Painted Memories (8 page)

We passed Toni's Café on the right. “Oh, we're definitely in a good part of town. There's Toni's Café! That's where we're going for lunch.”

“Okay, I've never been there before, but if
tha—”

“What!?
Why not? It's the best sandwich shop there is.”

“I rarely have any reason to come to this part of town. Oh, we’re here,” he said, pulling up to the curb.

The number 2225 hung above the door. I read the open house sign posted out front as I stepped away from the car. “Well, the door isn't boarded up, which is promising,” I said sarcastically as I entered the building.

The room was huge. Bare walls stretched to the high ceiling
above on the right and left. Dust-coated cobwebs hung from its corners and draped the light fixtures. I guessed the place hadn't been used in years. Moving further in, I noticed a door on the back wall that was almost hidden by the staircase in front of it.

“This is great, Drew, there's so much space here. It should take a
ton
of cleaning, but I think this place could really suit your needs.” When he didn't answer, I turned to find him standing in the middle of the room, looking from wall to wall. Moving closer, I could see the focus in his eyes, when a small grin spread across his mouth, as if he were trying to contain his excitement. I figured he was probably imagining what this place would look like with his paintings on the walls. I touched his arm to get his attention. “Let's check out the upstairs. Think of all the space you'd have if it's in good shape.”

“Can you believe it? This might be the one!”

“C'mon,” I said, walking toward the staircase. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back.

“I think you should wait down here. I'd hate for you to fall through the floor if the wood is rotten.”

“What if
you
fall through the floor? What's the difference? I doubt they would let people in here if it were dangerous.” I didn't realize we were still holding hands until he squeezed mine.

“How about you just humor me and stay here, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Taking a quick peek at our clasped hands, he released mine and turned toward the stairs.

Alone on the bottom floor, I could hear Drew walking a few steps and stopping before moving further into the room above me. It was odd, I thought, that the building wasn't already rented. Being so spacious, it could easily have been turned into almost anything: a boutique, a dance studio, anything. As I turned to look around the room, I saw a dingy, white cloth sprawled across a table of some sort. I moseyed over to it and picked up one of the five cans sitting on top to read its label: Behr Premium Paint. A greyish blue color was smeared across the lid. “Solitude” was the paint color, and would
have been a definite improvement over the existing dull beige walls. I pushed the cloth back to get a look at the table and a dust cloud ruffled up the air.

I froze.

The glossy, black wood stopped me in my tracks. I hadn't so much as touched a piano since Jesse died. I would not allow myself the luxury of it. Instead, it grew to become my own personal punishment for what I'd done. I slid my hand across the top; its smooth exterior was comforting after not touching one in so long. I couldn't resist the urge, and pulled the cloth further back, revealing most of the lid. Staring down, I noticed a stool. Front and center, I hesitantly took my place at the helm. Even though I was breaking my own rules, something inside of me urged me on. I lifted the fall to reveal eighty-eight black and white keys. My fingers hovered over them and I could feel the magnetism pulling the tips of my fingers to their cool ivory surfaces. I tapped a key softly and heard its crisp melody ringing throughout the room. I couldn't stop with one note. Next came a second, and a third.

Playing the piano for me was like riding a bike. Except it would have been like learning when you were seven years old and never riding again until you were twenty. Regardless, it's something you never forgot how to do. Five years of not playing a single note didn't make a bit of difference. My hands moved across the keys without a moment's hesitation. I closed my eyes and instantly flashed back to all the times I played the melody with Jesse. Learning an instrument wasn't for Jesse, but strangely enough, he loved to hear me play this particular piece and would often request it. I remember asking him once what it was about
that
song that made him like it so much more than the others. He said it was the way
I
reacted to it. My body, form, and posture were different when I did it for the pure joy of it, rather than for a lesson or recital. I was visibly more at ease. After he told me that, I tried to be more carefree, loosening up my body like I did when I was playing for fun, but it never worked. It wasn’t as much fun when I played the “proper” way: no slouching, back straight, hands held just right. I didn’t see why it made any difference as long as the music sounded good. It was one of the reasons why I never wanted to pursue my training. Playing for fun was so much more entertaining to me, while teaching always felt like my true calling. When Jesse died and I refused to play again, I denied myself the chance of seeing if playing the piano could turn into something more profitable.

I let the song consume my thoughts as the soft notes floated through the air. Swaying from side to side, my hands fluttering along the keys, I gracefully caressed each note while I remembered Jesse. I missed him so much. Hearing this song was sweet torture. Recalling all the times we pecked at the piano, and held our own concerts on a sofa filled with his favorite stuffed animals and my dolls. I tried to concentrate more on the song than the memories, but I couldn't, and soon, the tears slipped between my tightly shut eyes and rolled down my face. I knew I had to quit. If I didn't, there would be a full-fledged sob fest that would be hard to stop once it started. Resting my hands in my lap, I sat silent, trying to rein my emotions back in. I pulled the fall down, covering the keys, and reached for the cloth to recover the piano. I jumped, seeing Drew next to me, peering into my face.

“Holy crap, Drew! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Have you always played the piano?”

“Yeah, since I was a child; but this was the first time in five years.”

“Why so long? The way you moved to the music, you really
felt
the song. It seemed so natural to you, like it’s something you’ve always done.”

“It was a personal song that Jesse loved. I stopped playing the piano after he died.”

“Well, he sure got a special treat today. I’ll bet he missed hearing you.”

I stared at him, taken aback by his statement. I always felt like Jesse watched over me; I'd like to believe all of our lost loved ones did. But not once did I ever consider that he might miss my piano playing. A twinge of guilt flooded me and my eyes filled with tears. Drew's face softened, the curve in his smile dropping slightly. I had to look away to keep my unshed tears from falling.

“Can I make a song request?” Drew asked.

“A song request?”

“Sure. If you can play something so classy, certainly you can ramble out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’?” He propped his elbows on the top of the piano as he leaned his chin into the palm of his hands.

I couldn't stop the grin from cracking though the sadness on my face and played the forty-two-note melody for him. It was a far cry from the hundreds of notes that I was used to playing.

“Would you believe I haven't heard that song in years?” he said, once I finished. “My mom would sing it to me every night at bedtime when I was a child.”

I didn't want to bring the mood down again so I played another song. “What about this song?” I played “I'm A Little Teapot,” which Drew immediately recognized and started singing. I doubled over laughing at the funny faces he made when I heard a loud crack beneath me.

“Crap,” I said, trying to be as still as possible. “Maybe I shouldn't have sat—”

Two legs broke underneath me. Drew reached out to me when he heard the wood split, but I fell backwards with a shriek. He lunged forward after me and managed to slide his hand beneath my head before it hit the floor. Leaning over me, my head cradled in his hand, he tried to stifle a laugh.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” I said, laughing. My hands were on his chest as he pressed against me. He studied me for a moment before his smile faded and he stared into my eyes. Wiping a stray tear from across my cheek with his thumb, he asked again, “Are you sure you're okay? I'm a great listener... if you ever want to talk.”

I nodded, knowing he wasn't talking about my head anymore. My tears were gone, but he continued to caress my cheek with his thumb as he examined my face. For the briefest moment, I closed my eyes at his touch. I knew I should have fought the urge to lean into the warmth of his hand, but I couldn't. I opened my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You're welcome,” he mumbled, leaning closer to me.

I held my breath, bracing for a kiss I knew I should have pulled away from. His lips brushed over mine, so sweetly, as if he were timidly testing my reaction. My stomach fluttered unexpectedly as my heart hammered in my chest. Drew pulled away slightly and gazed from my mouth to my eyes before he swept my bottom lip with his thumb. “Sorry, lips are a bit chapped,” I said, feeling them with my finger.
Seriously.
My lips are chapped?
That's all I could come up with? I just scored another point on my idiot card. “I'm sorry, Drew, but I don't think we should. I'm seeing…”

“Oh,” he pulled back. “I didn't think you had a boyfriend. I didn't mean to—”

“Boyfriend?” I asked, confused. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend, “We've only seen each other a few times, and it's nothing serious.”

He grinned and pulled a strand of my hair between his fingers until it fell back in place. “Good. That means I still have a chance.”

“A chance... a chance for what?” After looking like a complete idiot in front of him more than once, I didn't think for a moment that he'd be interested in me.

“To kiss you again.”

He held my chin between his fingers and pulled my mouth towards his as he leaned forward. I couldn’t think of anything, especially what I was doing, too captivated with his green eyes to look away. Butterflies instantly swarmed my stomach. The last time
someone kissed me was so insignificant that I couldn’t even remember how long ago it was. His soft lips pressed against mine as he gently pulled my bottom lip between his, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Goose bumps spread down my arms from the sensation, and my hands automatically slid up his chest to his shoulders, practically on their own. I felt a twinge of guilt kissing Drew after my date with Tyler. What kind of person did that make me? Anything? I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I had to stop.

I pulled back. “Drew, I don't want to ruin this. We have a lot of fun when we're hanging out, and I don't want to mess that up if things don't work out.”

He arched his brow, “What if that's a chance I'm willing to take?”

“What if I'm not willing to take that chance?” I countered. “I don't have many friends and I'd hate to lose you.”

“Okay, fair enough. Can we agree that we like being around each other and just see where it goes?”

I still wasn't sure. I could count on one hand how many true friends I had in my life, and I was starting to think Drew could be one of them. I might not have known him long, but there was something about his genuine nature that made me believe I could trust him with anything. If we dated and things went south, there was no way I'd get that friendship back. No one can start over and pretend it never happened.  But there was this other side of me that thought about what it would be like to have more. How passionate would his kisses and his arms around me feel? I couldn't deny I
wanted
to find out. Could it really hurt?

“How about we get to know each other better and go from there?” I suggested.

He reached for my hand and pulled me up, as a smile stretched across his face. “Deal.”

I started gathering up the broken pieces, trying to put some space between us and allow the heat in my cheeks to cool down.

“Sorry I broke the bench,” I said, changing the subject. “I'll call the property owner and ask if I can buy a replacement, even though what I broke was a piece of crap.”

“Actually,” Drew said as he looked around the room. “I think this is it. I'm going to do it. I’m going to make an offer.”

“Really? There is still a couple more on your list. You sure you don't want to check them out first?”

“No, I don't think so. The upstairs seems solid and
it’s one big, open room. The possibilities are endless, the way I see it. With a little bit of elbow grease and painted walls, I think it will look great in here. It may take me a while, but I'll get there. What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect, a lot of cleaning though. If you'd like some help, I don't mind?” I asked.

“Definitely. I'll call when we get back and see what kind of deal I can make with the owner. I can be pretty convincing when I want something,” he said, winking at me.

Yeah, really convincing.
Especially when he caught you off guard like I was when he kissed me; but I couldn't let him know that. I started making my way to the door, “We'll see about that. You ready to go?” I didn't look back, but for some reason, I could already see the smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. Something told me he wasn’t just referring to the negotiations for the studio either.