Come Back To Me, Symphonica, Symphonica

Absalom Abalone

"Symphonica?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you solve question three in the linear algebra assignment?"

She looked up from her laptop.

"Want me to show you how I did it?"

I nodded. She got up from the other side of the table and stood to my left. "This question took me a while to get, but"—she flashed a grin—"there's a little trick to it that makes it really easy..."

Symphonica's laptop was covered in stickers. It was impossible to see the surface of the laptop lid under them all. There was a new sticker on it that I hadn't seen since the first time I saw her. It was in the bottom-left corner: a sparkly little crescent moon the size of my thumbnail.

☾

I always think of her when I hear this song. I used to love listening to it, but now I hate it. I hate it and I love it. How does one hate and love something at the same time?

Memories of Symphonica come flooding back in waves, and I am helpless against the tide.

☾

"I don't have any more classes today either," Symphonica said, plopping down in front of the piano in the Rock Garden. It was warm and sunny outside, but not too hot. Summer had yet to become unbearable.

"Are you going to play something?" I asked.

"Maybe." She was smiling coyly. "You have any requests? I know all the hits. Für Elise, Pachelbel's Canon, even City of Stars from La La Land."

I laughed. "I didn't know you could play so much. Or that you could play at all."

"I used to play a lot more before I university. I'm out of practice now," she said, not looking at me but at her outstretched hands. "But I don't think I could've forgotten everything already." She looked back up at me and beckoned me to sit down beside her on the piano bench. "So, any requests?"

"Actually, do you know anything by Debussy? He's my favourite," I said bashfully, taking my seat beside her.

"Debussy, huh? I think I remember how to play that one piece of his that everybody knows..."

☾

I'm trying to decide if I should skip the song in the study playlist I'm listening to. Of all places it would show up! My thumb hovers over the skip button for a long time before I pull it away.

Things like this remind me I'm not really over her. I want to get over her. But what if I can't? What if I have to live with this for the rest of my life? It's terrifying. I'm trapped and no one knows it. I'll never, ever be free of her.

☾

"Symphonica?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go home. It's late."

"Alright, alright," she said. "Guess I lost track of the time there." She got up and threw the tarp over the piano. It was another one of those evenings where Symphonica and I would sit together in front of one of the outdoor pianos for hours, talking and laughing and revelling in each other's company. I loved to tell her about all the little stories I had in my head that I wanted to write down someday; she loved to play at the keys for me and other passersby to hear.

"It's so dark now," I said. It must have been almost eleven o'clock. "How do you see the keys when you play?"

She pointed upwards.

The moon was full in the cloudless sky. Large and whole and milky white. I gasped. "I've never seen it so big and full before. It's so big tonight."

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is."

"A sight like this... it's sad and beautiful."

She was looking away from me, her expression inscrutable in the dark. Crickets were chirping all around us. "That song you like, the one you always ask me to play... it's a sad song. Why do you like it so much?"

"Because it's not sad. It's..." I struggled for words. "It's beautiful. And you play it so beautifully. I always hate when it comes to an end. I never want your playing to stop."

I saw a trace of her smile in the dim moonlight. "Well, all good things must come to an end. Hey, how did we get to talking about this? Let's hurry up and go home. Oh man, I've got a calc quiz tomorrow and I haven't studied for it yet..."

☾

The song is short, and it crawls to its sleepy end after only five minutes. I still don't know if I miss Symphonica or not, but I know I miss the way she used to play this song. No recording could ever compare to the memories of sitting beside her on warm summer evenings.

Snow falls gently against the library windows. It's 7 PM and the sun set long ago. I decide that I'm done with studying and start to pack up.

☾

Symphonica's contorted face was bathed in the harsh, orange light of the streetlamp above us.

"Symphonica, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"You're abandoning me. How am I supposed to forgive you for something like that? You're just like everyone, everyone else."

The rain was falling on us hard.

"Symphonica, I only wanted to help you."

"No, you never did. I was always just your toy. Now you've grown tired of trying to fix me. I know how selfish you are."

Her words stung like poison. "Symphonica, I'm sorry," I blubbered hysterically, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

She stood there in the rain, silent as stone.

"I wish I had never met you..."

☾

I trudge through the Rock Garden on the way back to my apartment. The piano that used to be there is long gone. It was ruined after someone forgot to put the tarp over it before a rainy night a few months ago.

It is cold and I dig my hands deeper into my pockets. Snow continues to fall gently from the sky; the moon is nowhere to be seen.

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