My nerves are out of control. My mind is running marathons and my fingers twitch nervously. I scold and remind myself that tonight is about him. Him and his silver trumpet, him with the auburn curls and still-water eyes. My purpose here today is to make him shine. It is my duty as his accompanist to make his solo shine as brightly as he does. I hear the stagehands click on the spotlights. They glow ominously from underneath the curtains. I hear him eagerly click his keys in anticipation. The curtain rises, temporarily blinding me with the bright lights. His curls bounce as he gives me a curt nod. My fingers press into the cool keys of the piano. The light disjointed sound of jazz chords in irregular time echo through the crowded room. Finally, the warm buttery sound of his muted trumpet starts. They create a flowing smooth melody over top over odd sounding chords. His brilliance shines brighter than I have ever seen as he plays his heart out.
I smile to myself as the song progresses. The sounds of our instruments intertwine in the most lovely of ways. I steal glances at the back of his head and my smile grows bigger. My nerves had ceased to exist as I am caught in the music. Nothing outside this existed. All I hear is our intertwined sounds; it is if my mind had left all previous thoughts behind. It is just he and I, no one else to interfere, little brothers, girlfriends, parents, or teachers. It is our most intimate relationship that could ever happen between us. He is my soloist and I was his accompanist. My keyboard and his trumpet.
In real life, it was a twisted romance in my head. A one sided-relationship. Only here, this is where we came together. This is our relationship. Outside of this we are passerby friends. I am someone to talk to, someone that would listen, someone who did not judge, the girl next door. He is an idol, a rock-star, a Beatles fanatic, a true musician. I know every detail about him because he told me. He knows nothing about me because he never asked. Here on stage was the relationship that would never be, my living fantasy. I reveled in this time together, knowing there never be anything like this between us that didn’t involve our instruments.
Suddenly, I notice that our tempo slows as the song comes to a close. His last note flows like silk as once again my chords ring through the auditorium. My last chord’s sound starts to die off only to be replaced by the sound of applause. A wave of clapping and whistling over come whatever silence there may have been at the end. He bows several times, his smile is wide and triumphant, his eyes shimmering and brimming with joy. He gives a broad gesture towards me. I smile shyly and wave to the audience. He gestures to me again, a much smaller gesture telling my to get up. He mouths “Come up here.” I stumble off the piano bench, trip, and fall face first onto the floor of the stage. Embarrassment rushes over me, the audience roars with laughter. I curse the heels that I had worn that day and wish I had worn a more sensible shoe.
To my surprise, I look up to see a hand and a smiling face. As I reach for his hand my face turns a bright shade of scarlet and my heart skips a beat. His hand is softer than expected. His fingertips are calloused from playing guitar but his palm is smooth and warm. His hands are not that much bigger than mine. I think that our hand fit perfectly together as he lifts me up. Once I am standing stably, he lifts my hand over my head and brings us down to a bow. Our hair flops over our faces as we repeat the process. When we stand up after the final bow, I look over at him. His hair looks as though he had just gotten out of bed a minute ago. We walk together off stage, with our hand still grasped together. A few auburn locks fall impishly over his eyes. I giggle to myself and then brush them out of his eyes. I suddenly retract my hands and advert my eyes to the ground as if there was something entirely more interesting there. A second wave of embarrassment washes over me.
“Way to go out with a bang? Huh?” he says unaffected. I peak at him through my bangs. “Yeah. It’s been a crazy eight years together.” I utter quietly.
“Thanks for accompanying me. Good job,” he compliments me.
“You did a great job too. You sounded awesome….”I start to ramble about his performance, words of praise falling out of my mouth. Suddenly, I hear her voice calling his name. My heart falls as I see him perk up to her voice. Just as he turns to leave, I call out his name. He pauses to look at me.
“Hey…. I... I l-l-l…. I’ll see you tomorrow... you know… at graduation practice.” I say dejectedly and force a smile. He gives me a wave and head out the door. My heart breaks into thousands of pieces. To me it sounds like glass shattering, but I am unwilling to pick them up to put them back together. I know that my confession of my feelings will only trouble him. I know he does not feel the same about me. He is with someone else and is happy and content with his life. I have no right to throw a spanner in the works of his happiness. I will bear my own heavy heart, bitter jealousy and tears for seeing his smile is enough for me.
