Those Keys, mon chere
By: Pat Adams
3 November 1998
"With fingers on ivory you played my heart a song, mon chere." I said to her. "Did you know that?"
She seemed lost, confusion masking her face. "What do you mean?"
"Those notes you just played touched me, mon chere, in ways you can not imagine."
"How so?"
"I love you," I confided.
She hit two lower keys at the same time, discordant notes ringing out and echoing, telling me her emotions as the color drained from her face. "You can't mean that. You don't know what you're saying," she stammered.
"Oh, but I do, mon chere," I answered.
"No!" she said, denying my love. She slammed the cover of the piano keyboard down, making a horrible thunder, which deafened me for a second, and made my heart skip a beat in fear. Maybe she didn't love me after all. She stood up. "No," she repeated, quieter this time, then turned around and walked out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, as her heart had shut to me a few moments earlier.
"Now I've ruined it," I thought, musing on the weight I now felt in my heart. She had played such beautiful music, but now she created nothing but painful discord. "Why did I say something?" I lamented, realizing my expression of love had created a wall between us, and things would never be the same. Before I could entertain fantasies of running my fingers through her dark blonde hair, a color almost brown, like the yellow autumn leaves right before they turn brown, but now such fantasies would be too unreal, as I know I will never have such an opportunity.
"Better to lose at love then never to love at all," I lied to myself, knowing all the time I was lying. I contemplated the error of my loving ways as a candle dripped black wax onto the piano.
For a long time I sat there wondering how I could have done things differently. But I did not do things different, so I let my thoughts on the matter slide into oblivion.
I got up, lit a cigarette in the flame of the candle, then walked out. As the door slammed behind me, the candle fell over, lighting the piano on fire. I would have loved to see those white ivory keys blacken and bubble.
"Oh mon chere, burn you in effigy, those keys that caused such pain.
She seemed lost, confusion masking her face. "What do you mean?"
"Those notes you just played touched me, mon chere, in ways you can not imagine."
"How so?"
"I love you," I confided.
She hit two lower keys at the same time, discordant notes ringing out and echoing, telling me her emotions as the color drained from her face. "You can't mean that. You don't know what you're saying," she stammered.
"Oh, but I do, mon chere," I answered.
"No!" she said, denying my love. She slammed the cover of the piano keyboard down, making a horrible thunder, which deafened me for a second, and made my heart skip a beat in fear. Maybe she didn't love me after all. She stood up. "No," she repeated, quieter this time, then turned around and walked out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, as her heart had shut to me a few moments earlier.
"Now I've ruined it," I thought, musing on the weight I now felt in my heart. She had played such beautiful music, but now she created nothing but painful discord. "Why did I say something?" I lamented, realizing my expression of love had created a wall between us, and things would never be the same. Before I could entertain fantasies of running my fingers through her dark blonde hair, a color almost brown, like the yellow autumn leaves right before they turn brown, but now such fantasies would be too unreal, as I know I will never have such an opportunity.
"Better to lose at love then never to love at all," I lied to myself, knowing all the time I was lying. I contemplated the error of my loving ways as a candle dripped black wax onto the piano.
For a long time I sat there wondering how I could have done things differently. But I did not do things different, so I let my thoughts on the matter slide into oblivion.
I got up, lit a cigarette in the flame of the candle, then walked out. As the door slammed behind me, the candle fell over, lighting the piano on fire. I would have loved to see those white ivory keys blacken and bubble.
"Oh mon chere, burn you in effigy, those keys that caused such pain.
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