Melodies

“It wasn’t always like this,” I muttered, lifting up my cup of tea to my lips to take a cautious sip, grimacing from the hotness of it and lowering it back down to the table.

Sara nodded, her own cup resting in her hands. “I know. I remember what it was like before.”

I let out a sigh, my head falling to rest again the back of the couch. “I don’t know when it changed.” I heard Sara make a noise from across the table making me roll my eyes at her. “I mean, I obviously know that it was after Evan died, but I don’t know when he decided it was my fault.”

“People just deal with loss differently. For Kris, it’s blaming you.” Sara tried, grimacing when she saw the look I sent her. “I’m trying to help, I’m just not sure what to say.” She ran her finger around the rim of her cup for a moment, twisting her mouth up to the side before she looked back up at me. “Katy, you know that it wasn’t your fault, right? I mean, you weren’t even there when it happened.”

I nodded, wrapping the blanket hanging around my shoulders tightly around me. “I know. I still have moments where I feel like I could have prevented it, but, Dr. Bailey keeps telling me that there’s no need to focus and pour my emotions out onto things that are in the past and that I can’t change.”

Sara blinked rapidly a few times before she gave her head a quick shake. “Wow, you have definitely been seeing a therapist for the last year.”

I let out a small laugh, leaning forward to pick my cup up once more, taking another cautious sip, relieved to find that it had cooled down a bit. “I don’t know why he hates me. We used to get along, you know?”

“You haven’t seen him in almost a year, Katy, he probably doesn’t remember that, in the past, you and him were friends… kind of,” she paused, taking a sip of her drink, “I mean, you got along at least.”

“We were friends,” I said, sitting up. “It’s just, once I started dating Evan, and Kris ended up in OHL and then the NHL, there wasn’t a lot of time to stay friends. Besides, he and Evan were on the outs around the time of the accident, which meant he talked to me less by default.”

Sara seemed to bite back a comment as she nodded her head. “He’s the only person who would ever even joke about Evan’s death being your fault, and he’s hardly even the same Kris he was last year. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“I just wish things didn’t get so bad,” I tried to explain. “It’s bad enough to lose my boyfriend, but then to lose a friend, too?”

“Wow, cry a little more, Kate,” Sara muttered, ducking as I chucked a pillow at her. “What would Dr. Bailey say if you told her about you and Kris were friends, but then kind of weren’t, and now he blames you for the death of his best friend and your boyfriend?”

I sighed. “She would probably tell me that I’m only responsible for my own emotions, and pouring my time and energy into the way someone else feels only results in further harm to myself.”

“Dear God, you could write a self help book, sell a lot of them and make a lot of money.” She paused. “We could buy a fridge.”

I frowned, “We have a fridge.”

“True. But we could have two fridges,” Sara pointed out.

I let out a small laugh, taking another sip from my cup of tea. “I wish he would talk to me. He never told me what happened, what he and Evan talked about before… he just never told me,” I tried to explain to her. “He just shut down completely. He threw himself into hockey, and he stopped talking to me, and he just decided that he hates me. I don’t know when or why all of it happened.”

Sara was quiet for a long moment. “Do you think you’ll see him again? I mean, as his stop by Bailey’s office a one time thing or will he be back?”

I ran my finger around the rim of my cup, giving my shoulders a small shrug. “I don’t’ know. I don’t know which one I’d prefer, either.”

Sara shot a quick glance at the clock on the microwave behind me, shooting me an apologetic smile. “You’ve got a job to get to, kid.”

I groaned, glancing back to see that she was right. “Why can’t people just pay me to be pretty?” I asked her, smiling slightly.

Sara grinned, “See, you should do more of that.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, sliding my jacket off of the back of the chair it was resting on. “Make more egotistical jokes?”

“No. Smile. I know that how well you’ve handled Evan’s passing is astounding, really, and I’m glad that you’ve managed to get out of bed and keep living every morning, but that funny Katy that I met two years ago, the one who insisted on having taco Tuesday’s and ice cream for breakfast? She hasn’t come back yet.”

I nodded, swallowing back the sadness that her comment evoked inside of me. “I miss her, too.”

Sara gave me a soft smile. “Have a good day at work, alright?”

I gave her a thumbs up, pulling my jacket on before I grabbed my purse off of the table by the door and headed out.

------------------------------

“I understand that Carson has a lot of homework, but you have to at least give me some forewarning that you’re cancelling his lesson. I don’t want to drive out to the studio to sit by myself, Mrs. Hamon,” I spoke into my cell phone, my back resting against the back of the piano. For the second week in a row, and the sixth time since they had signed their son up for classes, the Hamons were not showing up to his piano lesson. As much as I appreciated the money they were paying me without actually making me earn it, I didn’t appreciate driving twenty minutes out of my way to the studio I had rented out for lessons, just to sit by myself.

“I know, Katy, and I do apologize. Carson has just been so busy, and getting him to practice has been a real challenge. I’m just not sure that piano is actually for him,” Elaina Hamon tried to reason with me. “I will make sure he’s there next week, and maybe we could talk about possibly terminating his lessons?”

I moved the receiver away from my mouth so I could let out an aggravated sigh before moving the phone back to my mouth and politely responding. “Of course, Elaina. I’ll see you next week then,” I said, hanging up and letting out a groan.

My father had convinced me to take piano lessons when I was nine years old, and although I hated it at the time, when I had finally completed enough years to be considered “graduated”, I was in love with the instrument. The way the ivory keys felt against my finger tips, the way the sound of the keys being hit seemed to surround me with a sense of peace and awe that I didn’t experience with any other sound, it was all such an amazing thing. When Evan had first passed, I had avoided the piano. I had spent a large part of our relationship, both the pre-romantic and romantic side of it, writing out melodies that centred around the way he made me feel. Sometimes I played at the low octave, trying to personify my frustrations at him into a song, and others my hands flowed from one of the piano to the other, symbolizing the way I wanted to travel the world with him. It was hard to even think about playing a song if he wouldn’t hear it. It was hard to sit down and play, and be so filled with emotion when I was trying to avoid the feelings. I didn’t want to get so lost in the sound of my playing that I ended up in tears, and so, I avoided my other love for the first few months that I spent without Evan.

It was into my third week of counselling that Dr. Bailey brought up how part of my inability to cope was closely related to my refusal to free my emotions, and my need to avoid the previous joys in my life. It was hard to fall back in love with the piano, but after a few sessions of crying over the keys, smashing my fists into the board and kicking over the piano bench, I found peace with the sound once more. It was Sara who suggested that I offer lessons, and after five months of trying to make a name for myself as a teacher in the area, I had a solid group of eleven students, and enough money to contribute to the rent. The only issue was the kids who clearly had no work ethic and refused to practice the songs I had assigned them, often weaselling their way out of lessons and leaving me to sit alone in the empty studio, alone with my thoughts.

I snatched the hair elastic off of my wrist, tying my hair up into a high ponytail, and turned around so I was facing the piano, letting my hands rest on the keys for a moment before I closed my eyes, inhaling as much air as my lungs could contain, and letting my fingers take over. My head moved in time as my hands moved across the length of the piano board, my feet working the pedals to soften the tone or carry on a sound. I allowed myself to get completely lost in what I was playing for a few moments, simply letting the music take over. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes to try and catch a glimpse at what time it was that I realized what I was playing, my hands freezing, my fingers growing tense as I stopped. I moved my hands away from the keys, staring down at the piano for a moment before I reached up, letting my hands rest on the fall, slamming it down to cover the keys. I stood up immediately, stepping around the bench to move away from the piano, staring it at for a moment.

Without wasting any more of my time, I gathered all of my things and left the studio, my hands still shaking after I was in my car.

The Start

So, this is nothing like the Sidney Crosby story I wrote, but I like where it's going. So, let me know what you guys think. The feedback I got from most of the readers of the last story was that everyone wanted a Kris Letang story, and this story line just seemed to fit him. Don't judge the entire story based on the start, alright? It's not all dark and heavy, I swear. The second part is already a mood changer, I promise.

Those days when it just seems like everything is wrong?
When you’re on your way to class, and there’s no spaces left in the parking lot, so you have to park across the street, and it’s pouring rain. You get to class, late, and find out that you read the wrong pages for the reading assignment, so you have no chance at getting a good mark on the quiz you’re taking, and just when it feels like the day couldn’t get any worse, you realize you’ve locked your keys in your car. It’s one of those moments where you want to grab a fistful of your hair, stare up at the sky and just scream. Just scream at the top of your lungs, letting every frustration, every let down, everything else that was going on around you that’s just been building up into this one huge ball of fury be let out through a single scream. You want to pick up the book you have to read and throw it across the room, pick up the radio and smash it. You want to do something, anything, to just take away the anger.
Those letdowns, those small frustrations, they all cluster together in front of you until you can’t see anymore because they’re all just hovering in front of your eyes. They’re blackness. They’ve become that cliché darkness that swallows you whole and just waits to see if you’re strong enough to fight your way out of it, or if you’ll just surrender and let it take your life.
You know those days? Love is that light. It’s the one thing that makes you stop, mid scream, and remember that even though at that moment makes you want to jump off of that hypothetical cliff, if you can just hold yourself together long enough to make it back to that person, they’ll hold you together instead. Love is the light. Sometimes it’s the only light you have, and it’s the only thing that you can ever find the energy to fight for.

The trouble is, when that light goes out, the need to keep fighting can flicker out with it, which is how I found myself in counselling just four months after he was gone.


“He was like oxygen. If I had enough of him, I was unstoppable. If I missed even a second of him, I would collapse. It was a horrible thing, the way I loved him. It was painful, tiring, and made me want to clench my fists and scream as loudly as I could. I wanted to grab his face and scream at it, to make him feel the same pressure and fear that I felt when I stared at him. But I never did that. Because, when it all came down to it, it was also the most wonderful, fulfilling emotion that my heart had ever pumped through me. I felt invincible when he touched me, and as much as I hated the distance between us, those moments when he was beside me, they were the best moments of my entire life.” I let out a long breath of air as I finished the sentence, lifting up my eyes to face Dr. Lana Bailey, who was nodding her head in that typical therapist way that made me want to reach across the room and hit her.

“When did he die?” She asked, her pen and notepad sitting on her lap.

I almost choked on the air I was inhaling. The mention of him not being here anymore was still so alien to me, I never knew how to react when someone brought it up. In all the time I had been in counselling, Dr. Bailey had only asked about his passing once, and that was during my first session. I had to take a moment to find my voice once more before I answered, “Last year. In June.”

She nodded, her lips tightening just a tiny bit before she tried to give me a reassuring smile. “You’ve handled it so well, Katy, you really have. The strength that you’ve shown in our sessions, it’s a remarkable thing for someone your age.”

It was my turn to nod as I glanced over at the clock, noting the time. “My session is over now, isn’t it?”

She lifted up her wrist to check her watch, sighing. “Yes it is. Time just gets away from you sometimes, doesn’t it?” She asked, standing up to walk me to the door. “I’ll see you again next Thursday, right?”

I dug through my purse for my keys, looking back up at her once I had found them. “Yeah. Same time, right?”

“The time has never changed, Katy,” She reminded me with a small smile. “Take care of yourself.”

I nodded, adjusting the strap of my purse as I turned to make my way through the office and out to the parking lot, lifting a hand up to move my hair out of my face.

From behind me I heard Dr. Bailey grab the board that listed the names of patients visiting her before she called out, “Kristopher?”

I froze, my one foot poised to take a step as I lifted my eyes up and looked back at her before I scanned around the room quickly, noticing him sitting in the far corner of the room, his shaggy hair falling in front of his face as he bent down to pick up his wallet and keys from the floor before he stood up. I could only stare at him, completely shocked to see him again, to see him right in front of me. I watched him as he made his way towards the door Dr. Bailey had left open for him, taking in a big breath of air before stepping through the doorway and turning to pull the door closed. His eyes lifted up to meet mine, the same look of surprise that was on my face washing over his as he took in my features.

It had been just over a year since I had seen him last. Even at the funeral, I hadn’t seen him. Whether it was because he was never in my sight or because I was too numb to notice, I’m not sure. He looked so much older, as if it had been many years instead of just one, and the way he wore his fatigue on his face made my heart crumple. I could see the sadness in his features, the way the depression had soaked into his skin. I wondered if I looked the same way he did. If I was as obvious with my emotions as he was.

I don’t know how long we stood there, staring at one another, but when he fell out of his trance of surprise, his face morphed into something different. The lines of fatigue lifted into rage, and his tired eyes resembled a darkness I hadn’t seen in so long. With a hand on the door he shook his head at me. “This was all your fault.”

The door slammed shut, startling the other people in the waiting room. I looked at the door for a long time, how long I’m not sure. The tiny fleck of hope that I had held onto, that maybe things would get better, was gone. I eventually turned myself away from the door, wiping at my watering eyes as I made my way out of the building and into my car.