I’ve watched out the window every day for a week, hoping to catch some glimpse of the girl with the bright colors. I’ve failed to spot her even once. The loss has left me in a melancholy mood and irritated.
Maybe she was just a figment of my imagination. At least that’s what I keep trying to convince myself.
Sitting at the piano, I feel agitated and unfulfilled.
I’ve spent the last fifteen years finding solace in the black and white keys and the music I play. But now, nothing soothes the discontent inside me.
Practicing has become a chore, instead of a haven. The notes are sharp to my senses, almost stinging with each measure. The music that streams from the instrument is chaotic and somber. I can remember only one other time this sound poured from my fingertips. And then, I had just lost my parents.
Hearing punctuated footsteps on the tile floor, my body stiffens. The last thing I need right now is another confrontation with him. My uncle is seldom a source of anything other than frustration, especially these days.
“Zel, you have a recording session tomorrow morning. I expect you to be there. And play something more enjoyable.”
His sneer sets my teeth on edge.
“What does it matter what I play?”
“It’s called marketing appeal and excellent business strategy. I doubt anyone will want to listen to the dribble I’ve been hearing from you the last few days.”
“I play what I feel.”
“Well, feel something else,” he clips. “Your appointment time is nine.”
I am thoroughly dismissed once again as he turns on his heel and leaves the penthouse without a backward glance.
My frustration boils over and comes out in a vicious cacophony. It reverberates through the surrounding room. As I pour all my tension into the notes, the release helps how I feel. I have no other outlet, and thankfully, the piano is a forgiving instrument as I punish the keys. I finish the piece with a dramatic, vigorous chord. My fingers ache from the force exerted into the notes, but at least my emotions are calmer.
Rising from the bench, I move to the window again. I feel the outside pulling me to be free more every day, whispering for me to find an escape. If I had any means of supporting myself, I would have left this prison a long time ago. Unfortunately, I have no money of my own. All of it belongs to my uncle. I wouldn’t even know where to begin or how to survive on my own, but my frustration has pushed me past the point of being afraid to take the risk.
As I rest my forehead on folded hands pressing to the glass, I stare at the street below me. I’m high enough that faces are obscure, but hues and movement fill the sidewalk.
I don’t know how long I’m standing there when I see a familiar burst of color. It’s like the sun exploding on the horizon and steals my breath.
Reaching for the binoculars again, I focus on my mystery girl. I don’t stop to analyze the fact that I’ve already laid claim to a girl I’ve never met and only seen twice. But regardless, everything in me gravitates to her, craving a connection.
My gaze follows the bounce of her hair and her graceful steps as she exits the building, then waits at the curb. She fiddles with her phone as her head dips slightly up and down and her body sways. Again, she seems immersed in what she’s doing, paying no attention to anything else around her. By the movement of her body, she must have music playing. The thought makes me smile.
A cab approaches a moment later, prompting her to look up from her screen. The doorman opens the back passenger door. She climbs in and offers him a smile of thanks.
After she shuts the door, she rolls down the window and allows her head to ease through the opening. When the car pulls away, she tips her head to look up the building as she did the first day I saw her.
Through the lenses, our gazes connect. The smile on her face widens. And once again, I’m a slave to whatever power she possesses.
I spend the rest of my afternoon playing. But this time, the music flows from my fingers with ease. Each note is light and stirring, filled with euphoria.