Piano Song
He was fourteen and trembling, shaking with fear. He didn’t really want to do this. He didn’t want to, but was there really any choice left? Living with his absentee mother and abusive father wasn’t really an option. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Not without- he whimpered. Not without Ana. Not without Jarvis. Not without them here with him. Aunt Peggy wasn’t really around anymore. Not since the last fight she had with Howard. Obie was only around for the money, he knew that by now. He tried to rationalize what he was about to do, tried to make it sound like the obvious choice. He tried to not be scared, but he was terrified. He was only fourteen and he was trembling, shaking with fear.
Was this the right choice?
He wasn’t sure, and that was terrifying. Shouldn’t he be sure? Shouldn’t he be ready? Shouldn’t he be absolutely certain before doing this? He couldn’t come back from this. He should be sure. So why wasn’t he?
He kept his eyes on the pills in his quivering hand, the little oval shapes bumping into one another as his hand kept shaking. He was still in his funeral clothes, shoes untied and tie crooked, eyes swollen and hair a mess. His ribs hurt from the beating his father had given him for crying in public. Howard was beyond furious about the single tear that had fallen from Tony’s pale face, yelling and punching as soon as they got home. Tony was so sure he was going to die. He was almost scared, but then he remembered, what was the point? What was the point of living of he didn’t have anyone who loved him?
So as soon as Howard was done he had taken his mother’s depression pills- he didn’t even know the name of the pills, all he knew was that he was numb, numb and cold- and gone into the wing of the mansion where his room was, the farthest from his parents’ by Howard’s choice (after all who would want to see a good for nothing son every day before going to sleep (Tony didn’t complain)). He had left a the door open if barely so, in case anyone wanted to check on him after Jarvis’ funeral.
Nobody did.
He knew he had been there, on the bed still clothed in all black, ribs throbbing and left eye almost swollen shut, staring at the pills for at least a few hours, but nobody had come. And nobody would. He knew this. He knew nobody would come for him. And yet he couldn’t help but hope. He couldn’t help it, and he hated himself for that. How could he be so stupid?! How could he just- hope. Even thinking about the word left bile on his tongue. He felt disgusted with himself. How could he? Just- why? Why couldn’t he just stop being stupid and accept the fact that nobody would come? Why would anyone even come?! He was just a stupid, pathetic, weaklittle boy, and no one would co-
His door creaked and he jumped, pills flying everywhere and his mother- his mamma, was standing at the door, looking at her pills and then at Tony as if not understanding before the reality of the situation dawned on her. She clenched her jaw and her eyes closed. When they opened he saw more emotion there than he had in all his fourteen years of living with her. Her usual neutral eyes were pained and sad, hurt and… guilt?
“What are you doing Antonio?”
He got up as fast as he could, the shock of seeing her in his room gone, and stumbled over himself in his haste to shove the pills off his bed and on the floor so that she couldn’t see them, hoping she would just forget “I.. n-nothing mamma” he said, hoping that she would ignore him just like she had done all his life. And god, was he stuttering? He hadn’t done that since he was four
She exhaled, looking decades older than she really was, and for the first time in years, she met his eyes. She looked startled for a moment, as if she had forgotten the exact shade of his chocolate brown eyes, the same as hers. As if she had forgotten he was as much her son as he was Howard’s. “Oh, my son” she murmured.
She shook her head, and Tony’s heart sank. The first time she had looked him in the eyes in years and she shook her head. Of course, he should have known. He was a disappointment to his father, why wouldn’t he be one to his mother? He lowered his head, ready for the yelling, the insults, the sound of his heart breaking-
“Come” she said simply, and he looked back up, seeing her offer him her hand. He hadn’t held his mother’s hand since he was what- three? He didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t want to show affection. He didn’t want to be weak. He didn’t want to need it so desperately.
But he did.
He hesitantly placed his hand in hers, and her fingers closed gently around his. Her hand was warm.
She led him away from the safety of his room to the music room. He hadn’t been there in years. Not since she had given up on him learning to play the piano. He had been four after all, and he had found classical music boring if calming. He had tried, he really had, but he was mechanical when playing. He had been stilted and slow, and he hadn’t liked it.
Yet he still remembered how to play it
His mother, his mamma, led him to the piano, and softly pushed him to sit on the bench. She sat too, and suddenly he remembered why he had tried so hard to learn for her. The bench wasn’t very long, so they sat close to each other, her warmth seeping through his cold, cold body. It was as close as she had ever gotten to him, before he had started looking more and more like Howard. Before his hair had darkened, before his eyes had hardened, before his face lost its softness and took on a sharp edge to it. Before she gave up on him.
“I lost my father when I was about your age, you know?” She started, confusing him. She looked at him sadly, but knowingly “I know what it’s like to lose a parent- or in your case both, at such a young age”
His eyes widened. How did she know that he saw Jarvis and Ana as parents? He should be scared now, he should be terrified, because if she was anything like her husband, if she was anything like Howard he was going to suffer for this. But she didn’t yell, she didn’t scream.
She smiled self-deprecatingly instead.
“You thought I didn’t notice” she said before she saddened once again “you thought I didn’t care” she whispered. “You were right” she said after a long pause, and his heart broke “I didn’t care” she said, his heart stopping as his fears became reality “I didn’t want to care” she corrected herself. She looked determined then, if scared. She raised a hand, slowly lifting it up to his head and hesitated. She swallowed, and then she ran her fingers through his hair, her hand settling on the back of his neck. “But I’m willing, now. I’m willing to try” she smiled a watery smile “if you still want me to be your mamma”
“I…” he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to, he didn’t, but her presence was warm now, and he was starting to feel something other than cold for the first time in weeks “please” he begged, whispering because he didn’t have the guts to speak up.
She let a trembling breath go as her thumb stroked the base of his scalp. “Ok, Antonio”
They didn’t hug, they weren’t ready to, but she did keep her hand on the back of his neck and he did lean into the soft, warm touch.
She sighed “come on, I didn’t bring you here to sit in silence” she tilted her head towards the piano, and he furrowed his brows. “Don’t you remember, what I used to say?” She asked and he hesitantly shook his head before stopping and looking at the piano
A whisper of ‘play your emotions, Antonio’ in the back of his head, a buried memory came to the surface, and he placed his hands on the white keys. He didn’t know how to process the death of Jarvis and Ana, his parents, but maybe he didn’t need to speak or scream or even punch something to process it, maybe he could just play
So he let himself be taken by his emotions, his hands starting by hesitantly pressing a few keys, but soon enough they were flying over them. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even pretty, with tears wetting the keys, making his fingers slip on some notes, and his sobs interrupting the melody. But it was all him. All he was feeling at the moment- the grief, the sadness, the anger. He played it all.
And with his mamma’s hand on the back of his neck, making the cold less prominent, the warmth of her hand enough to keep him grounded, he kept playing for hours.