I
Under the glaring lights that flooded the stage, he sat at the looming dark beast's jagged maw. His calling was to soothe the beast and make it sing. He guided his long fingers across the cool surfaces of its still ivories and peered at the exposed filaments that characterized the anatomy of its specific voice.
Onlookers observed him, quietly noting the care he took before challenging them to hear the raucous wail of the black piano. On a sudden impulse, he cast a glance at the audience, meeting patient eyes and expectant brows -- he scanned them till he saw her. Nadya. Her eyes were calm, her hands resting on her lap. He then closed his eyes and allowed his instinct to rise -- the walls of the velvety concert hall rang vibrant with the initial call resonating from the elaborate instrument. Again and again his long, strong but elegant fingers found the patterns to make the piano sing with flourishing explosions of sounds mingled with somber and quiet interludes of pensive notes.
Nadya. That she would have contacted him after a 10 year separation filled him with a contradictory mix of joy and fear. How dare she find him after turning her back on him when he told her he loved her!
The ring of the piano now struck at the audience with unabashed violence; the conflicting highs and lows were melodic but jarring to the ears of the spectators who had always known him to be a calm, logical and controlled pianist.
Nadya. They had entered the School of Arts at the same time -- both in their early teens. He was a musical prodigy while she was the grace of dance incarnate. The first time they ever actually interacted was at the end of the first year and artistic fate threw them together where they had to create a moment of music and dance within a week. Their performance was legend even to this day.
Sound rippled through the audience as his fingers slowed their manic pace, seeking to quell the madness of his initial aural onslaught. He subjugated the listeners with a series of floating notes, each held like a loose leaf lifted by an autumn breeze.
Nadya. During their second year they had been inseparable. Each moment between classes was an orchestrated interlude where they discussed the intricate nature of art and how it was the manifest of humanity's transcendent nature. They talked about the future. They talked about their pasts. By year's end, he had told her he loved her. But she left the school and he never heard from her again. Until today.
The walls of the concert hall reverberated with the piano's interpretation of his passions and turmoils. His collar stood undone while perspiration sprinkled the ivories of the battered instrument. The audience erupted in applause and tears as their own emotions -- sadness, fear, anger, frustration, desire, melancholy -- swelled and added chorus to the finishing notes of his performance.
"Nadya." He worded her name as he pushed himself from the piano. The instrument writhed in sympathetic vibrancy under the weight of the audience's applause. The vibration spread through the stage floor and up his legs, filling him with a rapturous joy he had rarely felt since the first time he played for Nadya. He lowered his head in humility but peered at the crowd from beneath his furrowed brow. Nadya shined through them with the characteristic charisma that had initially drawn him; an easy smile swept across her Polish-Chinese features. He noted how her wide smile sept up toward the strong cheekbones that denoted her Eastern-European heritage, while he envisioned the almond shaped eyes hooded by reddish blond hair he once hoped look upon every morning.
After a few languishing minutes, the raucous crowd hushed. He saluted them with a victorious wave and leisurely exited stage left.
"My god, Aaron," his manager said as she pushed his long, dark brown hair back behind his ears to better look into his deep blue eyes. "I've never seen you play so ... so ... alive."
Aaron Cain examined his manager -- his mother -- intently, but was then momentarily lost to the blue eyes she shared with him. "That was her, mom. All her. She's always been the key."
"I see that now, how you feel about her. I never knew before."
He took a deep breath. "I'm not sure I know how I feel. Is she here?"
"Your dressing room."
"Thanks ..."
II
He found Nadia sitting on the old sofa bracing the wall opposite the dressing room door. She had paused from sipping from the bottled water she had helped herself to -- Aaron stared blankly as the door he had opened with excessive force swung back in his face. But under the weight of her hypnotic brown eyes, he held the door open, slipped past the threshold and floated into the dressing like he entered a dream. She watched him as he carefully navigated the room, taking care to remove his jacket and hang it with diligence. His actions were measured and refrained, betraying the fear he felt that any brusque action would cause her to dissipate like some meager illusion.
"Aren't you going to say hello?" she asked wistfully.
"That would be a rather clichéd way to start this off now, wouldn't it?" Aaron commented as he went over to the small fridge next to the sofa and pulled out a bottle of water. He hoped the cool liquid would drown the edge in his voice.
"Well, clichés are like stereotypes -- they're rooted in truths and standardized social models," she claimed with a certain detachment. She took another sip of water while Aaron stared at her and she uncrossed her long, toned legs.
Aaron dropped onto the sofa next to her and lowered his face to his hands and shook his head. Within moments his exasperation mutated to desperate laughter and he threw his head back, allowing his chuckles to resonate in the small room.
Nadya put the bottle down and laid a delicate hand on his knee. Aaron covered her hand reassuringly, and when she saw the apparent joy he felt at seeing her, they toppled into each others arms for an embrace born of ten years of separation.
"Nadya ... where have you been? Ten years and suddenly a letter telling me you're coming to my performance?!" he hissed and suddenly shot up away from her arms and faced his rage and desperation in the mirror. Her reflection stared up at him as he fought to steady his ragged breathing. "I've seen you dance, I don't know many times ..."
"I know. I knew you were there but, I was ashamed."
Aaron turned to her and fell to his knees in supplication. "What do you mean, ashamed? Of what?"
Nadya cupped his face and he watched a tear run freely down the soft skin of her cheek. "What I'd done to you. Leaving you without saying goodbye. Leaving without telling you."
