A Life Foretold

Chapter 11: Wonderfully Free

3011 words.

Chopin once said, "I wish I could throw off my thoughts which poison my happiness, and yet I take a kind pleasure in indulging them." Which is healthier-- which is smarter.

In the practice room, I stayed-- the solitude of the practice room, the simple upright Yamaha, and the dimmed light a shade too dark to see what expression my face carried from the outside. My fingers did as I told them, as I programmed them, hitting every note and memorizing the sensitivity of the instrument, lacing each layer of voicing. The Chopin Ballade in G minor seemed to have a different meaning every time I played it, yet the melancholy sound always remained. Somehow, the piece was captivating. I could play it over and over and over again like an addictive poison. The piece had peaceful moments, invariably to be interrupted by a frantic tragedy, and each time I remembered a different one.

Sometimes I played piano to lose all thoughts; this time I played to find them.

I tried to think of a solution, a solution to everything before all I worked to conserve collapsed, but my mind always turned up blank, reminding me I'm a bystander to it all. I bit my lip. A metallic taste seeped into the crevice of my mouth.

I played the ending of the ballade with power. My right hand cramped at every note. I ignored it and continued. My left hand jumped, and my right-hand thumb pivoted my hand to and from. When I played the final chord, I realized I gave up on trying to find an answer to a solution. The only thing that echoed in my mind was why?

"Holy fuck!"

Startled, I scrambled from my chair.

Ikalgo stood at the entrance of the wide-open practice room, mouth agape. "Are you playing the Chopin Ballade?!"

"Uh," I answered, dumbly.

"I normally dislike Chopin, but Killua, holy shit?! You have to show Bisky!"

Suddenly, an awful feeling turned in my stomach, swirling my organs into a knot. I shook my head, "I learned this myself. I don't want the teacher to know about this."

Ikalgo nodded, "I understand, but Killua, that's amazing. I think it's even performance level."

My eyes widened, and the awful feeling was instantly replaced with happiness and joy.

"Anyway," he put his hands in his pockets and reopened the practice room door, "I'll see you in Masterclass."

I watched the door shut with a click, and got back to playing, now, without solitude. I needed praise. I needed to know I was doing something right.

Something.

"Killua, do you think about the future?" Gon asked. Though it was over the phone, I always loved having Gon's voice so close to my ear.

"All the time," I whispered. I was on my bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling, dimly memorizing every ridge and crack. My feet hid under the blanket, cold air from the fan blotching warm spots on my cheeks.

A long sigh resonated over the static phone. "I've been thinking about it more, lately."

I hummed a response. "Do you think about the past, Gon?"

"All the time."

I smiled.

"I've been thinking where to meet with Killua next." A short pause, "I want you to meet my aunt."

My jaw dropped. His aunt? Weren't we trying to keep everything a secret? No, he must've thought this through.

Gon must've noticed my silent confusion, so he elaborated, "I don't want to keep you a secret like my brother did with Retz, and whenever I think of the future, I think of you!"