A Dream That Has Yet To Come True
I was watching Erik play the piano from the far, unlit corner of the fairly large, empty room we were situated in. I don't know if he knew I was there at the time. It seemed to me that he was composing, for he would play, stop, write and continue. It seemed like hours before he played something continuously. At one point he totally stopped playing just sat there, staring menacingly at the keys. Sometimes, he would just rage other times he would just rest his head on one arm and play a verse repetitively.
I looked down at my lap and see a blank pad of paper and a pen. I took them and began to write as he played, lyrics to accompany his piece. I tried my best to eloquently capture what I heard. The only sounds heard were of him in anger, in sadness, in grief, and when he was silent, the quiet scratching of my pen against the paper. He still didn't bother to see me though. I remember, when I finished what I had written, he was raging in profanities and sobs.
I watched him for a while, then I stood up and walked to him, pen and paper with me. I tapped his shoulder lightly, but he didn't mind me. A second time, he rounded on me and screamed, and, I don't know why, but he sent me cowering back to corner, dropping the things I had. He heaved a few breaths then bent down to pick up the papers I had dropped. He read them as he went back to the piano bench. I watched him from the corner.
He took faced the black-and-white keys again. He placed my words next to the music he wrote, stared at them. His head would face left to my words, right to his music, and so on, and so on. At this point, I tiptoed ever so quietly near, I stopped when he took his pen and, as he stared at my lyrics, he quickly penned down notes. Then, I watched him as he began to play. It was such a wistful song. I remember sobbing like a baby when he played it, not caring who heard me.
When he finished I remember me being curled up in a little ball, tears tightening the skin around my cheeks as they rolled down in streams and dried. Once I realized things were quiet once again, I touched my face and watched him. He stood up and his hand motioned, as if calling someone. From a dark corner, Christine comes out. He motions her to come closer. She stands beside Erik, her hands behind her. Erik looks at her, and with a nod of his head, signals to piece in front. As she read, both words and notes, her hands came to rest on Erik's shoulder. She sighed contentedly. They looked at each other for quite some time, no words exchanged. Then, she went to the other side of the piano, took a breath, and after a moment, nodded. Erik began to play as Christine sang. Pretty soon, Erik joined in. Me? Holy angel, heaven blest! My soul longs with thee to rest! I never knew there were things that beautiful.
When they finished, I was too overwhelmed to let out a cry or a squeal. They looked at each other. Erik looked behind him, directly at me. It was as if he asked to come to him. I was unsure but, since it was Erik, I quickly obliged.
As I neared him, he scooted to the side of the piano bench, his hand on the empty space, motioning for me to take a seat. I did. Erik looked at Christine, and they played the piece again. At one point, they looked at me. Erik's nod encouraged me, and, I didn't know how nor hey, but I sang along just in time with the music.
Everything was a whir after that. I'm dazed, lightheaded, an insatiable hunger settling in my heart and stomach. Christine took the pen and titles it, writing "You Are Not Alone" on top of the lyrics. Erik does the same for his music. Christine took a blank piece of paper, wrote something on it, folded it, and slipped it in Erik's coat pocket. Erik looked at her as he pulled it out. It said, "You are not alone.".
Erik smiled a small smile and looked at Christine, who grinned and nodded happily. Erik took his pen and another piece of paper, wrote something, folded it, and placed it in front of me. I took it and placed it in my pocket.
The next thing I knew I was in my room. It was cold and dark. I thought I was awake. Nevertheless, I reached into my pajammie pocket and hoped for that slip of paper. Wishful thinking.
Shock. Excitement. A rainbow of emotions swallowed me whole as I pulled out a delicate, yellow piece of paper, the ink from the writing, stained the back.
I was trembling with thrill and passion when I opened it. I read what it said.
"You are never alone."
In big letters in the middle. Big red letters.
He signed it.
"Your obedient friend and Angel, O.G."
Then, I woke up. Really woke up.
And only heaven will know how hard I tried to get back to sleep that night.
"Reality is wrong. Dreams are for real." -Tupac Shakur
Disclaimer: Ya'll already know I don't own POTO. Quote used as summary was said by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.
A/N: R&R please!