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I was too nervous and shaky to play anything worth listening to but it gradually helped me distract myself from the insistent howling from downstairs. Soon enough, I had enough sense in me to play a tune and relaxed enough to play somewhat decently.
The only thing that mattered at the moment was creating something that I could drown myself in and escape to, even if it was only for a second or two. I played until my fingers started to become sore and blister…I hadn’t played in such a long time. I groaned and stopped my playing to only realize I wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER 25
Josh smiled slightly from the doorway, “I said hi, you didn’t notice…”
My face flushed and I looked quickly around. No one else was with him, “Oh, sorry…I’m good at drowning things out.”
“I didn’t know you played,” he acknowledged and came further in, taking a seat at the piano.
“I don’t. Well, I do, but I can’t read notes or anything,” I shrugged.
“It’s not reading notes which make you talented,” he explained and I resisted rolling my eyes at the way he talked.
“Well, do you play?” I asked, “Or are you preaching to the choir?”
He chuckled and turned in the piano seat so his back was to me and he angled so he could raise an eyebrow at me, “Guitar? No, I don’t play that but I do play piano.”
“Oh, really?” I asked.
He smirked and said nothing, just turned away from me and began to play.
He could play. And it made me remarkably ashamed that he listened to me strum a few chords clumsily on my guitar. The way he played seemed effortless but the different ranges of notes and chords he played told me otherwise. It began with a spunky jazz undertone, playing with the sharps and flats of notes as the tempo only became more hasty but never lost its appeal. The spunky song slowed to something soft and sweet with a transition that I couldn’t pin and I sat there, listening and flabbergasted.
I couldn’t resist sitting still much longer and placed my guitar down and took a seat next to him to watch his hands and fingers…and then it didn’t seem so simple anymore.
He ceased to play with a quiet scaled and frowned, “Sorry, I haven’t played in a while.”
I should have hit him. “Are you kidding? That was….and you listened to me?! Oh gosh…,” a segment of me was mortified while the other was flustered.
He laughed again as if I were being ridiculous, “Dear Erin, I’ve been playing for many, many years. Probably longer than you’ve been alive. And you play excellently,” he said.
“Probably longer than I’ve…oh darn it, everyone here is like a billion years older than me, aren’t they?” I scoffed, quickly dismissing his compliment because they always seemed so sincere. I never knew how to respond and “Thank you” was getting old.
He shook his head with a charmed smile, “A billion years is…an overstatement for sure.”
“Sorry, my mistake. A million then,” I sighed and he grinned at the piano keys. Another time, it was silent and I leaned forward onto my elbow and the higher keys screamed in protest making me pitch to my feet and catch on the bench, which sent me tumbling backwards with flailing limbs and hair.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl with the Red Hood
Romans"The wolves had shared many very special and cherished memories with the village people and my family. They watched us grow up. They watched us take our first steps. They watched us learn out first words and leave for school our first day. They watc...
