The Party

I can’t stand the pop music that bounces around the walls like invisible demons. I see a group of girls that look friendly, they are smiling and laughing. People tell me that usually means that they are “kind.” I give them my best smile but soon their smiles turned to grimaces when they saw me. I lower my gaze, they probably think I am a freak. I slink away into a corner of the room, hoping that my attempt to make friends would be good enough for my relationship coach.

I do have a few ‘friends’ that I speak to online but they are not “real” by my coach’s standards. She encouraged me to go out in public and to meet others who might have similar interests to me; I consider her pointing out this party to be absurd. Dancing around to loud, obnoxious pop music is not something I consider worth my interest. I would much rather stim to some metal music, where the catharsis was my escape from the world around me.

I look back up to see a table with a punch bowl and snacks against the farthest wall. I have my head up high, like what my coach taught me and take a glass of punch and a couple of crackers, making sure not to take too much food because it is considered “gluttonous” to take more than what you need. I haven’t eaten before the party because the thought of walking into a room full of strangers gave me stomach aches and made me vomit. I always approach every neurotypical person with caution otherwise they seem to view me as a threat or “weird.” I bite down on the cracker, the salty taste giving me a bit of calm but I know that eating too fast would make me look “strange” to everyone else.

I was close to a meltdown this morning getting ready for the party due to my bus being almost late, and the terrible traffic that was backed up due to an accident. I sip my punch quickly and I try to not look like I am just hanging around the punch bowl. One handsome man walked toward my general direction and my heart started beating in my chest. But the beating was soon replaced with a thud after he moved past me to get to the punch bowl. I feel relief but I am also hurt by this rejection. I tried to brush that hurt feeling aside but it did not feel like enough, I turned to the crowd and it felt like it was spinning.

I reach forward trying to find the bathroom so I can, privately, vomit out my feelings of rejection. People move away from me like a diseased animal that was attacking them, I break into a run toward a set of doors that seemed promising and slam it open. I open my eyes and see a piano in the middle of the room, it is a classic baby Grand with the top open. I approach it and see that the piano book is open to the song Laura. I sit down on the bench, studying the sheet music in front of me.

The song came back to me as it did back in high school when I played it in front of my entire class. I do remember the polite claps of my peers at that time but I was still the freak at school. I press the keys gently, regaining the muscle memory. That song felt like a welcome comfort in this place. I look up after I hit that final note and hear the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, I quickly turn to see the man from the punch bowl. He was looking at me with curiosity and I almost felt like I crossed a boundary. After I caught the signal that this piano must be the man’s; I rose from the bench.

“I am so sorry, I did something I should not have done. I’ll just leave.” I try to run away from the embarrassing situation.

“Wait,” The man commands, “What’s your name?”

“Angela.”

“Why are you running, Angela?”

“Why? I obviously played your piano which I am sure to most would be considered “rude.”

“Rude,” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s rude to touch other people’s things without their permission.”

The man looks at me quizzically, “You can keep playing, I didn’t tell you to stop.”

I move back to the piano bench, leafing through the piano book to find another song, People are Strange popped out in front of me. I press down on the keys, following the notes like the patterns that I love so much. I finish playing the song and I pause. I heard a polite clap from behind and I feel a sense of relief but also the feeling of “that’s it?”

“Good job,” the man says plainly.

“Thanks,” I say with caution.

“Ya know, nobody really plays that piano. Seems like people don’t really care.”

“Well, the piano helps me calm down.”

“You did look pretty tense back there.”

“You…noticed that?”

“Of course, I did. Did you think that I am just some asshole?”

“Yes, I did.”

The man stood there like he was deep in his thoughts for a few moments. He dug into his pants pocket and threw a key to me.

“Here, the key to the piano room is yours’s, whenever you wanna come in. Come on in.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am serious. This is MY club.”

“Oh, all of this…you own it?”

“Yep, have fun with that piano,” He waves at me as he walks away.

“ But I don’t know your name?”

“Damian,” He shouts back.

Who is this man? And why does he trust me so completely with this piano, never mind the key?

I thought about returning the key but that would be rude of me; so I decide to take it with me.