She's A Rainbow

6. so i'm just fine inside my shell-shaped mind

Iris's Diary
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journal one
Hi, Heaven. I don't know how to start entries so I guess I'll start by introducing myself. My name is Iris Villanueva, I work as a piano accompanist for musical theatre geeks. Like playing instrumental for their solos and whatnot. I was a piano prodigy when I was younger. I probably can't put pics of my plaques here, but just know that they DO hang on my walls. Anyway, nothing's happening today. Just going to work on a song with this guy I (somewhat) like.|

I check the ticking clock attached to our floral wall. T-Minus: five minutes. My eyes switch back to the Chromebook screen and focus on the blinking cursor. I hover my hands over the keyboard, not knowing what to type next.

Eventually, the door bell rings. I shut the computer and spring away from the stool. I pace to the front door, pausing to let out a huff of air. Then, I pull it open.

And there he is. Tall, handsome boy with square face, jawline, and cheekbones, standing right in front of me. I take a second to admire his beauty, still gripping the doorknob.

He awkwardly waves at me. "You there?"

I rapidly blink, fluttering away the hypnotic mist of his cologne. "Yeah! I zoned out. I didn't get enough sleep last night. Sorry."

"You're good," he replies while stepping inside, remembering to slip off his shoes.

I hopelessly lean against the the doorframe, calming my beating heart, as he drifts towards the piano room.

He goes to a performing arts school in the city. Like most of my clients before him. And every year the seniors have an agent showcase, which we've been preparing for. But every time I remind myself that he's a senior, a tiny part of me cringes enough to question if I fully like him.

It's not bad that he's a senior and I'm a sophomore, I think to myself. He's still seventeen and I'm about to turn sixteen. And I like older guys, anyway!

"So, are you excited for the Gala?" I start.

"YES. I'm so hyped. It'll be an amazing opportunity to get seen." He replies.

"Ah, so what you're saying is that you're ready to start working on the song without the melody holding your hand?" I joke.

"Ah— well," He says, nervously rubbing his hands together.

I giggle. "What's wrong? I thought you were hyped?"

He runs his fingers through his hair. "Can't we cheat? I don't really get why I shouldn't have the melody. No one's ever told me.

I shrug, folding my arms together. "I dunno. I'm just your accompanist. I don't make the rules."

He sneers. "Well, then, I guess my entire future is fucked."

Then...something weird happens. He lingers at me for longer than usual. I immediately tilt my chin, not used to the magnifying attention.

I nervously laugh before saying, "What's up?"

"How are you, Iris?" I notice how his voice is so calm, so smooth, when saying that. Completely comfortable.

My head perks up, giving him my full, deserving attention again. "I'm okay."

"Are your parents still giving you a hard time?"

"Of course. I'm a walking Asian stereotype," I admit, half-joking.

"Nah" he replies, no trace of hesitation.

I cock my head. "But I AM, though. Immigrant parents in an upper-class household with their daughter who plays piano."

"Nobody's a stereotype," he mutters, adorably. "At least, I like to think so."

"I'm glad that you think so," I reply, running a hand down my face. I don't even know why I'm sinking into this topic further. "But I can't help but feel like I'm such a cliche."

Then, I pointed to a cluster of framed-pictures sitting at the top of our brick fireplace. He strolls to take a look at our personal museum.

"You see that? Those were my parents back in the Philippines. They were always telling me how hard it was for them to live in the provinces in the eighties. My mom had to walk a few miles everyday to her private school."

"That's incredible." He replies.

"Mhm. But they always tell me those stories to guilt me. They saw classical instruments as a way to enter the world of the rich. So on the surface I know why I'm playing piano, but I don't know why I'm playing, you know?"

"Well, you play because you love it." He says.

"But do I really love it? Or was I conditioned to love it? That's the thing." I explain.

"How do you feel when you play, not for anyone you've worked with, but when you play on your own?" He asks.

"I feel...I dunno. Piano is really all I know. Piano is what I'm comfortable with. But I look at you, and all those triple-threat kids I've worked for in the past, and I'm jealous. I want to be that. I want to sustain that last note with ease. I want to do that tap number. I want to have trouble remembering my lines for a long monologue, and then nailing it. But what if it's too late to learn?" I admit.

He steps closer to me. "Hey, it's never too late. You don't have to be trapped here."

A warmness spreads across my chest. I feel moist sweat oozing from my skin.

"Here, actually, I'll teach you how to dance so you can become a double threat!" He says.

"What?" I reply.

He pulls out his phone and drags his thumb across the clear screen. Then, he rests it against the brick mantle as a familiar, old-timey song purrs on the speaker.

"Come here," he says, pulling my waist towards his.

I giggle. "What are you doing? And why do I know that song?"

"It's called "It's Been A Long, Long Time". It was in Avengers: Endgame. Anyway, you're going to the Gala, you're gonna have to learn how to dance something!"

My eyebrow arches. "Is there usually a big dance at the end? My past clients have never told me about that."

He slips his hand in between mine. "Maybe this year there could be."

We stand in the middle of the room together, fingers locked. He tells me to look down at my feet and step back when he steps forward, and vice versa. And then just...sway.

"You know," he starts, looking down at me, "I really like that we can talk about deep stuff. I don't have these conversations often."

I gaze up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. I feel like everyone sees me as this easy-going guy with an empty head and they baby me in a way. But I can offer just as good advice if they took me more seriously."

I nuzzle my head in his chest. "I take you seriously. I always have."

He rests his chin at the top of my head, unknowingly pressing a button in my brain to form the biggest, ear-to-ear smile.

"Thank you for that," he says softly.

❤️🧡💛💚💙

journal one (UPDATE)
Hi, Heaven. It turns out I DO have something to talk about! The guy just went from the "somewhat" status to the "absolutely" status. Holy shit. I like him.|