don’t know that for a fact but I did see it come in on delivery day and it did not look pretty. The delivery process, I mean. The organ is gorgeous.
Fifteen minutes later that organ ignites and I open my book to see Asher is pulling out the big guns: ColdPlay.
And today’s flower? Deep burgundy: Unconscious beauty.
Looking, ever so discreetly into the room, I see someone else playing the organ and Asher is in front of him on the cello.
The words are a diatribe of my life just months ago. I lost it all. Could it be worse? No. Losing Luke was the most horrific tragedy I ever encountered and ever want to endure in my life. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.
I know the song like I know my Social Security number. It’s quite possibly my favorite. It’s why I have to catch my breath just before I hear the notes that play to the words:
I risk looking back into the classroom again. Asher is behind the cello, playing that beautiful instrument with passion and vigor, his eyes fixated on my doorframe. When he sees me, his head lifts in surprise.
Standing by the door, I watch for a few moments as Asher continues to play, his body in entrancing movement, eyes on me and filled with passion. He wants me to save him. He wants to fix me. The problem is, I can’t save him and he shouldn’t be the one to fix me. I am fixing myself.
I lower my head and look at the floor as my hand finds the knob and I slowly close the door.
The lessons and note-taking back and forth between Asher and me have been going on for two weeks. The song messages go from sweet and caring to soulful and mind-numbing to downright angry.
The angry ones are from me.