Few Melodies Sound as Bittersweet
by MLN Reid
by MLN Reid
Each morning starts with a melody -- over and over and over again like a never-ending anthem. Sometimes it would begin with a simple note. A few faint chords would emanate from the fragile piano underneath her fingertips until a steady stream of triplets burst forth demanding to be heard. Sometimes it would begin with a complex arpeggio. A hurried tune filled with mayhem, mischief, and major chords as excited trills ring and crescendos run free, thundering through the instrument’s strings.
There is little else to be thought; and fewer else to be said. Just repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until sweat drips down her bruised fingers and keys strain with as much weight as her shoulders and mistakes couldn’t made even if she tried. That is the life -- the dedication -- of a concert pianist. And it is the life of Marianne Kittel.
Each morning starts with a melody -- until it doesn’t.
Marianne is on her way home after a long night performing at Carnegie Hall and she wouldn’t change it for the world. The awe, the wonder, the applause. Even if it’s a long, arduous journey from New York City to Boston made worse by the winter thunder and hail. Even if her driver tells her to buckle in tight because the backroads are foggy and the car shakes with each pothole. Even if she refuses to let him stop because she wants to see her little sister after being away for so very long.
Marianne’s driver sees the swerving truck, out of control, and sliding against the black ice. But there’s nothing he can do to stop it from colliding with their little car. Suddenly, there’s a bang. And everything stops. The car and its passengers lie soundlessly in the building snow as the truck comes to a winding halt, its driver gasping for breath that they cannot find.
And Marianne Kittel’s life is over.
Well, her heart is still beating -- still pounding roughly in her chest --, but she wishes it wasn’t. The truck’s owner is okay, if relatively shaken, while her driver sleeps silently in a hospital room, yet to awaken. And Marianne… she has a concussion.
And her entire right arm is missing.
Of course, all her concerts are cancelled and her sister, Nina, insists that she put all her focus on getting better. Getting her strength back. But no matter how much physical therapy Marianne goes through, she’ll never regain her arm -- and she’ll never play the piano.
Her driver wakes up after a few weeks and Marianne couldn’t be more grateful that there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. She’s glad she is the only one injured so. She truly is.
But Marianne is so, so bitter too.
Because even with the prosthetic, she will never be the concert pianist she once was. Nina pleads for her to continue practicing in the morning like she used to do; she begs for her to find happiness in her dearest passion once again. And Marianne does.
The melodies no longer come out right. Every note seems out of place, as though it were left there when she wasn’t looking, and every chord seems off-key because nothing fits together anymore. Nothing sounds right. Nothing makes sense. Her anthem finishes when her fingers shake with frustration.
The silence leaves its physical mark. And it follows her everywhere. Marianne tries to ignore it, push it in the back of her mind, and think about anything else -- anything else. Everything feels overwhelming and her emotions start to slowly rise until they’re ready to burst from deep inside her. Marianne can hardly look at the piano.
Each morning starts with nothingness -- all-encompassing oblivion that leaves her more empty that she thought possible. Sometimes, Marianne goes back to her instrument when she gathers the will and strength, the keys smooth underneath her touch, and tries to play a melody. It sounds disjointed and she hesitates to play another note. The tune lingers uncomfortably, but somehow, it’s better than silence.
Nina knocks sharply at the door. “Hey, Mari. Playing the piano? That’s a good sign.”
“Hardly.” Marianne closes the piano, refusing to look at it. “It… it’s just not right. Nothing is right anymore.” Her prosthetic sits uncomfortably in her lap.
“But you’re trying and that’s what matters!”
Marianne thinks her sister is far too optimistic -- always has. “Yeah. Right.”
Nina sighs deeply, sitting next to her on the piano stool. She wraps her arm around Marianne and rests her head against her shoulder. Marianne can just tell Nina’s ready to tell her something she probably will not like. “You’ve barely been out of the house. When you do, it’s only for therapy, and when you’re at home, you spend almost all your time in your room.”
“I’m trying, Nina.”
“I know,” Nina reassures her, “I know. You’ve been through a trauma; you’ve lost your job -- your passion. Everything you’re feeling is perfectly valid. But when’s the last time you did something fun because you wanted to? Or talked to one of your friends?”
“Piano is my life. I lost my life. Everything has ended.”
Nina pauses for a moment. “I want you to meet someone.”
Marianne turns towards her sister, staring at her eyes wide with mirth. “Have you been steering this entire conversation to that?”
“Hear me out, okay!”
Marianne nods. Her sister seems so eager -- so excited -- and the last thing she wants is to let her down. Nina’s face brightens up when she doesn’t immediately shoot down the idea. The Kittel sisters almost look like replicates of one another, dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes, but Nina’s always been the one with the striking smile.
“Well, since you’ve kinda been out of commission for the past couple of months, one of your many fans sent you a letter asking about how you were doing and-”
“I have fans?”
“-his name is Alec. He’s fourteen, he’s played the piano for years, and he’s super, super sweet. We’ve been sending letters back and forth for a bit and he really wants to meet you. Also, him and his mom invited the two of us over for dinner tonight.”
“You already said yes, didn’t you?” Marianne asks, already knowing the answer.
Nina nods eagerly. “You don’t seem vehemently against dinner and you’re not foaming at the mouth, so I’m going to bring the car around and you can change into something appropriate.”
Marianne shakes her head fondly as her sister runs out of the room. “This isn’t appropriate enough?” She jokes, gesturing to her fuzzy pajamas, but Nina is already out the door.
Soon, the two of them are in the car and for some reason, Marianne’s throat clenches and her heart beats a little quicker. She glances out the window, watching the scenery go by with vague indifference; everything is a blur of metal and green and obnoxious colored vehicles that don’t know how to put on their blinkers. She shuts off the radio a few moments after Nina turns it on, preferring the silence. Marianne’s left hand forms a fist when she realizes that she had been unconsciously tapping out a tune on her knee.
“We’re here!” Nina’s sweet voice -- a melody all on its own -- pulls her out of her reverie. They are parked outside of a quaint two-story house, a cobblestone path leading to a small rose garden outside of the porch. Alec’s home.
Marianne unbuckles her seatbelt and hops out of the car. She doesn’t want the harmony of springtime birds following her, and quite suddenly, she wishes she to be back in her room. Away from sounds that remind her of something that she can no longer have.
Alec’s mother opens the door and ushers them inside before Nina can even knock. Marianne reluctantly pads in behind the two who are chatting away about everything and nothing at the same time. “I’m Eileen,” she introduces herself as she sits them down in the kitchen, “oh gosh. I’m so grateful that you two decided to come. You’re such a role model to Alec, Ms. Kittel.”
“Feel free to call me, Marianne,” she responds, accepting the cup of tea offered to her, “everyone else does.”
Nina and Eileen chat about something that Marianne doesn’t pay attention to, feeling content to quietly sip her tea and wait for dinner. Then she can go home. And Nina will be off her back. The wooden floor squeaks behind her.
“Alec, there you are,” Eileen says fondly, “took you long enough to come and greet your guests.” Marianne turns to Alec. He has curly blonde hair -- wild and unkempt -- and some of the brightest blue eyes she’s ever seen; he is wearing a light button-up shirt, freshly ironed and tucked into well-maintained jeans. And he’s in a wheelchair.
Nina somehow forgot to mention that.
“Hi, Marianne!” Alec greets, waving excitedly. “Oh, and hello, Nina.”
Nina smiles kindly like the perfect person she is. She goes back to chatting with Eileen and Marianne has never felt more uncomfortable in her life. What does one say to a fourteen year old? What is she supposed to do?
“So,” Marianne coughs awkwardly as Alec eagerly waits for her to say something heartstopping and incredible, “you play the piano?”
He pauses for a moment and now Marianne is sure that she’s definitely let him down. “Oh, yeah! Wanna see?” Listening to some kid tap out a tune on the piano, she could do that, she thinks. She hopes.
She follows Alec silently to the living room, not knowing quite what to say to fill the air. Marianne sits on the piano stool shoved into the corner between the piano and the wall as Alec situates himself in front of the instrument.
“I should probably warn you that I’m not really very good,” Alec says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Marianne smiles a bit, leaning forward. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Alec breathes in deeply and begins the play. And it’s beautiful. Every harmony leaves her with sweet bliss and every refrain leaves her waiting for the next one. And as each note grows louder, steadier, more confident and more comfortable, something inside of Marianne sings along with the melody.
It’s over before it has any right to be and Marianne doesn’t have the words. “You’re a liar, Alec, that was good. Really good.”
“Woah, you really think so?”
“You’re the liar here, not me,” Marianne laughs for the first time in a long time.
Alec pauses for a moment and backs away from the piano, wheeling himself over next to her. “I’m glad ya like it, I’ve been playing as long as I can remember. I mean, a lot of the other neighborhood kids play soccer and football, but I’m cool with the piano.”
Marianne reads between the lines. “You’ve chosen a wise path. You’re good enough to do something with your talent.”
“Why don’t you play something? I know that you-” Alec cuts himself off and everything suddenly becomes tense. But Marianne doesn’t want him to feel awkward. She doesn’t want to let him down.
And Marianne nods silently, agreeing. She drags the piano stool over and plops down, her right hand sitting still in her lap. She quickly glances back at Alec and he grins widely, urging her to continue.
Her eyes burn holes into the black and white keys and when the first notes are finally played, something heavy recoils inside of her, but the melody continues. It continues until peace washes over her and chips away at the heaviness. Until she is able to let go of the emptiness, only focusing on the here and now.
The melody climbs down the keys, changing time and measure without rhythm or reason. It pauses in intervals that hardly make any sense, but they don’t need to make any sense. Each time the song comes back, it is with more fervent ferocity and unbridled expression. The crescendos fade and the trills linger and each note carries its own power.
She doesn’t play a last note, not offering any resolution. She’s not quite sure what the last note is meant to be. The melody is open, waiting to be finished but not needing it. Nina and Eileen are standing in the doorway, watching with expression Marianne can’t place. Alec asks her to teach him and she somehow finds herself agreeing with sincere warmth.
The melody echoes in the air, the off-key final note standing out in stark contrast. And it follows Marianne everywhere -- her new beginning.
A theme that has never stopped resonating.
There is little else to be thought; and fewer else to be said. Just repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until sweat drips down her bruised fingers and keys strain with as much weight as her shoulders and mistakes couldn’t made even if she tried. That is the life -- the dedication -- of a concert pianist. And it is the life of Marianne Kittel.
Each morning starts with a melody -- until it doesn’t.
Marianne is on her way home after a long night performing at Carnegie Hall and she wouldn’t change it for the world. The awe, the wonder, the applause. Even if it’s a long, arduous journey from New York City to Boston made worse by the winter thunder and hail. Even if her driver tells her to buckle in tight because the backroads are foggy and the car shakes with each pothole. Even if she refuses to let him stop because she wants to see her little sister after being away for so very long.
Marianne’s driver sees the swerving truck, out of control, and sliding against the black ice. But there’s nothing he can do to stop it from colliding with their little car. Suddenly, there’s a bang. And everything stops. The car and its passengers lie soundlessly in the building snow as the truck comes to a winding halt, its driver gasping for breath that they cannot find.
And Marianne Kittel’s life is over.
Well, her heart is still beating -- still pounding roughly in her chest --, but she wishes it wasn’t. The truck’s owner is okay, if relatively shaken, while her driver sleeps silently in a hospital room, yet to awaken. And Marianne… she has a concussion.
And her entire right arm is missing.
Of course, all her concerts are cancelled and her sister, Nina, insists that she put all her focus on getting better. Getting her strength back. But no matter how much physical therapy Marianne goes through, she’ll never regain her arm -- and she’ll never play the piano.
Her driver wakes up after a few weeks and Marianne couldn’t be more grateful that there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. She’s glad she is the only one injured so. She truly is.
But Marianne is so, so bitter too.
Because even with the prosthetic, she will never be the concert pianist she once was. Nina pleads for her to continue practicing in the morning like she used to do; she begs for her to find happiness in her dearest passion once again. And Marianne does.
The melodies no longer come out right. Every note seems out of place, as though it were left there when she wasn’t looking, and every chord seems off-key because nothing fits together anymore. Nothing sounds right. Nothing makes sense. Her anthem finishes when her fingers shake with frustration.
The silence leaves its physical mark. And it follows her everywhere. Marianne tries to ignore it, push it in the back of her mind, and think about anything else -- anything else. Everything feels overwhelming and her emotions start to slowly rise until they’re ready to burst from deep inside her. Marianne can hardly look at the piano.
Each morning starts with nothingness -- all-encompassing oblivion that leaves her more empty that she thought possible. Sometimes, Marianne goes back to her instrument when she gathers the will and strength, the keys smooth underneath her touch, and tries to play a melody. It sounds disjointed and she hesitates to play another note. The tune lingers uncomfortably, but somehow, it’s better than silence.
Nina knocks sharply at the door. “Hey, Mari. Playing the piano? That’s a good sign.”
“Hardly.” Marianne closes the piano, refusing to look at it. “It… it’s just not right. Nothing is right anymore.” Her prosthetic sits uncomfortably in her lap.
“But you’re trying and that’s what matters!”
Marianne thinks her sister is far too optimistic -- always has. “Yeah. Right.”
Nina sighs deeply, sitting next to her on the piano stool. She wraps her arm around Marianne and rests her head against her shoulder. Marianne can just tell Nina’s ready to tell her something she probably will not like. “You’ve barely been out of the house. When you do, it’s only for therapy, and when you’re at home, you spend almost all your time in your room.”
“I’m trying, Nina.”
“I know,” Nina reassures her, “I know. You’ve been through a trauma; you’ve lost your job -- your passion. Everything you’re feeling is perfectly valid. But when’s the last time you did something fun because you wanted to? Or talked to one of your friends?”
“Piano is my life. I lost my life. Everything has ended.”
Nina pauses for a moment. “I want you to meet someone.”
Marianne turns towards her sister, staring at her eyes wide with mirth. “Have you been steering this entire conversation to that?”
“Hear me out, okay!”
Marianne nods. Her sister seems so eager -- so excited -- and the last thing she wants is to let her down. Nina’s face brightens up when she doesn’t immediately shoot down the idea. The Kittel sisters almost look like replicates of one another, dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes, but Nina’s always been the one with the striking smile.
“Well, since you’ve kinda been out of commission for the past couple of months, one of your many fans sent you a letter asking about how you were doing and-”
“I have fans?”
“-his name is Alec. He’s fourteen, he’s played the piano for years, and he’s super, super sweet. We’ve been sending letters back and forth for a bit and he really wants to meet you. Also, him and his mom invited the two of us over for dinner tonight.”
“You already said yes, didn’t you?” Marianne asks, already knowing the answer.
Nina nods eagerly. “You don’t seem vehemently against dinner and you’re not foaming at the mouth, so I’m going to bring the car around and you can change into something appropriate.”
Marianne shakes her head fondly as her sister runs out of the room. “This isn’t appropriate enough?” She jokes, gesturing to her fuzzy pajamas, but Nina is already out the door.
Soon, the two of them are in the car and for some reason, Marianne’s throat clenches and her heart beats a little quicker. She glances out the window, watching the scenery go by with vague indifference; everything is a blur of metal and green and obnoxious colored vehicles that don’t know how to put on their blinkers. She shuts off the radio a few moments after Nina turns it on, preferring the silence. Marianne’s left hand forms a fist when she realizes that she had been unconsciously tapping out a tune on her knee.
“We’re here!” Nina’s sweet voice -- a melody all on its own -- pulls her out of her reverie. They are parked outside of a quaint two-story house, a cobblestone path leading to a small rose garden outside of the porch. Alec’s home.
Marianne unbuckles her seatbelt and hops out of the car. She doesn’t want the harmony of springtime birds following her, and quite suddenly, she wishes she to be back in her room. Away from sounds that remind her of something that she can no longer have.
Alec’s mother opens the door and ushers them inside before Nina can even knock. Marianne reluctantly pads in behind the two who are chatting away about everything and nothing at the same time. “I’m Eileen,” she introduces herself as she sits them down in the kitchen, “oh gosh. I’m so grateful that you two decided to come. You’re such a role model to Alec, Ms. Kittel.”
“Feel free to call me, Marianne,” she responds, accepting the cup of tea offered to her, “everyone else does.”
Nina and Eileen chat about something that Marianne doesn’t pay attention to, feeling content to quietly sip her tea and wait for dinner. Then she can go home. And Nina will be off her back. The wooden floor squeaks behind her.
“Alec, there you are,” Eileen says fondly, “took you long enough to come and greet your guests.” Marianne turns to Alec. He has curly blonde hair -- wild and unkempt -- and some of the brightest blue eyes she’s ever seen; he is wearing a light button-up shirt, freshly ironed and tucked into well-maintained jeans. And he’s in a wheelchair.
Nina somehow forgot to mention that.
“Hi, Marianne!” Alec greets, waving excitedly. “Oh, and hello, Nina.”
Nina smiles kindly like the perfect person she is. She goes back to chatting with Eileen and Marianne has never felt more uncomfortable in her life. What does one say to a fourteen year old? What is she supposed to do?
“So,” Marianne coughs awkwardly as Alec eagerly waits for her to say something heartstopping and incredible, “you play the piano?”
He pauses for a moment and now Marianne is sure that she’s definitely let him down. “Oh, yeah! Wanna see?” Listening to some kid tap out a tune on the piano, she could do that, she thinks. She hopes.
She follows Alec silently to the living room, not knowing quite what to say to fill the air. Marianne sits on the piano stool shoved into the corner between the piano and the wall as Alec situates himself in front of the instrument.
“I should probably warn you that I’m not really very good,” Alec says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Marianne smiles a bit, leaning forward. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Alec breathes in deeply and begins the play. And it’s beautiful. Every harmony leaves her with sweet bliss and every refrain leaves her waiting for the next one. And as each note grows louder, steadier, more confident and more comfortable, something inside of Marianne sings along with the melody.
It’s over before it has any right to be and Marianne doesn’t have the words. “You’re a liar, Alec, that was good. Really good.”
“Woah, you really think so?”
“You’re the liar here, not me,” Marianne laughs for the first time in a long time.
Alec pauses for a moment and backs away from the piano, wheeling himself over next to her. “I’m glad ya like it, I’ve been playing as long as I can remember. I mean, a lot of the other neighborhood kids play soccer and football, but I’m cool with the piano.”
Marianne reads between the lines. “You’ve chosen a wise path. You’re good enough to do something with your talent.”
“Why don’t you play something? I know that you-” Alec cuts himself off and everything suddenly becomes tense. But Marianne doesn’t want him to feel awkward. She doesn’t want to let him down.
And Marianne nods silently, agreeing. She drags the piano stool over and plops down, her right hand sitting still in her lap. She quickly glances back at Alec and he grins widely, urging her to continue.
Her eyes burn holes into the black and white keys and when the first notes are finally played, something heavy recoils inside of her, but the melody continues. It continues until peace washes over her and chips away at the heaviness. Until she is able to let go of the emptiness, only focusing on the here and now.
The melody climbs down the keys, changing time and measure without rhythm or reason. It pauses in intervals that hardly make any sense, but they don’t need to make any sense. Each time the song comes back, it is with more fervent ferocity and unbridled expression. The crescendos fade and the trills linger and each note carries its own power.
She doesn’t play a last note, not offering any resolution. She’s not quite sure what the last note is meant to be. The melody is open, waiting to be finished but not needing it. Nina and Eileen are standing in the doorway, watching with expression Marianne can’t place. Alec asks her to teach him and she somehow finds herself agreeing with sincere warmth.
The melody echoes in the air, the off-key final note standing out in stark contrast. And it follows Marianne everywhere -- her new beginning.
A theme that has never stopped resonating.
MLN Reid is a senior at Urbana High School who enjoys writing.