Remember Autumn

Unrest

WHEN Michael woke up, the first thing he noticed was the empty space on the wall on his side of the room. One of his paintings was missing. What was it of? Michael tried to remember. He had so many paintings.

The Eiffel Tower in Paris. That was it. The tower was set in front of a waning sun and the first stars of the night had already appeared. But that wasn't what he liked best in his painting. It was the people. He had painted a young man walking away from a bench in a park. In front of the bench was a bouquet of roses left on the ground. The rose petals were still fresh and fragrant but scattered and driven by the wind. There was also a couple walking towards a fountain of water springing up and flowing down to a bowl of a hundred coins.

Too much drama, Michael thought. Like his life had been in the days previous. In a way, Michael was feeling better now. He wanted to keep himself that way, just for a while. So he forgot about the painting. He had dozens of others.

"Michael, you up?" his mother called on the other side of the door.

"Yep," he answered and looked at the clock on his desk. He had overslept. At least sleep had done the trick somehow. He felt better.

"I'll just pick up a few things from the grocery store, okay? The fridge is getting empty," said his mother.

"You want me to drive you to the store?" Michael offered as he yawned and stretched his arms.

"No, I'm fine," said his mother, the sound of her footsteps fading as she went downstairs. "I won't be long. Rest yourself well."

"Okay," he said. Boy, didn't he have enough rest. There was nothing to do, though. He wasn't in a hurry to go back to work aside from the fact that he had planned a week of absence from work for the homecoming.

Wait. Don't even think about it. It never happened. But what could he do to pass the time and forget about what happened just two days ago?

Read? His mind ached instantly. No, at least not today. Write? Oh, that would make him too emotional. Paint? Too many items to prepare. Play an instrument, perhaps. The keyboard, so he wouldn't have to lift anything. Boy, was he getting lazy.

What should I play? Michael thought as he sat on the keyboard bench and turned the keyboard on. What about something to cheer Andre up when he gets home? That would be great.

The Best Day of My Life. He'd play that for Andre. That would give him a good laugh, considering he didn't seem to have any good days. Perfect. He'd sing for Andre, too, like he used to before he started working earlier that year.

He browsed through his clearbooks of sheets music and found the piece. As he played the introduction, he smiled. How he missed playing the piano. It was like being reunited with a long-lost friend by a campfire and catching up on old times. As he sang through the rest of the song, he felt fuzzy and warm.

His phone rang. Who could it be this early? He thought, Hang on. It isn't early anymore. He stopped playing and reached for his phone.

"Hello?" he said.

It was Richard's father. Great.

When the call ended, he put down the clearbook he had been using and looked through the others. He grunted. Just when he thought he could escape the past for a while. However, he had to do his best. He needed to play the perfect song.

When he found it, he immediately started practicing. He played the keyboard excellently but as he sang along, his throat became dry.

He was to sing at Richard's funeral.