Melody of Memory

I still remember the outside world.

It’s bright and warm and brimming with sound. I remember the rehearsal room with the soft lights overhead, the sunlight that poured in through the ceiling-high windows, the electrified voices that mingled into a chorus at opportunities both given and stolen, and the warmth that enveloped us all, merging us together. And that marvelous stage…it remains the clearest in my metal memory. The light there was different–it was intense, blazing. The air there was electric, and it reverberated through every inch of that great hall. And that single moment when the baton was raised and the string of anticipation pulled taut as breath built…if I had a heart, it would be that moment. That was where our music truly came alive.

How long has it been?

All I know now is the chilling darkness of this cage–this case that was once a simple resting place between performances. It’s been too long since my brass skin felt the breath of life. My valves are stuck–my slides are dry. My joints ache terribly, yet I can do nothing but crave the warmth of life.

The music that used to encompass our life has all but gone from the world, the silence broken only by discordance that would twist my stomach if I had one. My girl–Maya–her sobs mark each night. With them alone I’ve tallied the passing months. Day after day after day she lulls herself to sleep through quiet cries. She must be in college now, so why do I remain in this prison? Why has she left me to rot in this tundra of a closet? Has she forsaken her passion? Has she tossed aside years of dedication? For who–the parents who never bothered to come to our performances?

What about the director who praised her talent? The crowds who never missed an applause? The students who looked up to her? The fulfillment of a perfect concert? If only she could pull me from this cursed closet. If she’d only look at me, we could revive the music that left us too long ago.

“College is great!” I hear her say. “I’m crazy busy with classes, but I’m managing just fine!” The call ends, and silence falls over her room like a heavy curtain after a performance. I can almost see her leaning against the bed with her legs sprawled on the floor, like she used to do after a fight with her dad. She used to tap her fingers on the floor in those moments, playing through our music in her head. I wonder if she still does.

Maya’s father seems more content now. I suppose I have him to blame for this ache in my valves. Every now and then I hear his awfully irregular footsteps before the quiet click of the bedroom door. He’ll say something like “How’s the student doing?” and Maya will always smile and say she’s doing great. He’ll give a little speech about pride and work ethic and leave satisfied. Even I, trapped in this desecrated closet, can hear the strain in Maya’s smile. Every night I hear the truth behind it.

Please, just open the door. Just look at me.

Day after day after day she leaves me alone in complete silence only to maintain the silence when she returns. On occasion, her father’s demands echo through the house, pulling her away from her studies. Once I heard a pencil snap, but Maya always answers obediently. Each time I’m reminded of the snarky comments she used to throw back at him. Now, even her footsteps are softer, like a shadow of her former self.

When was the last time I heard her laugh?

On a call with her friends a few weeks ago? No. When was the last time her laugh came from the heart?

I remember. It was graduation day. She had handed me off to an underclassman the day before, and they set me next to Maya’s empty chair. The air was warm with mirth throughout the opening pieces and the ceremony, but I was cold. Alone. It was near the end that I finally felt her touch, and we played the school’s alma mater. She set me back on the floor afterwards, wrapping our section of five in a tight embrace. Tears spilled like great waterfalls, but their lengths were split by wide smiles. In my memory their laughter dances like a long-lost aria.

Had she known that would be the last time?

Would I have recorded that aria had I known?

This silence befalling us is more than a loss of music. We’re missing the ensemble. The harmonies that lifted Maya’s voice. The friends that made the room brighter than the sun ever could. In the silence, she’s hollow, her outside threatening to crumble, yet the torment remains unseen because she hasn’t cracked yet.

Please, Maya, let me see you.

Winter falls, and my skin turns to ice. Maya stops leaving her room. She’s started talking to herself, narrating questions I can’t possibly understand. Sometimes she groans and screams into pillows. Other times I hear sharp smacks and dull thuds. I can hardly imagine what they mean. I don’t want to.

What has happened to my girl?

“Maya!” a shout echoes from the living room.

A pen falls on the desk, and the smallest sigh hangs on her breath like a lingering note. Heavy silence falls as she pulls herself away, and I can almost hear her hammering heart–hear it racing as it always did when she was angry. Still, the door creaks open gently, and silent footsteps leave the room.

Every day she’s called away. Sometimes she returns quietly. Other times I hear her fall to the floor as soon as the door shuts, like a collapsed downbeat. For hours she lies there alone, and I can only wonder at the thoughts racing through her head. As time passes it becomes harder and harder to guess, for she drifts away from the Maya I know.

That is, until the call comes only to be met with silence. Like a lonely chime her father’s voice sounds until even I am left to wonder what the girl could be doing. Thunderous footfalls soon approach, and the door is thrown open to slam against the wall.

“Maya!” he demands again.

“Hmm?” Her voice is strangely serene, but I suppose it's the tone she always takes with him now.

“C’mon, your mother needs help.”

A pause.

“I’m…kind of trying to study, Dad. My chemistry final is tomorrow.”

“Hey, you’ve gotta earn that tuition money somehow.”

Pluck. A nerve struck.

“That money won’t be worth much if I don’t pass this exam.”

“And you wouldn’t need to worry so much about this exam if you spent less time sulking. Get. Up. I won’t say it again.”

Silence falls heavy, like the quiet cutoff before a thunderous…

SLAM.

The reverberations knock something to the floor. An old award, perhaps. The special plaque the director gave her in high school. Her dad’s curses fade down the hall, punctuated now by the faint drips of tears against the cold, hardwood floor.

How I wish to knock that man’s teeth out. I doubt even he knows what he wants from his daughter. It’s clear now more than ever that she will never be good enough for him. The only question remaining is: When will she realize?

The floor groans as Maya crosses the room, stopping near the closet door. I hear her kneel, and she takes up the fallen award. Her silent tears break into muffled sobs, and she thumps against the closet door. I can almost see her hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing into herself.

Oh, Maya…

For the first time in months, we sit together, separated by a wall but united in grief. We sit together in the memory of better times. Of music and joy. Of warmth and light, community and friends. Maya’s sorrows flow freely, and suddenly this darkness that’s trapped me for months doesn’t feel so cold.

“How am I supposed to study now?” she whispers with a little chuckle. A crack in the sadness.

Another beat of silence as she rests against the door. Finally, she gathers the strength to push herself up, and I hear the plaque returning to the wall. She rummages for something, and a moment later the heaviness accumulated through months of silence and overwhelm shatters. The cause: a melody.

One of the last pieces I ever played. Dancing bouncily, the notes emanate the joy and freedom of a time long past. My valves itch more with each beat, begging to play along, and part of me wonders if Maya is airing out the notes as well.

The entirety of our final concert whispers through the room. As the final applause rings out, another recording begins with a Christmas carol. For hours we listen to her high school concerts, reliving the different tunes as if it were only yesterday. If only for tonight, we were back, creating music together every day. As the last song of Maya’s very first high school concert finishes, I notice the soft snores on the other side of the room.

Maya leaves in the late morning for her exam. With her parents both at work, the house is quiet. I’m alone as usual, but I’m not lonely. It’s strange. Here I remain in this darkness, yet the cold has yet to return since last night’s memory dive. Was the memory alone enough to drive away this biting chill?

I wonder if it’s done the same for Maya.

It must be the afternoon when she returns home. And she’s…humming. The familiar melody sends a new wave of warmth across my skin. Suddenly, light shines through the cracks of my case, and I become weightless for a moment.

It can’t be…

Click. Click. Click.

That darkness I never accepted as home finally splits. And there she is. My girl. Her eyes are dull and tired, and that tight, profound smile seems alien on her face. Still, that look sings of things not forgotten.

She’s beautiful.