XPLR | Colby Brock

~109~

I walked up the stairs, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. The woman was waiting. "I'm Jenny, by the way," she said as she reached out her hand to me. "And this is my son, Rudy," she smiled and placed her hand on his head. He smiled at me, and for a fleeting moment it made me feel better.

"Rose," I said again. I'm tired. I took a deep breath, composing myself. "I'm sorry, both of you.. that I kind of barged in here. A few years ago, I didn't leave on good terms with my father," I glanced at Rudy, silently asking if she wanted me to talk about this in front of him. The boy piped in. Suddenly, he was more than just seven or eight years old. He smirked, "Hey! I'm a big boy. And my dad doesn't like me either," he said. "Rudy!" Jenny said, leaning over a bit to meet his eyes. "What?" he asked.

I smiled, though. He's a smart kid. He reminded me of me for a moment. As conceited as that subconsciously sounds. He reminded me in the sense that he understands, he understands that he was an accident. He understands that that doesn't matter, his mother loves him. This house has seen that twice.

"Your mom likes you though. Don't forget that," I said, giving him and Jenny a smile. She smiled shyly too. We all had our stories, but Rudy and Jenny? I think they'll be better off than I was. "She loves me," Rudy smirks. "She says I'm more charming than my dad anyway."

The little dimple-y smile he gave me was adorable. "Go play," she said, hitting the back of his head playfully. He went upstairs, trotting.

"He's a pistol," she said, shrugging as she shook her head. "Hey, Rose. You should stay for dinner."

"I don't want to be any more of a burden than I actually am," I said with a shy chuckle, pushing my hair behind my ear. She reached out and took my hand, squeezing it. "Please, I insist," she said. "It's getting late," I added. Jenny shook her head disapprovingly. "I'm almost done. Please. Where are you staying tonight, anyway? I bet it won't be as good as a home cooked meal."

I couldn't argue with that.

"I'm probably just going to find a hotel. I'm in town for a few days, twelve to be exact. Then I'm flying to New York City for school," I said quickly. "You should stay here," she said. "Rudy is so bored, anyway. He would love some stories. That will be better than rent," she said, turning to walk to the kitchen to check on whatever she's cooking.

I smiled to myself, at her kindness, and followed. "Are you going to NYU?" she asked. I shook my head. "Juilliard," I said. She turned to me with wide eyes and a matching smile. "That's crazy. You know, Rudy doesn't even play, but he's been telling everyone that he's going to be a pianist," she laughed.

I raised my eyebrow. "A pianist? I'm a pianist," I said with a laugh. She went to the fridge and brought me a water bottle, which I gratefully took and opened, taking a few sips. "You don't say? Then I bet Rudy will be picking your brain about it within the hour," she said, "the only reason he wants to play is because he thinks he's a virtuoso just because he can play twinkle twinkle little star on the piano we have in the extra room," she laughed.

"You have a piano?" I asked. "It was left here. By your father. Was it yours?"

I shook my head, and I found myself standing up and turning to the hallway. "Do you mind if I play it?" I asked. She stood at the doorway as I started up the stairs. "No, of course not," she said.

I walked up the stairs and looked through the first doorway. That was always the extra room, it was always a bit smaller than the others. There Rudy was, building something out of LEGOs. The next door, which was my parents' room, was open as well. Besides a messy dresser covered in drug store makeup, it was spotless. No piano.

A realization stopped me in my tracks.

If Dad left this here... he put it in my room?

I heard footsteps behind me, light, hurried ones. I turned around to see Rudy next to me. "Rose?" he asked. "What are you looking for?"

I walked towards the last room. "What is this room?" I asked as I opened it. "A guest bedroom, Mom says," Rudy answered.

It was still my room. Everything was where I left it. The walls were still a faded baby-pink, with trim (that I drew on under the bed, no one ever found out). Before you know it, I was on the ground and I was looking under the bed. I read the faded words written in sharpie. Two stars, a heart, and my name written in shakey cursive. Dated 2006. I laughed at that, quietly, before I felt a tug on my ankle. "Rose," Rudy whined. I chuckled again. He wants to be a pianist, and he has a four letter 'R' name too.

"Your mom said you know how to play twinkle twinkle little star," I said. He nodded. "Wanna hear? I practiced!" he said, smiling brightly. I nodded, and he shared the bench in front of the piano with me. The piano is exactly where my old keyboard used to sit. I can't believe Daddy remembered.

Rudy sang with his playing, and he rocked back and forth.

When he finished, I applauded him. He gleamed.

This is one of those moments. This is one of those moments. This is one of those moments where Rudy understands. He understands music. And he wants more, I can see his hunger for it in his eyes. He hungers for applause, he hungers to reach people.

It's the thing musicians like me and Rudy live for.

"Have you ever heard the Mozart version?" I asked him as I playfully nudged him to get him to move over. "No," he said, and I could feel his anticipation grow as I placed my hands on the keys. "I started playing piano when I was about your age. When I was... I think ten, I got to play this for a big group of people. My Momma brought me flowers. Irises."

"Well why didn't she bring you roses?" he asked.

"Roses are too overrated, she said. I'd get a lot of them in my life time. Irises will mean more," I told him, "so if you ever go to a concert, give your favorite musician irises."

"Ready? Here we go," I said.

Mozart's variation on Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was celebrated in my life. I always liked it because it sounded impressive, all with the right hand moving at such" surprising" speeds, but it was also just fun to listen to.

Rudy agreed. He gasped in awe as the song picked up into it's iconic melody, and he watched my hands then my face, and I gave him a small smile as I played. My now short hair still swayed with me in the music.

Logan was right.

This may not be my family, but Colby is the last thing on my mind.