He stood there and let it surround him. Quiet. Peace.
He’d never appreciated it like he did right then. Gone was the itchy sensation that would’ve had him bounding out of the house to head for the gym or rink or anywhere people were. He’d been hiding behind the noise his entire life, cloaking his insecurities in the presence of others so he didn’t have to look too deeply at himself.
At what he really wanted when he thought he couldn’t have it.
He turned around to stare across the room at the grand piano, his nemesis and love. He smiled, laughing silently at his thoughts. How could an inanimate object be those things? It was just a piano. Graceful and beautiful, steeped in history and memories, but still just a piano.
He set his coffee down and crossed to it, strides sure if slow.
It wasn’t the piano itself he’d hated, but what it represented. The things he’d lost and let go. A part of him had died with Emma, followed a few months later by the death of his grandmother. That quickly, the only family he’d thought had loved him had been gone.
And it’d hurt too damn much to play anymore.
He ran his fingers over the curved edge, heart clenching and releasing. With one long breath, he let the pain go. Released his guilt and let it float away. He had no doubt they’d both come back, but he could handle it now, repeat this process and let it go again and again until it didn’t hurt so much.
He lifted the fallboard then took a seat on the bench. His hands trembled when he rested them on the keys. The memories rushed back to swamp him, but this time they were comforting instead of bitter. Soothing as the emotions filled his chest and a sense of coming home settled over him.
He flexed his fingers, knuckles protesting, but he ignored the flash of pain. The red, swollen joints were a visual reminder of where he’d stalled for so long. He was ready to move on though, ready to find the man he wanted to be.
The first notes were soft, a tentative venture into his past. The chords were random and he closed his eyes to experience the clear sound as it lifted around him. This was noise, beautiful freeing music created by him. Given to the world by him—even if he was the only one there to hear it.
This was his gift. His true joy.
He inhaled, breathing deeply as he opened his eyes and ran a quick scale up the length of the keyboard. Not a note missed or rhythm broken, despite how out of practice he was. He could almost feel his grandmother and Emma beaming down at him.
Fifteen years and countless hours of practice came back to him in hitches and stumbles when he picked out the notes of one of his old favorites, a piece he’d always loved to play. Eventually his muscle memory kicked in, the layers of dust falling off after years of disuse. His skills were still there, even if they were rusty. More than skating, music was a part of his identity, only he’d ignored and smothered it for so very long.
Now it wove around and reached in to claim every part of him. The hurt and rejection, the loneliness and confusion, the years of hiding and settling instead of going after what he really wanted. What he deserved. What everyone deserved—happiness.
Pure and simple, he wanted to find it again. Live in it. Be it.
The music continued to flow from beneath his fingers, the songs increasing in difficulty the more his memory kicked in and he let go. He played for his mother, who’d sacrificed, settled and lived life from a distance. And for his grandmother, who’d wisely given him music to fill the void of love he’d craved so badly. And for Emma, who’d followed him on her search for love through false acceptance. And for Jacqui, who showed him a version of love and family he’d never dreamed he could have.
But mostly he played for himself. For the boy who’d never really fit in and had tried only enough to be accepted. And for the man who finally understood it all.
He got lost in the notes and rhythm, the music taking him to that place where he flew. Where nothing else mattered and no worries were present. This was true peace.