The Pianist

It was an unfamiliar sensation to Tania, allowing the pulsation of her heartbeat, beat for someone who was made of the same material as her. The pheromones in the room were probably detectable to everyone in the city that night. The feminine energy in the room only heightened with the time that passed, and the music that played. There was no aura of anima in sight. 

Suddenly, a low, almost binaural sound overcame the two girls, and, although invisible, it emulated, and slowly overtook them. The sound of the keys played on, encapsulating them like a dome, into that one inevitable life-altering moment: Eloise on the piano, playing Chopin’s 9th movement like a goddess, wearing an evening gown that was strapless, dark green, her kissable shoulders uncovered; and Tania, more than mesmerized, only continued to watch her. 

Except, it was more than a trance because there was a sense of admiration, and as the music went on this sense of admiration increased and turned into something even more. More intense, as if it were something that has not one but infinite definitions. What she felt was love!

On the edge of Eloise’s couch, the velvety fabric felt Tania’s heart pulsate for the very woman in front of her…They were alone and undisturbed in their little bubble, on the tiny main floor of Eloise’s slim, but magical townhouse. It was the size of the average bedroom. Things overlapped and the desk resting on the opposite wall of the piano was multi-purposeful; it was also the family dining table. 

Eloise was a marvelous host who nurtured, fed, and cared for her guest like a parent would for a small child. She cooked, making a healthy and delicious vegan meal for her and her friend, just an hour before she started on the piano. And once the meal was devoured and thanks were given, she cleaned up the plates from the petite desk and did the dishes silently in the multi-purposeful kitchen sink behind it. 

It was a dark room with sensual lighting. Two main sources of warm light dimly lit the place: the old-fashioned desk lamp, and the slow flashings of the Christmas tree that danced throughout the night at the sound of the pianist’s playing. By some nature, it seemed to understand that there was an essence of magic happening in the room, so it danced with it; like a willow in the wind, a servant to the gliding music, and every single note that the piano hit. 

Tania could hold back her desire no longer, she got up, and at the speed of a slow montage, walked up to Eloise, closed her eyes, and hovered down to her neck and kissed her. 

No reaction, her upper body continued to be still. 

The keys kept on going as if she never cared about her guest’s needs after all. Tania’s shock almost broke the trance, but it persisted. She moved further away and took a glance at Eloise from the side. It appeared that her eyes weren’t actually on the keys, but that she was actually staring mechanically at the wall in front of her, and her hands… moved robotically. “I love you,” Tania said to no response. A whirlwind of frustration and confusion overtook her. She tried to hold one of Eloise’s hands in her own, but it only gnawed at her like a skeleton's arm dropping from its frame, repeatedly hitting a desk like a taunt.

Something had gone terribly wrong. 

Finally, the music stopped, and the room went dark. 

Out of the crevices of the claustrophobic walls emerged all kinds of things, death took a gnaw at her, love bit her in the throat, and even boils built up and then exploded on her corpse…she melted…and then came alive again. The yellow pool of puss accompanied her as her body experienced different forms of life. It was life that crept out of the crevices of the claustrophobic walls. Teachers degraded her to bits, relatives told her she was "too overweight", and friends grabbed at the external parts of her body, from her breasts to her legs, there was no mercy, they just pulled. And they pulled hard. Why were they so relentless? Why did they want to see her struggle so much, and why did they enjoy watching her struggle?  

Suddenly, everything about the scene changed again, except for the lack of light. She was back in the familiar suburban town that she lived in. Cars came at her from all directions, right, left, up, down, above, under, even out from within her. She regurgitated an ice cream truck that played the same music that the girl she thought she loved had just been playing. And instead of it being an unpleasant frightening situation, it was more of a checkpoint. Not that she understood it, but at that moment, she knew that she was past the checkpoint of death. Her body felt so powerful and indestructible…triumphant and renewed. There was no need for light, for she was the sun that lacked in the brim darkness. The simple impulse for a woman illuminated her like the sun, for that was what she was. She deserved to be looked after, worshipped, for her dishes to be washed and picked up for her. She deserved the furniture to dance for her, she even knew she was entitled to enjoy the taunts of her past traumatizers. She welcomed their return with something similar to love. 

Call it whatever you want, maybe her dream was a manifestation of all the pent-up stuff that had screwed her up in life; living and thriving, feeding in the subconscious mind of a docile woman who had longed to speak about her endurances. She had been deceived, and her mind was a fraction of the betrayer. Her heart, like a pancake on a burner, was flipped on a hot pan, from side to side, only to be dropped like a bag of nothing. She deserved a prize for the kinds of things that her body had seen and endured. And now she can, because now, you see it too.