Edwin H. Lewis Fiction 2nd Prize ASHES

Angela Petrone

We met on a Thursday afternoon. A networking event, one of those I attend without ever getting anything out of. You sat next to me, way too close. You kept glancing in my direction, until our eyes met and you asked me who I was there for. “I am not sure”, I replied. “Well, doesn’t one of the speakers come from where you come from?”. I didn’t reply, but you didn’t need me to. Despite my shyness you introduced me to each of the speakers, and I was able to get something out of a networking event.

Months later we sit on my couch, side by side. Our legs touch, our eyes occasionally meet, you caress my hand softly but you don’t say a word. The lights are off, we are watching a movie on my laptop. I don’t recall the title, I don’t know what day it is; all I know is that suddenly time stopped for so long that I could be old and gray as I recall these memories.

I am sensitive to sounds: nothing speaks to me like the tone of a person’s voice, and silence burns my insides like listening to someone play an instrument out of tune.

I have played all my life yet I can’t read music well. I made a living out of music in a past life, one you will never fully understand. My hands still tremble when I’m nervous, as if the keyboard was under my fingertips and I could play my darkest thoughts, the kind too intertwined to articulate.

I can’t read music, when asked I have always told people that I prefer to feel it. I used to listen to a piece for as long as I needed before my hands would know where to go, how hard, how soft, how fast, how slow. I would glance at the sheets just for pretend, and I would occasionally forget them and let my gut guide my hands. Perhaps my eyes’ laziness , as my maestros called it, is what taught me how to experience life. I learned how to feel deeply at a very young age: you’re older than me and don’t know how to feel at all.

I didn’t know you yet, but a familiar warmth creeped inside of me the first time we spoke. I told myself I was too old to still feel so intensely about someone. I promised I’d be careful, yet I stayed true to myself and let you inhabit my insides for a while. A few hours into that event I convinced myself you were the one . I drew you a map to my heart and you were smart enough to get there fast.

Just because it won’t come easily, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, I sing to myself as I play the chords of my favorite song of the moment. I made that sentence my mantra for months. What I thought was a highway to happiness turned out to be a rough path to emptiness. I kept walking alone, with bare feet; I didn’t stop when my body got ice-cold, and I forgot what a sun-ray touching my skin could feel like. Nothing entices me more than hard work, you knew that right from the start.

I followed the crumbles of love, attention, and pretty thoughts you shared with me. For a while I was entertained, then the pain took over. Just because it won’t come easily — but it never comes — doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try — was there ever a we in us

We are sitting on the couch side by side. Our legs touch, our eyes occasionally meet, you caress my hand softly, but you don’t say a word. I stand up, turn on the lights. You look at me surprised, but you don’t say a word. I sit back on the opposite end of the couch. My eyes get watery and my hands start playing Chopin on the surface of the couch that lies between us. You put your hands on top of mine, you’re well-acquainted with what the onset of a panic attack looks like.

I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, and hold my hands together on my lap. I feel your forehead come into contact with the side of my head. I turn around and our eyes meet. That warmth that pervaded me the first time we ever spoke gets out of me and quickly makes the air in the room unbreathable. You pack your bag and leave in silence.

I have sat alone for as long as I can remember. I’m still here, occupying that exact corner of my couch. A friend of mine walked in the room a few moments ago. She took a glance in my direction, she saw I was holding my burning heart in my hands and her eyes demanded answers.

All I could say was, “If the place burns down, please don’t let him keep my ashes.”