My English teacher gave me this big grammar book. Inside it (sorta) teaches us how to write better and 'paint' a visual picture inside our reader's head.

So, this is a short story that I whipped up. It needs some editing, but otherwise I think it's fine. Please, I don't care about grammar mistakes. I'll find those on my own. I have a few questions that I'd like you to answer though.

1) Are the characters credible? Do they need some fleshing out?

2) Do you understand the main plot?

3) Do you think I need to add/subtract some descriptions?

4) Do you feel that I am lacking something? If yes, what?

Thanks for taking the time to read Pianissimo.

*NOTE: This is set in the 1930's. I don't know how to find a way to incorporate the year in the story... if you know how, please, give me some advice!

**EDIT: I have went through and edited all that the first three critiquers asked for. I have made the fight a bit longer, and the concerto a bit longer also. So, if you could come back and say if something needs to change, please do so. Thank you.

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Pianissimo

There was a letter placed on the grand piano. The note, wrinkled from many openings, was addressed to a young man sitting at the bench.

Raymond Simmons stared at the white and black keys, distraught. His fingers brushed along the soft edge of the piano while his face hung limply, pale and cold.

The letter had but only one paragraph penned. Raymond could almost recite it, word for word.

Ray,

I am deeply sorry. I will not be able to attend tonight’s performance. In fact, I will not be attending any performances hereafter. I have found someone else. He has touched my heart and I am devoted to him. I apologize for being so frank, but dear, Peter has asked for my hand in marriage. It was quite sudden, but buried in my heart I knew that I was to be with him. I apologize again.

Lydia

Raymond’s eyes rose to the music on the piano. The notes were just notes now. There was no meaning behind them; no emotion anymore. They were just notes. No music could come from them.

A month ago, those notes had rang with excitement. A month ago, they had been loud and clear, playing a full orchestra with one piano. A month ago, the music had swelled with a crescendo and ended with the chord that made her squeal.

Now all that was left were notes.

Ray slowly slid his hands into the grooves of the keys. He felt the familiar vibrations of the strings as his hands glided over them. The notes rang dully, echoing the loss of the past.

He gradually sped up, loosing the original tempo. The notes were cold and hard, and reverberated off of the walls. The sound traveled back to Ray’s ears but they were only notes.

No music.

Suddenly, without any further knowledge, Raymond collapsed on the piano. There was a loud bang of tones, everything colliding into a jumbled mess. Then, he realized, that was what his life was. A huge jumbled mess. Nothing was organized. Nothing made any sense. He curled up, planting his face into his suit coat. He could feel the tears slowly forcing their way through his eyes.

She had been his. She had loved him and he loved her. What had happened?

He distantly remembered those days when he had taken her ice-skating in the winter. The rink was frozen, yet alive with music. He faintly remembered her bright red lips smiling and laughing as he slipped on the ice. He remembered not too long ago when they had driven to the jazz pub down in Chicago. He remembered the one-too-many drinks Lydia had swallowed. The ragtime music in the pub had swirled and swelled and danced through the night. He remembered driving back to Cicero. She was asleep on his shoulder.

She had been there with him all of that time. She had been there with him through thick and thin, through clouds and sun, through rain and wind, through –

“Mr. Simmons?”

A voice, calm and deep, interrupted Ray’s thoughts. He slowly lifted his head off the grand piano.

It was Marley Hugo, the stage director. He was thin, probably in his sixties and wore a pinstripe suit. His tie was flashy, red and gold combined to make a dazzling effect. But then again, Ray knew, Hugo was a dazzling man. After everything he had done for him – given him an act at Concerto Hall, promoted his music – he was extremely well connected.

“It’s time,” Hugo continued and took off his hat. He bowed and replaced it, shutting the door. Raymond’s eyes slowly wandered back to the musicless notes and bit his lip.

Raymond, after many frustrating hours, had titled this piece Lydia, Sweet Child of Heaven. She had loved him endearingly for naming his song after her. But she wouldn’t be there to hear it. She never would.

How could he play a piano concerto when his heart was shattered? How could he manage to express his love, devotion and attachment to a woman who didn’t return the favor? It was impossible, just like those notes were.

It’s impossible to play from the heart if you don’t have one…

Raymond hesitated as he stood up. Should he take the music? If he did, the audience wouldn’t understand the underlying message. They wouldn’t understand a song from the heart. Not if he had a shattered one.

Sighing, he reached out and grasped it in his left hand and slid out from the bench. It rocked on the back two legs and crashed to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the empty practice chamber.

Ray grimaced as he knelt down to retrieve the bench. He pulled it upright and stepped away.

The letter was still resting on the piano. He eyed in conspicuously. Why did she write that? She knew that it would tear him down. And on the night of his first performance!

His bottom lip trembled. Raymond reached out and took the letter with his right hand. He read it one last time, and then tore it into shreds. On his way out the door, he tossed the waste on the floor.

*

“Give a round of applause for Mr. Raymond Simmons!” Hugo cried out in front of the large audience. He was smiling brightly – falsely, it seemed – as Ray came out from the left side of the stage.

Raymond forced out a weak grin and waved to the crowd. As the deafening applause settled into the empty vast of nothingness, he sat down at the concert piano. He shook his arms up in the air and the arms of the suit coat fell down. Then he placed his hands on the keys.

Raymond started to play.

The spectators listened eagerly, expecting a heartfelt experience. They wanted to hear the story of love, of Lydia and of him.

It started pianissimo. It was just a faint whisper until the melody swept through. The people smiled calmly and sat back in their seats as Ray unfurled his masterpiece. Pianissimo delicately evolved into a mezzo forte, and it brought tranquility over the audience. The story told of a man falling in love with a beautiful woman; one who defied all description. Raymond made peaceful facial expressions and played lightly, using the tips of his fingers. They glided over the keys, tripping and falling over one another.

The notes were played smoothly, but not smoothly enough. Raymond struggled to keep a decent tempo. He began sweating at the brow as the spotlight flickered on. Now the story was the proposal; when Raymond had asked Lydia’s hand for marriage. He remembered distinctly every word that he had spoken that night.

“Lydia?”

“Yes?”

“My dear, I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yes? I’ll do anything for you. You name it. I’ll do it.”

“Will you be my bride?”

There was a long pause as Lydia gaped at him. Her mouth hung open slightly and her eyes darted back and forth between his.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Yes, I will, Raymond!”

She had flung his arms around him and they embraced for a good, long while.

Raymond bit his tongue. He was messing up the notes! Come on! Get it right! He thought about whom the song was dedicated to. He thought about how she had abandoned him.

Give ‘em what they deserve.

Raymond suddenly lifted his hands from the keys on the piano. The audience quickly gasped, not expecting the sudden silence.

The pianist held his hands up to his eye level. There was one last chord. One last chord that would send shivers up everyone’s spines. One more chord and Lydia, Sweet Child of Heaven would be complete.

And then she walked through the back door. Raymond heard it open and close quickly. He glanced into the audience and he could faintly make out a woman in a stunning red dress. Beads dangled from her slender arm and her long, raven hair hung down to her waist.

No… no, it couldn’t!

It wasn’t. It wasn’t her. He had gotten his hopes up so high and it crashed around his ears like a wounded sheep.

At last, his hands fell down to the keys and he played, trusting himself.

The audience gasped, for the chord sounded atrocious! Raymond bit his tongue and glanced at the keys. An A major chord. That wasn’t correct. He slowly lowered his third finger so the C sharp descended to C natural. The chord still wasn’t right. The C sharp had horribly ruined the ending.

He heard an angry cry from the audience and one man shouted, “Hey, there! That’s not right!”

Raymond’s gut twisted and churned. His fingers fell limp and his head hung again. He had messed it up. He had ruined the entire piece.

Hugo ran out onto the stage and help up his hands. The spectators slowly silenced and the old man began applauding. Most of the audience followed suit, but there were a few displeased customers. As the clapping grew louder, Hugo turned to Ray frowned.

“It’s fine, kid. You’ll do it next time.”

*

Raymond swore loudly as he slammed the door shut. He had entered back into the practice chamber. The lights were off, giving the room a feel of emptiness. After all, the only object in there was a piano.

He switched on the lights and saw two figures standing in the middle of the room: a man and a lady.

The lady was dressed in a white, modest dress that flowed down to her ankles. Her black hair was tied in a bun, and her face was utterly beautiful.

The man stood behind her. He was dressed in a suit coat with a top hat. His was perfectly clean-shaven and had a devilish eye that seemed to reflect his personality.

“Lydia!” Raymond cried. He was horror struck. Why would she show her face here? After all she had done to him!

“Raymond, that song was beautiful,” she replied, seemingly completely oblivious to what Raymond had just said.

“Lydia, how dare you come here with that… that… fiend!” Raymond yelled. He hurled himself, fists raised, at the man but Lydia screamed, “No! Stop it!”

Raymond and Lydia collided, and she was sent flying to the ground. Her head made a sickening thud as she landed.

“Lydia!” Peter, the man, muttered, and he bent down to help her up. “Are you alright? I told you that he was an idiot. Look at him! He’s a complete fool! Let’s go.”

“Hold it!” Raymond commanded. Lydia looked fearfully into his eyes. Those blue gems of hers darted back and forth between his cold, gray ones.

“What to you want?” Peter asked hotly. He put his arm between Raymond and Lydia.

“What are you doing here?” Raymond demanded.

“I – uh, we – I wanted to come and see your concert before we leave Cicero.”

Raymond’s heart dropped – if even possible – further. His face turned cold and his fingers began to tremble. “You are leaving?”

“It’s none of your business! Now, come on, Lydia. We’re going. Say goodbye to your honey,” Peter said and grabbed Lydia’s arm. He pulled her up from the ground and back onto her feet. She muttered something under her breath – a curse, more likely than not.

“Peter –” she began.

“Nuh uh! We are leavin’! Come on.” He started to drag her by her arm again she smacked him across his cheek.

“Wait! I said wait!” she cried.

“Let her stay!” Raymond bellowed. “Leave her alone, or I swear to God that I’ll hunt you down and… and…”

“Raymond! Please! Peter, I just need to have a quick word with him. Please. Just another moment. And then we’ll leave.”

Peter glared at her, but turned around and walked to the door, tapping his foot impatiently. His scowl did not lessen up.

“Lydia!” Raymond whispered fiercely, “Why have you come back? You filthy hypocrite!”

Lydia gasped in surprise. “Raymond! I came back to tell you how sorry I was. But now… now I don’t think I can.” She turned around to leave, but Raymond, his fingers digging into her arm, spun her back to face him.

“You deserted me! You left me after we were engaged! How could you?” Raymond could feel the stinging tears crawling, desperately, out of his eyes.

Lydia whispered in an unusually low tone, “This is not my choice. He has forced me. Please, you have to understand. There is nothing I can do. I just wanted to come and tell you goodbye.” She turned around again and started walking back to Peter.

“Lydia!” Raymond shouted, his eyes larger than his fists, “What do you mean?”

“I mean leave me alone!” Even through her harsh words, Raymond could sense a hint of desperation. Peter hurriedly grabbed her arm and whispered, “What did you tell him?”

She was pulled out of the practice chamber and into the grand entrance, where the audience were filing out.

It struck Raymond odd that she would have come here in the first place. After leaving that horrid note… how could she? And then he had hurt her – sprained her ankle, maybe – and Peter had dragged her off…

What had happened to his life? Why had she left? Wasn’t he good enough for her?

Raymond slowly made his way towards the grand piano again and sat down. Lydia, Sweet Child of Heaven was placed on the stand. No, he thought. She’s not going to ruin my musical career. I’m going to forget. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Forgetting… it’s an impossible task.

He took his piano piece in his hand and tore it, shredding it into tiny pieces. I’m going to start anew.