This is a story about silence. But also a story about music and loneliness. It’s a story about serving coffee to strangers, and driving fast with the windows down. There will be a character introduction. She will probably be quiet, and strange in secret. There will be great descriptive passages about comforting, solitary, music practice and freedom rushing past fast with your foot on the accelerator. There will be a great emotive moment, a second of deep pain and loneliness followed by a revelation about the beauty of the mind, or the comfort of musical inspiration. You will try to connect with a character so emotionally distant and confined that you feel frustrated. You will wish that you could shape the story; you will wish you could be the character. You will want the story to end before it started. You might stop reading and get a cup of tea or coffee. Maybe you’ll switch on the television. Perhaps you’ll continue to read, hope that the story ends someplace with closure, somewhere definite, emotive and written in beautiful prose. You will count your steps, repeat words in your head, seek love and reassurance from people who can’t give it to you. You’ll stare at the sky and think about beauty and the house you grew up in. You will feel the end coming closer and the pressure will build up behind your eyes. There will be a moment when it will be hard to swallow, and you will blink rapidly. You will hide in the bathroom with this character. She will stare at you and you will only stare back. You will only be able to stare and she will only cry as her lungs break through the surface of her skin and expand and contract on the outside of her shirt and your heart will pump its way out of its cage and down on to the floor. So she will breathe and you will pump, pump, pump blood out on to the floor for her to sit in and be safe. You'll sit with her in practice rooms while she forgets what comes next and she'll rest her head against the cool glass of the mirror. You'll sit at the piano and stare at your fingers in the black reflection but you won't know how to play and she won't remember the notes. You'll pick up pieces to fit in to a puzzle you’ve never seen and you'll read and read but you won't be able to put together the puzzle and your heart will just keep beating because you've forgotten how to make it stop.
But soon the story will end. It will end with an emotional detachment, with soft piano notes and sounds like trains far off in the distance. It will drift away like a cloud so you can leave the girl in the bathroom and in the practice room driving too fast with the windows down. You can leave and your heart can slow down, crawl back inside you and come to rest where you remember it.
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Points: 816
Reviews: 65