The rum bottle rattled as it settled to a stop on the corner of the baby grand, a single drop of the sweet, dark liquor still tracing the curve of the glass and lingering on the label. Popping the cover up and brushing a hand across the keys, Aisha poured herself onto the bench as the scratch of the record player behind her heralded the coming of the steady beat of a drummer recorded decades ago in a room without much more light than she had now. The starless night outside lay heavy on a bed of twinkling orange streetlights; a stirring reminder that her world had been turned upside-down.
She set to playing before her mind dared intervene. The rum had bought her time against the coming crash, if only by getting her out ahead of it in the vain hope of outrunning the tidal wave of her despair. Lydia was miles over Denver by now and soaring west, never looking back, leaving Aisha alone in the biggest room in this small town with the richest nothing she had ever known. The thick, black night outside only strengthened her fear that the sun had no intention of rising tomorrow, no matter what promises it had made today.
The slow twang of the guitar tickled her ears as the piece slipped out of the intro into the first verse. Sumner had the same quick, measured pluck; never too rough when he played. He was always careful with the strings, not wanting to hurt the instrument, nor offend it by playing it too delicately and robbing it of the chance to play with bold abandon.
As the static on the record mingled with the buzz of the strings, she forced down the illness in her stomach at the thought of never hearing him play again. His were the last kind words she had heard with any sense of sincerity, and she had thrown them back in his face.
The weathered keys of the baby grand sent wave after wave of memory coursing up through her fingertips and spiraling down her arms as the chorus ratcheted up the pace. The smooth ivory was dotted by rough patches where the enamel had started to wear through, tickling her skin as she slipped into the quickened pace of the second verse.
Her body began to sway, at first to the motion of her hands crossing one over the other to manage the complex chorus and soon entirely of its own accord, swimming in an ocean of feeling that had been welling up inside of her for months until tonight, when it came crashing through the levees of her more metered appearance and washed away any hope of going back on the things she had said.
Her right hand danced along the raised keys, her fingers sliding nearly the full length of the key with each touch, savoring the cool sensation as her body began to heat up, in part from the playing and then again from the half-empty bottle of rum resting on one corner of the piano with Jessica's note still tied on a silver cord around the neck. "Congratulations!" it said, in a script more careful and refined than the woman who had written it, "You've made it!"
Alone with her liquor and the wild echoes of the notes rebounding off of every corner of the room, bombarding her from every angle with the shapes of the unspoken words she had never had the guts to sing aloud, Aisha felt truly unmade.
As the chorus wound down to the bridge, her feverish fingers began to hammer the keys with all the precision of a rifleman aiming for the kill. The low notes resonated through the dark wood of the piano frame and sent small ricochets rocketing up her flank until her head went weak from the swirling cocktail of booze, reverb and the sheer exertion of playing with such a reckless will.
Each note was a bell struck in prayer that it might drive away the demons lurking in the shadows of her more sober mind. The city lights spreading out in all directions below the wide windowed wall of the studio lined the stage of her private performance and granted the faceless thousands living below a clear view of a woman desperately pounding on the door of her own prison with every note.
As the climb to the final chorus began, Aisha leaned in close to the keys, her long hair rippling forward and shading her face. As the music began to rise toward its peak, so, too, did she, her neck straightening before her back, leaving her staring with eyes closed into the guts of the piano as the hammers danced with unforgiving force across its strings.
Her feet stomped against the pedals, the toes of her new boots grinding against the wooden slats that led deeper into the guarded underbelly of the beast her hands were unleashing above. Awash in a thousand thoughts all distant and surreal, Aisha leaned back and welcomed the last breathless rush of the song's final notes, trailing off into the light epilogue at its close.
And then, with the last, deep chord still grumbling in the distance, Aisha rolled her foot off the pedal and closed the door on the song at last, still feeling the vibrations in her fingers tingling all the way up her arms. Her body suddenly felt heavy as the dizziness in her head turned to a sharp pounding at her temples only scantly muted by the richness of the drink.
The record behind her started to skip, its rhythmic stutter reminding her to keep breathing as she stared at the bottle on the corner of the piano with all the hatred and longing of a lover wronged. It was over. There were no more notes to play. All she could do now was bundle up her heart and use the broken pieces to write something new.
With a last willful urge, she reached for the bottle to drain what remained, only to spot a second, slender hand already gripping the neck. She watched as the bottle lifted into the air and came to rest on a pair of familiar lips as Kennedy swallowed down the last of her rum, her eyes never leaving Aisha's face. "You're so predictable," the woman chided, setting the bottle back on the corner of the piano without taking her fingers off the neck. "Still using our old alarm code after all these years? I'm almost touched..."
The piano bench landed with a loud clap against the floor as Aisha leapt to her feet, backing away from the woman with an accusing finger already pointed roughly in her direction. "Dammit, Kennedy!" she shouted, the sudden volume startling her, although Kennedy remained unfazed. "You can't just come waltzing in whenever you like!"
"No?" Kennedy lilted, shifting to rest her hip against the side of the baby grand. She made no secret of drinking in the sight of Aisha so near the brink, eyes still red with tears, hair a wild, wavy mass of chaos. "Seems like I waltzed in just in time."
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