apocalypse, the answer

20.

                        an emptiness

"this is where the magic happens," i presented an oak upright piano. we were back in my grandfathers library room. in the right state of
mind as well.

I pushed the cover from the keys slowly, just how my grandmother used to tell me. slowly. gently.

"magic huh," he pressed down on one of the keys, blowing the dust from his finger.

"you played. and so, you made magic," i said simply, taking a seat down on the stool.

surprisingly, everything in the house remained the same. though things were dirty and filled with cobwebs and dust, the books were still there. and so was my grandfather's oak upright baldwin spinet acrosonic piano.

though it was small he sat down too. "there's music in the stool," i informed. eyebrows again. i rolled my eyes. i gestured for him to stand and i kneeled down revealing the array of music sheets and old coloring books i had used as a child.

these memories filled an emptiness i had not known could be filled.

he reached out for one, "will you teach me?" he asked. i looked at him a different person. in a fortunate turn of events; i too have fallen.

i smiled, the big kind. showing all of my teeth. "i'd be delighted kind sir," i imitated a british accent.

i outstretched my hand. he dramatically moved backwards, reaching for mine. like michaelangelo. like the creation of adam.

"i'm no God," i gasped, pretending offense. this was the poetry. this was the movie.

"no, no. you're adam," he chuckled. i rolled my eyes and he didn't take my hand, like always he only sat down next to me.

i instead placed my hands on the keys. i did not bother to wipe them. i began to play joe hisaishi.

"how do you do that?" he asked. he had the glimmer of a child in his eyes. i felt the same in mine.

his beauty made me breathless. the sunrise shines through the white curtains, now yellowed from time. i liked this face of his. the one where he had hope. the one where unbeknownst to him that the world was coming to an end.

the one where he looked at me like i was the world. and he was meant to only follow me.

"her?" he called my name. grief stricken, a tear fell down my cheek.

"no, no, no," he said quickly, reaching to fix whatever suddenly shattered in me.

"my grandfather died in this room," i said softly. an involuntary sob came through.

"we don't have to play," he said pulling the piano cover down in a rush.

i grabbed his hand firmly, "slowly," i whispered. he nodded as if to retreat.

there was grief in my eyes. he sank in them. this is the first time he had seen me cry. he pulled the cover down "slowly," his eyes never leaving mine.

i closed my eyes. i danced in my grandmothers tune. slowly is what she said. gently is what she meant.

she was my amber. she was my only warmth.

"i don't want you to feel sad. i-i don't want you to...fuck," he couldn't find the words. he tangled his hands in his hair. i took them out of it. i lowered them to his sides.

gently.

"i can show you how," i wiped my tears quickly. ignoring the grief. i removed the cover slowly. i pressed down on g, d, a, e.

he nodded. he seemed worried, but he didn't let me know. i could see it in his eyes. the tension was molasses, i the honey.

"just follow me," i instructed. "all keys are repeating. just go down here," i didn't touch his hand. he just moved his hands to where I had them before.

an excuse to hold hands.

we played; an excuse to hold hands.

i played, he followed, i led him to not god, not adam, but eve. there was innocence in his eyes. he seemed so clueless to the pain. he seemed taken away with the music we had made.

he took the words from my mouth, "you are my eve and my adam," he said blandly. he sounded like he always did. bland and lifeless.

i stopped playing. our hands met at g, d, a, and then e. he pressed down. he held mine. you couldn't tell them apart, but his hand bared his sisters ring. that was the only difference between us. we became the same.

i looked at him, eyebrows, except they weren't from him, but me. he was fighting back tears and anger. yet his voice was so bland, so bleak.

my face held in much confusion. "what? what are you-"

he repeated. "you are my adam. you are my eve. you are the only life left in me," he said shakily. "and i want to live too," he cried.

"elias," i said struck with empathy. i filled the emptiness in him. i felt it. elias is his name. he is my he. he is the only he that will ever be.

he grabbed me and held onto me desperately. he hugged me tightly. he kissed my face in a million different places, all but my lips. he sat back quickly and held my arms, he studied me. "you're my life," he cried again. "you're all that is."

i was his life. and i was his.

i didn't have any words left.

i didn't need any.

we were astor piazolla: soledad.

this is the beginning of the end.