may shatter on impact (tronnor)

10. Piano Notes & Mistaken Names

"Troye M - Sivan?"

I wince as she almost says 'Mellet', my heart seeming to stop beating for the second before she corrects herself.

"H-here."

I glance around quickly, but no one seems to have noticed - they're all too busy with the smooth glide of graphite pencil on plastic desks and the shuffling of homework left undone.

"Emi Moffat?"

"Here."

No one was paying attention to me.

Thank goodness.

I tensed as attendance was over, waiting for the bell to ring and shake my bones and rattle my mind so I couldn't focus in Spanish.

The bell rang, everyone jumping out of their seats, grabbing hands and grabbing backpacks and running to first period. I jumped up too, but not for the same reasons they did. But I grabbed my backpack and followed the others out into the hallway anyways. Just as normal as anyone else.

First period brought music lessons - which meant a teacher who didn't care, students who just wanted the A, and broken musical instruments.

"Alright, guys," Mr. Jade said in a monotone voice that screamed about how much he didn't care about what went on in class. "Just keep working on the project I assigned you yesterday. Full length song with original lyrics, original melody, etc. You can work with partners or alone and you have the rest of the year, so take your time." He sighed. "Practice rooms are open, and so is the stage."

He sat down at his desk, picking up a magazine and running a bony finger through the last remaining strands of hair on his shiny bald head.

I grabbed my backpack and headed across the carpeted room to one of the practice ones with a grand piano in relatively okay condition. The other students started their own conversations all bubbling over each other and filling the room with too much sound to get anything done. Not that any of them were actually working or even attempting to look like they were.

The music elective was generally for kids interested in songwriting and performing, only there were so few of us that kids who just wanted an A joined too. Since none of them knew what they were doing, we had the school year to write a song and that was the only assignment that was done here.

Well I wasn't exactly complaining, I could work on songs alone, in a quiet soundproof room and panic about simple things alone.

I shut the door behind me, setting my backpack down and sitting on the stool in front of the grand piano. I sighed at the broken key but began to play a song I had been working on before.

I swallow. Forget the noise and just play the song.

Little black music notes float above the scale, translating to the piano keys in a perfect rhythm as I sing, "Summer after high school, when we first met...We make out in your Mustang to Radiohead...And on my eighteenth birthday, we got mat-ching tattoos."

My voice seems to disappear into the music creating a sound better than silence, better than safety.

Safe.

I'm safe.

"Steal your parents' liquor and climb to the roof, talk about our futures like we had a clue..."

I pause, skipping a note on the piano and remembering, no please -

"Never planned that one day, I'd be losing y - "

I can't.

I stand up, the stool flying backwards into the wall with a bang.

I can't -

My heart is racing, too fast, too loud, stop, stop, stop -

It's not safe, I shouldn't have spoken, I should've done something -

I should've stopped him.

It's over.

It's all over.

I -

"You're really good, you know," someone says.

I look up, shaking hands and watering eyes and crumpled clothing and ripped sheet music and all to see Connor.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have - "

"I-it's f-fine."

He stands up from his position leaning on the door frame and strides over to the stool and pushes it back to the piano. "Are you alright?"

I don't answer, and he looks up at me, eyes full of worry.

Worry.

But no fear.

He's not scared of me.

He's not scared for me.

He's just....worried.

"Come sit down," he says softly, patting the stool to the right of him. I follow his instructions, placing the sheets of music, sheets of safety, of black and white notes and simple instructions onto the stand. "Can you teach me how to play this one?"

I open my mouth, struggling to say something, struggling for breath, oh God, he -

"S-sure."

I'm stuck in an endless loop of music notes and syllabuses and classrooms of people who don't care and children crying and dark hallways and a classroom of people I don't know.

"...Here," I tell Connor, placing his hands on the right keys. "T-the first....part is s-simple, just..." I press down on the right keys with his fingers until he has the motion right, and smiles as he plays the first few seconds on his own. I almost smile with him, forgetting he has brown hair and green eyes and doesn't have glasses.

I move his fingers with mine, pressing down on the next part and beginning to sing. "Summer after high school, when we first met...We make out in your Mustang to Radiohead...And on my eighteenth birthday, we got mat-ching tattoos."

He's smiling even more now, playing the part almost on his own. 

"Steal your parents' liquor and climb to the roof, talk about our futures like we had a clue..."

I chuckle softly as he misses a part, and move his finger to the right key. "Close, Ty. It's - "

My heart skips a beat and all the careful precautions and burned photographs and the pretense of safety and normalcy is shattered, oh God what have I done?