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H E R
It wasn't long before the cumulonimbus clouds wrung themselves out and left us almost completely soaked. We made camp at the first form of shelter we could find, an abandoned cabin down a dirt road. It had to have been some rich folks weekend hiking lodge where they'd come down and enjoy the wilderness.
The cabin was strangely Walker-less yet Michonne and Rick insisted on searching the perimeter 'just in case' as the rain began to calm and Daryl left with his cross bow and hardly any words but I'm assuming it was to hunt.
That left Carl and I alone in the threshold. He didn't even glance at me before taking the stairs two at a time.
After the short period of time he had let himself be held the other night, he had made it clear that he wanted space, silence.
I figured it was best to leave him be, I had bothered him enough as it is. So after searching the stocked up bookshelf, I settled on the couch with To Kill A Mockingbird.
I was barely three pages in before the Janssen piano caught my attention. After taking a quick glance around and then realizing nobody was in the general area of the great room, I dog-earred the book and set it aside.
I took quiet steps towards the piano, I figured it'd been awhile but years of practice were woven into the crevasses of my memory. I pulled out the bench and took a seat, running my fingers across the dusty keys, and an inundation of memories surged over me like a high tide, invoking an unexpected smile—the first genuine one I had experienced in what felt like an eternity.
It had been so very long since I had heard music.
As I played a few chords, the notes resonated through the air, delicate and haunting. In that moment, the decrepit cabin in the forest seemed to dissolve around me. I was transported back to my archetypal suburban family home, surrounded by the familiar comforts of that place. The echoes of a bygone era enveloped me in a bittersweet embrace, each note a tender memento of a world that once was, a world imbued with warmth and love.
I could just catch the lingering scent of my mother's perfume, which sank itself into the fabric of everything she touched, leaving her lovely fragrance in its wake. The sound of my father bustling about in the kitchen, the sizzle of the cooktop as he prepared our cherished Saturday morning breakfast.
Things I took for granted. Things that were always so simple.
My fingers suddenly broke out against the ebony and ivory keys, Für Elise, the notes came to me like there was nothing between me and that piano.
