Musical Memories

Every time the onion reeked with sweat she would cry. The circular teardrops covered her face, encompassing her eyelids. She didn’t mind. Her kitchen aroma matched the scaling raw fish scattered between melting ice and minced parsley leaves sprinkled between the edges. Thankfully the strawberry gel dipped inside the inner cores of her angel gray hair, her hair strands waving along her shoulders.

She sautéed the onions over the hot stove, rubbing her hands against her smothering apron; leftover onion dip and pesto sauce surrounding its edges and forming into rust. The radio blasted song after song after song of 90s. How nostalgic it was. She tasted its every beat, the rich saxophone melodies intoxicating the trumpet choir, and the smooth jazz touching her heart, its base so righteous; it was smoother than any afternoon smoothie. Her mind danced to every beat, curing itself from the reeking onions.

An alarming noise erupted almost out of nowhere, not even echoing the arpeggio pianist. It was the sudden noise of a piano coming from the living room. The noise scratched the tune already embedded inside of her, itching its way for her to ingest. She wouldn’t swallow. She trudged through the maroon carpet hallway, turned to her living room and asked: “What was that?”

It was only Darcie, the ambitious nine-year-old fluttering her blonde hair with the howling winds scorching their gentle breeze inside the home. “I was playing a con-chair-toe, Mrs. Needlehamm! Or whatever they always call it!”

“It was lovely,” she said, smiling in return, “come on, Darcie. I made some lunch that you and I could share. I know fish is your favorite.”

“Oh yes, oh yes! I just love fish! I could eat it in the daytime, and in the nighttime, and in the times after that! Fish is good for you! It has a lot of prow-teen in it, or whatever that stuff is!” exclaimed Darcie, jumping off the piano stool.

She grabbed Darcie by the hand with a minuscule smile. She was relieved to know nothing bad had happened. “Come on, Darcie. We have to eat our dinner before it gets very cold. We wouldn’t want that to happen. I even used your special zebra plate.”

“Yay zebras! I just love zebras! Their spots are SOOOO cool!!! Have you seen a zebra with black and white spots? Have you seen a zebra with brown and white spots? I did at the zoo last year, and it was fun!”

“I’d love to hear more about it at lunch. Come on, you buccaneer! It’s time to explore what beholds us today!”

“Pirates are my favorite! I left my costume in my room, but I’ll find it someday! Yay!” Darcie said, darting to the kitchen.

She followed as Darcie waited at the table, anticipating her favorite dish… Mac and cheese served with crumbs as the garnish. But today there was fresh-cooked salmon, fried onions sizzled to perfection, and scarlet red beans. Darcie scraped every red bean on her plate into her mouth, as if eating little pieces of candy.

“I know beans are your favorite! That’s why I cooked them up special!” she said, placing her plate on the table and sprinkling pepper on her fish.

“Red beans are my favorite! I can eat them all day and all night! Just like fish!”

“And so you can!” she said, cooling her food with a gentle blow and taking a bite, savoring every moment.

Darcie, on the other hand, ate her food with barely a breath in between! She kept eating and eating, only taking a breath when it was time to drink a glass of water.

“Make sure you brush your teeth after you eat. That way they can be healthy and shiny for a very long time!” she said.

Darcie sipped some water and said: “Oh, of course! My daddy always makes me brush my teeth; even when I don’t want to!”

“That’s because your daddy loves you.”

“My daddy says he loves you too, Mrs. Needlehamm,” Darcie cried.

“Oh,” she said, her left eye suddenly twitching, “well tell your daddy I love him too. Don’t forget to mention all the fun stuff we did today!”

“Oh yeah! Like the finger painting and storytelling and jewel counting!! I love counting jewels, especially the ones that look silver and sparkly all over! I wanna stare at those again!”

The jewels reminded her of the past she once remembered. The one where someone else liked the same jewels, ate the same scarlet red beans, and pronounced “protein” the same way as Darcie. As her memory became a film of the past recording every taped memory, Mrs. Needlehamm said: “Darcie, have I ever told you that you are the daughter I never had?”

“What do you mean, Mrs. Needlehamm?” Darcie wondered.

“Every day I tell your parents to let me be your babysitter because you are a very special girl, and you are a girl I remember raising long long ago. If you don’t mind, I would like to show you something. I have only shown my husband once, and since I know I can trust you, I would like you to see it.”

“Oh, oh, what is it?!” Darcie said, raising her voice beyond excitement, “I wanna see! I wanna see! Please, let me see!”

She giggled for a second, lowered her concerto music and trotted to a small cabinet hidden in between the bigger kitchen shelves. She retrieved a small photo and handed the photo to Darcie.

Darcie's eyes almost detached from her sockets. “That girl looks just like me.”

“Mhmm,” she said in return, “she is my Darcie, Darcie. I know you do not understand it now, but you are the closest thing I have to her. That is why I love you and your parents so much, and I hope you can visit me more often.”

“Oh, of course, Mrs. Needlehamm! I’d love to!” Darcie said with a big smile on her face.

“Please. Call me Mom,” she said.

“Okay, Mom,” Darcie said in laughter. “I was just wondering! What ever happened to the girl in the picture?”

~

“Ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta, taaa,” she said, singing along to the scale she played on the piano, “ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta taaa.”

"Mommy, why are you singing to the piano? I thought the piano sings!" Mina said.

“I like singing to the piano,” Mrs. Needlehamm responded, smiling as her fingers rested like claws above the piano keys, “the piano sings back to me. If we are both in tune, we are singing the exact same song.”

“But are you both singing the exact same song if the piano isn't tune?” Mina wondered.

“I don’t know, Mina. That’s an interesting question. I will have to get back to you on that.”

Just then, the tea kettle boiled, and the toast popped, crisp and ready to eat.

“Uh oh! The tea is ready! I’ll be right back!” said Mrs. Needlehamm, letting Mina pounce her stubby little fingers on the piano keys.

Mrs. Needlehamm cooled the stove, poured the hot water into the cup where the tea bag had already been waiting, and filled the kitchen with the clean herbal scent. When she returned with Mina’s tea and toast, birds chirped outside as leaves danced with the wincing winds. Mrs. Needlehamm gasped when a note stretched for so long, scratching both her ears. Maybe it came from the radio upstairs.

“Da-da-da da-da-da-duuum,” said Mina, finishing her song, the birds calming their wings and the leaves solemnly falling to the sidewalk.

“Mina! Was that you singing? That was amazing!” Mrs. Needlehamm applauded.

“Thanks, mom! I learned from you of course.” Mina smiled as her chestnut hair glistened from the glare of the afternoon sun.

Mrs. Needlehamm placed the tea and toast on the window sill. “How about we play a duet? I play the piano and you sing! Together we’ll make a tune so wonderful, our song will live on forever!”

“Okay!” Mina agreed.

Mrs. Needlehamm played a rhythmic beat as Mina sang along. Her note reached the zenith; there was nothing bringing it down. The melody was so well, they played for nearly an hour!

“That was amazing! We have to do that again!” Mina cheered, Mrs. Needlehamm's fingers twitching from playing the piano for so long.

“Oh we will! Your uncle is coming to pick you up and take you to buy new shoes. He should be here soon. We can sing more then.”

“Oh yes! Together, we’ll sound better than a con-chair-toe!”

“You will be a great pianist one day, Mina. And when you’re old enough, I promise to give you the best gift I could ever give.”

“Really? And what’s that?” Mina wondered.

“You will know soon enough.” And with an encouraging smile, Mrs. Needlehamm gently stroked the pores of the girl’s glistening face.

A loud, creaking engine roared outside her home. It ceased to complete silence as the tires skipped along the street, etching their grip and finally rolling to a complete stop. Mina nibbled the last of her tea and toast. Her uncle waited for her outside.

“Have a great time!” Mrs. Needlehamm yelled.

“Bye!” Mina and her uncle called, as they drove off into the sunlight.

Mrs. Needlehamm returned inside, her crackling fingers ready for more music. She played, sang and hummed to the enriching tune. She dared not stop at any moment. She progressed for a full hour when her stiff veins contracted against her wrists. A loud THUMP erupted from the piano as she stumbled a note or two. She ignored it and kept playing. However, her hands slipped again as she pressed two keys instead of one. Maybe the piano was out of tune. But then the phone rang. She stood, stretching her hands and walking to the phone.

“Hello?” she answered.

And there was nothing left to say.

~

“Was it a big truck?” Darcie wondered.

“Huge. The road was narrow too. I will never forget that day,” Mrs. Needlehamm said, her face dry, her cheeks red.

~

“My dad says I can no longer play the piano,” said Darcie one day, suddenly.

“Oh, but why ever not?” inquired Mrs. Needlehamm.

“He thinks I should focus on something more ‘practical.’ He says I can’t see you again after this… Please help me.”

~

Dear Little Black Journal,

I made a promise to my now-deceased piano student. A promise I will never forget. And so, my leftover retirement funds will go to the one who reminds me so much of you… My Darcie. My daughter. I will still have what I need from my deceased husband’s assets. But she is in need of a miracle. And so, I write my aching heart in these scribbled pages, hoping I can give a miracle to a family who needs it most; to a girl who is in desperate need.

As she finished writing her journal entry, she tucked the little black journal far away onto a bookshelf, hoping one day it would be read.

~

“‘PIANO SCHOLARSHIP, $20,000.’” Darcie retrieved the check and read this note aloud to her astonished parents. “From Mrs. Needlehamm, my piano teacher. Mommy, daddy, does this mean—”

“You can play on,” her Dad encouraged, “you will be a wonderful pianist someday, Darcie.”

~

When the family went over to thank Mrs. Needlehamm, Darcie's eyes matched with Mrs. Needlehamm's eyes. Both eyes calmed and blinked to the radio tuned in their heads. Darcie finally found the right words. Before silence could say anything else, she said: “Mom?”

“Yes, Darcie?”

“That song you played…. Could it be that the song is in your heart, and that’s what makes the tune?”

Mrs. Needlehamm could only smile. She hugged Darcie so tight; she could feel the tune without the song. “That’s exactly what I said!”

Darcie returned the smile. Although this was the first time she heard crystal clear tears trickling down Mrs. Needlehamm’s face, this was the tune she was most familiar with.