The Fabric of our Souls

Wynn stares at the cold keys of the piano.

It’s Sunday morning and we’re indulging in the coffee Lanston brought us. He sits slouched over on the sofa, looking out the bay windows at the dreary view. The rain hasn’t stopped since early this morning.

A smile coasts my lips as I think about how Wynn kissed me sweetly before falling asleep last night. We didn’t talk much after her admission. We didn’t need to. I was more than happy to have her just curled up in my arms and falling asleep to the horror movie.

She looks so at peace when she sleeps.

Not at all like how she looks now. Her eyes are tormented, her jaw set with a distant wound she refuses to extinguish.

“All right, show me one more time.”

She sighs and places her fingers in position again, perfectly straining her fingers to each key as if she’s been beaten into remembering this posture.

“Wait, stop.” I raise my hands to the keys in the lower section and show her a relaxed position. “Try it like this. Playing should be relaxed and natural. Let the music flow through your soul, through every fiber of your being, and then let your fingers glide over the keys.” I tap on the keys lightly and the music that reverberates from the piano is light and somber.

“Listen to him, Wynn. I can hear your inner demons from how hard you’re hitting the keys. When Liam plays, it tickles my insides.” Lanston grins, leaning over a pillow and throwing back his coffee like he’ll die without it.

Wynn groans and shakes her hands out a few times before placing them back on the keys. Still strained. This might be harder than I thought.

“It’s not as easy for me since my hands aren’t as big as yours. I can’t reach the keys I need.”

My brows pull together as I try to think of a way to help.

“Okay, let’s try this. Play as you normally would and I’ll play a couple octaves lower. Try to match the airiness of the sound and don’t be afraid to let your imagination take over. If you feel like adding a few keys, then do it. If you fuck up, who cares.”

Her light-brown eyes meet mine uncertainly before she nods.

I start playing, and after a verse, she joins in. At first, it’s a bit rough. She’s still pressing the keys too hard and she’s hell-bent on executing each stroke perfectly.

All right, time for a curve ball.

I add a few notes at the end of each chord and her eyes flash at me.

“That’s not—”

“Shh, feel the music, Wynn.” I grin and shut my eyes to let the sound of this beautiful melody take me. “For the Damaged Coda,” what a masterpiece. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I practiced this tune just for this very moment.

She plays in the way she knows for another verse and then something magical happens.

Her chords are an octave higher than she normally plays and she embellishes each verse with some improvisation. The sound is precious and for the first time, I feel like I’m truly hearing her soul song.

My eyes open slowly as my fingers keep up their dance across the keys. The bay windows have raindrops scattered across their panes. Clouds are low and heavy through the forest, the tips of the pine trees just peeking out the tops.

“Holy shit,” Lanston mutters, then I hear him get up from the sofa to stand behind us.

My hands slow and I let them drop into my lap as the song comes to an end. Wynn finishes it out and then looks at me with cheeks so red it makes my heart beat faster.

“There’s our Wynn.” I sweep her pink hair behind her ear, but instead of smiling like I hoped she would, her lips quiver into a frown. Big tears brim in her eyes before she lets them spill over onto the keys.

Lanston shares a concerned look with me but then she murmurs:

“Thank you for helping me remember why I loved playing.”

My fingers curl against my knees uneasily. The itch has been gone since yesterday, and it makes me uncomfortable.

But her weightless smile makes that new discomfort so welcome.