Head Down (phanfiction)

4 * Go Outside For A Change

(A/N) YEE! a long(ish) chapter! And finally some excitement!

Long strings of notes, flowing through measures, connected by bridges and put into motion -- resurrected from the pages and brought into life -- all by my thin figure, hunched over the keyboard.

I filled the air with music, like an artist splattering color on a blank canvas, like a writer twisting their thoughts into words--

Dammit! Words! That's what was missing!Like the wide gap where a hockey player's front teeth should be, the absence of lyrics left the song with a major, glaring, flaw.

Of course, little things like this never seemed so significant to anyone else.

"An instrumental piece is just as good as any other song, if you play it with the right feeling in your heart", my piano teacher had always told me when I was young. She loved to say that. She even had that quote written on a whiteboard in her studio. But, sometimes it's just not the truth.

Sometime you just need lyrics to get the full effect, all of the emotion, all of the heartbreak, the joy, the pain, the adventure, the story. Sometimes you really just need a storyteller. Sometimes you really just need words.

And I know God doesn't give with both hands, but why -- why -- couldn't I just have this one more thing? I'd trade almost anything for the ability to sing and write lyrics; my brains, my sight, even my legs.

I slammed my fingers on the keys, too frustrated with my stupid imperfection to continue.

"I think it sounded lovely," Mum's voice rang out from behind me. I looked back and she was standing there in the door way holding a tray of breakfast that I assumed was for me.

"Do you want tea with this?" She offered, parking the tray on my desk.

"Coffee," I said, standing up from the bench. Suddenly remembering my manners (and that this woman literally pushed me out of her) I added, "Please."

Mum was used to my temper. She didn't quite like it, but she knew how to deal with me when it flared up. And, probably most importantly, she knew when to step back when I got too heated.

The trick was in the tears.

See tears on my face? It's safe to comfort me. Even now -- just from that stupid hiccup in my playing -- my eyes were misty.

But back in Sir's office in the band room? No tears, no point in trying to calm me down, no possible good outcome. If I'm not crying, I'm more then mad, just let me be.

Mum knew all this.

She was a good human.

"Love you, sweetie," she cooed, closing the door behind her when she went to go fetch my coffee.

I hummed in response.

My flittering attention mad already found its new home in the house across the street.

The lights weren't on in the room with the Muse poster; I wondered if the neighbor-boy was still asleep. I wondered what he was dreaming of.

I wondered if I would ever know his name.

And, for some reason, a little part of of me wondered if I already knew.

*

Classes went by slowly, but when I finally found myself in the library when sixth period rolled around, I felt oddly excited.

My palms were sweaty, but it was kind of hot that day.

My stomach was churning, but maybe I was just hungry.