Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 36

It's clear to us, this love affair
has self combusted everywhere.
And I don't feel so debonair,
my piano collects dust.

Harry's voice echoes off the hallways and ceiling in his penthouse as he works on his latest song. As the sound leaves his mouth, he's free, left to enjoy the feeling of emotion striking between his vocal chords. The sound is strong, filled with unbridled passion — almost like it was back when he was at his peak.

He has to pace himself, though. He's been working with a vocal coach for a few weeks now, and doing too much too quickly could strain his already overused muscles. He had to be reminded more than a few times that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

He cringes, remembering his official birthday is only two days away, a fact that he had been avoiding all week, not to mention the hideous party that was being held in his honor tonight. He really hadn't wanted this to be a big deal, not needing the reminder that he was officially old and his life as he knew it could be considered over. While he tried to make the best of it, given all the progress he had been making with Eleanor, he couldn't help but feel sorry for himself.

A funeral with no mourners,
I wish that I'd turned corners.
To see the signs that warn us,
but I didn't make a fuss.

When he was in his twenties, the whole world was available to him. He was just starting to contemplate going solo, fiddling with thoughts about what kind of music he wanted to make, what kinds of clothes he wanted to wear. The possibilities were endless. He didn't have that same feeling now that he was entering his mid-thirties. It felt like the world was getting smaller and smaller, his parents were getting older and older — he was getting married. His career was pretty much dead and buried.

But all that was going to change.

Well, my life — it keeps on spinning.
In this drunken procession,
I can't learn my lessons.
These plates that I'm spinning,
soon they'll smash on the ground,
make a loud crashing sound.

But I am still an open book,
and you can have a secret look inside.

He lets his voice fade, his mind wandering over all of the possibilities that were in front of him. The word comeback flutters through his mind, and it makes the butterflies fly happily around his stomach.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe his mid-thirties will be just like his twenties, but he doesn't dare to hope. Eleanor's head would explode if he even mentioned the thought of cutting a new record right now, let alone plan a tour.

After their epic dinner, they hadn't really discussed his music career again. He didn't really tell her that he had been popping into the studio and producing more on Calvin's new record, or that he had been taking more time to impede on rehearsal days for Ke$ha's new tour.

But even though he didn't tell her directly, he could still feel her scathing disapproval when he started coming home later and later, or telling her that he wouldn't be able to make their dinner or drink plans after all. He could certainly sense her displeasure, but she didn't nag him. She didn't even comment about the amount of time he was spending at his beloved glass piano, writing melody after melody into the night.

She was making an effort. And even though it was slow in coming, she was indeed trying. Small steps, he had to keep reminding himself. One step at a time.

As the children make their way to class,
I sit and raise another glass,
'cause you don't dwell much on the past
when it keeps haunting you.

Oh, the marching band stomps down the block,
and makes the babies cradles rock,
and my keys they don't turn the lock.
Perhaps I don't want them to.