Beautiful Symphony

Chapter 27

  "Are you okay?" He asked as I shut the door behind us. "You seem tense or something."

  "Just," I sighed. "It's hard to talk about this. My mom, I mean." I sunk into the bed, and he sat beside me.

  "Oh," he said. "You don't have to tell me, if it's too personal. It's my fault for being so nosy."

  "No, no," I rushed. "I want to tell you. I want to tell somebody. I need to."

  "Okay," he rested against the backboard and placed his hand on mine. "Whenever you're ready."

  He gave me a sweet smile, and I returned it. My mind wandered back to memories of Mom. There were so many, good and bad. I didn't know where to start. I had never talked about her death to anyone before.

  "Okay," I sighed. "I'll start from the beginning."

                                    *****

  "I was about nine years old when we saw the first signs. Mom and I, we were best friends. We did everything together. I never left her side, and she let me stay there.

  I still had friends at school, but it wasn't the same. She was so much more than my friend, or even just my mother. She had a way with people, with everyone, that was simply charming.

  My Dad adored her, too. They fell in love in college, and immediately got married as soon as they graduated. A year later, they had me. And things were good.

  Dad worked a lot, but he took off any time he could to spend time with us. Mom didn't really have a full-time job. She actually studied French in college, so she became a French tutor for the upper class.

  Piano was less of a hobby, more of a habit for her. She never played consistently, it was always at random. She never told me who taught her to play. But she was phenomenal.

  She could play any song from a nursery rhyme to the classics. Whenever I caught her at the piano as a child, I was hypnotized. Something about how at peace she looked, and how beautiful the music was, set me at ease.

  I asked her to teach me around seven years old. She was happy to. She said that her own family had never appreciated piano music, and that they were never interested in the least. But I was, more than she could ever know.

  Like I said, we saw the first signs on my ninth birthday. She dropped a glass of water on the floor, out of nowhere. That seems like nothing, but it got worse.

  One glass after another, and then plates of food. Forks, pens, makeup. She even started having trouble walking. She went to the doctor soon after. It was ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease.

  It can't be cured, only treated. Slowly, she got worse. She couldn't control her muscles without struggle. She was put in a wheelchair around the time I was eleven.

  Despite all of her struggles, she still stayed on her toes. She was the best mother a kid could ask for. She still taught me piano, told me stories, watched movies with me, all kinds of things. I never knew how amazing that was until now.

   Soon, she couldn't give me those things, no matter how badly she wanted to. She still watched me play, at every recital and even at home. Her beautiful smile never faded. I can always remember looking at her expression while she listened.

  She looked so proud of me.

  A year later, she died in her sleep.

  We were heartbroken.

  After that, I- I changed.

  I grew more and more quiet until I didn't speak at all. I lost all of my friends. I lost my relationship with my father. I lost everything.

  On top of that, I was just... Depressed. And anxious. All the time. I was a mess, and I still kind of am.

  I still play the piano. It helps, with everything. I know that I'm getting pretty skilled at it, but it's special for me. It's not about performing, it's about healing. In my own, silly way.

  And that's it. That's my big life story. A bit of a tragedy, but it's all true. But here we are. Things do get better, I've learned."

  I had expected myself to start crying by then, but there was only one small tear that fell down my cheek. I looked over at him. He was both shocked and sympathetic at the same time.

  "I'm-" he stuttered. "I'm so sorry, I mean- wow. I just, that's crazy, Ariette." He looked like he had no idea what he'd got himself into.

  I looked down and smiled. "Yeah. I'm a bit of a walking rainstorm. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave me for someone better."

  I laughed sadly, "I'm obviously a depressing mess of a girl. You could probably find someone so much better. Prettier, too."

  That, that made me cry. Why did I have to be so depressing? But I was honest. Elliot could have any girl he wanted, I'm sure. Why would he want a sad little girl like me? I'm practically pitiful.

   Suddenly, I felt his warmth around me.

  "No." He said.

  "What?" I sniffed.

  He squeezed me tighter into his chest. "I would never ever trade you for anyone else, Ariette Willingham. And don't you dare say that you're not good enough for me, because I'm the one who is constantly trying to catch up to you."

  My tears soaked into his soft shirt. No one, no one in the entire world had ever said something so sweet to me. And I believed him. I cried, both tears of joy and despair.

  "Shh, shh," he whispered. "Please don't cry. I don't want you to cry."

  I looked up at him and smiled, through teary eyes. "I love you." I whispered.

  He smiled back, wiping the tears as they fell. "I love you too." He whispered back. "Very much. And don't you dare say that you aren't beautiful, Ariette Willingham, because I beg to differ."

  I laughed then.

  Hey Mom,

  I think I found "the one".