KATE HAS BARBIE DOLL EYELASHES LONG AND THICK. THEY SLANT DOWNWARDS SO BEAUTIFULLY. KATE ISN'T GOOD AT MATH OR ENGLISH; THESE THINGS FRUSTRATE HER. MOST THINGS DO. KATE HAS A BABY GRAND PIANO IT IS WHITE AND PURE AND INNOCENT LIKE SNOW. WHEN KATE SITS IN FRONT OF HER PIANO, IT IS LIKE WAITING FOR RAIN. IT IS THE SILENCE BEFORE AN EXPLOSION, A PREGNANT PAUSE. IT IS A HUSHED ROOM, SILENT AND EXPECTANT. IT GREATS HER WITH A PURR AS SHE CARESSES IT WITH HER EYES. HER FINGERS SCUTTLE AND SLIDE ALONG THE KEYS, CLICK CLACK CLACKING, A RUNAWAY TRAIN. AND THEN SHE BEGINS TO PLAY AND THE WHOLE WORLD FALLS AWAY LIKE FLAKY ONION SKIN OR OLD WALL PAPER. THE VEIL FALLS AWAY AND WHAT'S UNDERNEATH IS SO BREATH-TAKINGLY BEAUTIFUL, IT RIPS THE AIR FROM YOUR LUNGS. IT LEAVES A WONDROUS GASP IN YOUR THROAT. IT IS THE SUDDENNESS OF ICE ON SKIN, A HAIR RAISING THRILL. AND WHEN KATE PLAYS IT IS LIKE LISTENING TO MUSIC THAT IS MOLTEN LIQUID. SHE SINGS THROUGH HER PIANO, SHE SINGS CRYSTAL BELLS AND SILVER SIGHS AND A HOUSE WITHOUT ENDLESS YELLS. KATE'S MUSIC DOES NOT CONGEAL, DOES NOT STOP MOVING EVEN WHEN IT CRIES. AND HER PIANO IS HER FRIEND IT TELLS THE STORY BEHIND HER DARK EYE. AND WHEN KATE PLAYS IT FILLS THE ROOM LIKE THE SCENT OF BAKING LEMON CAKE AND IT MAKES YOUR MOUTH WATER, BUT IT IS NOT QUITE YOUR MOUTH THAT WATERS. IT IS LIKE MOLTEN LAVA AND IT FILLS YOUR EARS. IT STEALS INTO YOUR HEART QUIETLY AND MAKES YOU SIGH AND DREAM. IT IS THE FLAT DARK NIGHTS AND PAIN SO SHARP IN A SEA OF WHITE NOTHINGNESS. AND WHEN SHE PLAYS YOU CAN HEAR THE SCREAM OF POLICE SIRENS MATCHING THE SCREAM STUCK IN HER THROAT, BOUNCING AROUND IN HER WILD EYES. THE PHONE RINGING, COLD IN HER HANDS AS SHE CALLS HER MOTHER. SHE WILL TELL HER THE TRUTH THAT HER FATHER HAS FORBIDDEN HER TO TELL; THAT HE HAS INVITED THE HOME WRECKER TO STAY THE WEEKEND.
THEY'RE COMING KATE SAYS- AND THE CLOUDS FALL AND THE STORM IS COMING, MONSTROUS AND CRUEL, DARK AND BROODING.
KATE IS AFRAID OF THE WOMAN AND HER DAUGHTERS.
NOW KATE SITS THINKING AND DREAMING. MAYBE IF SHE HADN'T CALLED. MAYBE IF HER MOTHER HADN'T COME HOME FROM HER VERY IMPORTANT BUSINESS MEETING. AND MET THE WOMAN THAT SLEPT BESIDE HER HUSBAND. AND IF THERE HADN'T BEEN SCREAMING, IF THE POLICE HADN'T COME. IF THEY WERE STILL A HAPPY FAMILY. THAT WAS ALL KAYLA EVER WANTED
BUT
THE SCREAM IN HER EYES ARE SILENT. TIME CANNOT HEAR HER. NOBODY WILL LISTEN TO THE STORY WELLING UP IN HER SAD, SAD EYES, A THOUSAND SALT TALES. SO SHE POURS HER HEART AND HER BODY AND HER SOUL, THE HOT STINGING TEARS, THE RAWNESS OF HER HEART AND HER HANDS INTO WOODWORK AND STRING, HER DOMAIN WHERE SHE IS KING. THEY LISTEN TO HER MAGIC FINGERS. IT IS TO THIS THAT SHE ESCAPES AND IT IS HER SONG THAT THEY WILL SING
