“All right. Text me and let me know you’re in safe, okay?”
“Sure.” I nod and adjust my purse containing the evidence from my road trip with Gavin. “Have a good night, boys.”
“Night.” Dallas nods and lifts his phone to his ear. Because I’m weak, my eyes drift over to Gavin as I turn to walk into the hotel lobby.
“Sweet dreams, Bluebird,” he says barely loud enough for me to hear.
With an obvious huff of annoyance and disappointment, I shake my head and keep walking.
I gave him an out. My brother gave him another one.
Seems he’s taking them both.
Sitting alone in my room while Gavin and my brother go out on the town is not an option. Unless I want to drive myself insane.
Dallas would have a come-apart if he knew what I was doing right now. I went to my room and texted my brother that I was inside safely, before promptly turning around and walking right back out of it. The rain has eased to a drizzle and it’s barely even dampened my hair by the time I get to the Driskill hotel. We played a wedding reception here once and I know the bar has a piano. It’s been a while since I’ve played one, but the moment I lay eyes on it, it calls to me.
The room is mostly empty with the exception of a few businessmen sitting in the bar. I make my way over and lower myself onto the bench at the baby grand.
Nana used to make me play a few warm-ups before launching into a complex piece, to keep my fingers from cramping, she said. But tonight I don’t have the luxury of taking my time. The bar isn’t open much longer and if I don’t lose myself in the melody I’m going to lose my mind in the abyss that is wondering what Gavin is doing right now.
Placing my hands on the keys and rounding my fingertips instinctively as I’ve been taught, I fall into a familiar hymn Papa likes before transitioning into a faster-paced classical number it took me years to master. Metamorphosis takes all of my focus and concentration. When I finish part one, I keep going. No one has come to kick me out by the time I finish Metamorphosis Two so I still have time to keep playing. There’s still a swirling hurt inside of me, the feelings I have for Gavin still ache to break free. Thankfully there are three more extremely complex parts to play. God bless Philip Glass.
Catching my breath and inhaling the sound, I let it pour out of the piano and into me. My fingers play of their own accord, and it’s not perfect, but it’s not terrible, either. Anything is better than crying.
Part four is the most haunting and the most difficult. It always has been for me so I shove my pain aside and focus on the keys and the timing.
Timing is the most important part, Nana used to say. You can play all the notes correctly, but if you screw up the timing, the piece is ruined. Timing couldn’t be taught, she also used to say. It had to be felt. Closing my eyes, I do my best to feel it as it is intended to be felt.
Part five is reminiscent of part one and by the time I finish, I feel as if I’ve come full circle. My fingers and back both ache but my soul feels whole again—or at the very least—patched in the sorest places.
I stand and am startled when my small audience applauds politely. A few gentlemen raise a glass in my direction and I bow before I leave, ducking my head so they don’t see how flushed my cheeks are. I completely forgot they were there.