Beau sat down at the piano, the bench creaking under his weight. He
started playing the piece he'd written most recently, though he was
still refining some parts. Beau had gotten up earlier then everyone that
Saturday, as he had been doing for the past few months, put the coffee
on and sat down to play. When Haiden came down the stairs, having woken
to the rolling and plinking – like rain on a cement pad – of the piano,
he stood at the bottom step and watched his brother play. Beau's eyes
were closed and his head was tilted to one side, as if he was listening
to the melody, to every piece, every part of what he was playing. His
shoulders rolled with the sounds, his whole body moved to the music.
Haiden yawned and moved into the kitchen to pour a mug of coffee. Beau's playing was like the ocean rolling and foaming around him, or like the sun in the early morning warming him down to his toes. Without adding anything to his coffee Haiden went to stand next to Beau before leaning up against the piano. Beau's hands worked up and down the keys drawing out rolling booms followed by soft echoes. Beau's right hand reached up and over and played the alto keys in a way that sounded like the wind kissing chimes. Haiden thoughtfully drank his coffee, watching the way the muscles in Beau's hands, in between each finger, and in his wrist and up his arms, moved. He watched the way his heart, his soul and feeling went into the music, the story. It wasn't, Haiden observed, just the hands that played the music but his whole body – his arms, and his shoulders. His feet worked up and down, keeping time or pushing the pedal at different intervals. His whole body swayed, his chin nodded, his eyes closed, every last note was heartfelt.
Haiden hid his expression behind his mug because he suddenly felt overwhelmed by the emotion in the song Beau was playing. It was like Beau was admitting some secret about himself. Like maybe how he misses his sister, even still, or maybe it was that he used to cut. Hence the tattoos, though Haiden knew better then that because Beau didn't mind telling people about that. But Haiden hadn't failed to notice how Beau skipped the reason for the cutting when he told people about his tattoos and that was the part about his sister. But – the song could be admitting something of a different secret entirely. It could be – and Haiden grinned at the thought – that Beau liked Annette and wanted to tell someone, or her, and hadn't yet and the playing was a good way to let the secret out, without saying anything. And, of course, the intensity of the chords could be how hard Beau took Irene's miscarriage. He'd fallen so hard Haiden had worried. Beau had spent so many hours at the piano, often getting no more out of it then frustrated banging and plinging, that Haiden knew Beau'd taken it the hardest even if Beau never said so, though not as hard as Irene, understandably.
Beau rolled up his arrangement in a nice crescendo that ended with the memory of the sound still echoing around the room. Beau hesitated a moment before straightening. When he did the bench creaked beneath him. Haiden drained his coffee and went into the kitchen to rinse out his mug.
"I know what you were thinking," Beau called after Haiden without turning. Haiden smiled, just barely.
"Well, I'm right," Haiden replied, setting his mug in the sink, "when there's an emotion to be played into the piece, especially a personal one, the piece sounds a whole lot better." Beau agreed with a grunt but stood up to say,
"Even if you're right, that wasn't what I was talking about." Haiden grinned sheepishly.
"Well, I'm still right, aren't I."
Haiden yawned and moved into the kitchen to pour a mug of coffee. Beau's playing was like the ocean rolling and foaming around him, or like the sun in the early morning warming him down to his toes. Without adding anything to his coffee Haiden went to stand next to Beau before leaning up against the piano. Beau's hands worked up and down the keys drawing out rolling booms followed by soft echoes. Beau's right hand reached up and over and played the alto keys in a way that sounded like the wind kissing chimes. Haiden thoughtfully drank his coffee, watching the way the muscles in Beau's hands, in between each finger, and in his wrist and up his arms, moved. He watched the way his heart, his soul and feeling went into the music, the story. It wasn't, Haiden observed, just the hands that played the music but his whole body – his arms, and his shoulders. His feet worked up and down, keeping time or pushing the pedal at different intervals. His whole body swayed, his chin nodded, his eyes closed, every last note was heartfelt.
Haiden hid his expression behind his mug because he suddenly felt overwhelmed by the emotion in the song Beau was playing. It was like Beau was admitting some secret about himself. Like maybe how he misses his sister, even still, or maybe it was that he used to cut. Hence the tattoos, though Haiden knew better then that because Beau didn't mind telling people about that. But Haiden hadn't failed to notice how Beau skipped the reason for the cutting when he told people about his tattoos and that was the part about his sister. But – the song could be admitting something of a different secret entirely. It could be – and Haiden grinned at the thought – that Beau liked Annette and wanted to tell someone, or her, and hadn't yet and the playing was a good way to let the secret out, without saying anything. And, of course, the intensity of the chords could be how hard Beau took Irene's miscarriage. He'd fallen so hard Haiden had worried. Beau had spent so many hours at the piano, often getting no more out of it then frustrated banging and plinging, that Haiden knew Beau'd taken it the hardest even if Beau never said so, though not as hard as Irene, understandably.
Beau rolled up his arrangement in a nice crescendo that ended with the memory of the sound still echoing around the room. Beau hesitated a moment before straightening. When he did the bench creaked beneath him. Haiden drained his coffee and went into the kitchen to rinse out his mug.
"I know what you were thinking," Beau called after Haiden without turning. Haiden smiled, just barely.
"Well, I'm right," Haiden replied, setting his mug in the sink, "when there's an emotion to be played into the piece, especially a personal one, the piece sounds a whole lot better." Beau agreed with a grunt but stood up to say,
"Even if you're right, that wasn't what I was talking about." Haiden grinned sheepishly.
"Well, I'm still right, aren't I."
