Forbidden Melody

by Magnolia Robbins

  PEER GYNT SUITE filled my ears that evening. Except I could hardly recognize it through all the careless mistakes that Emma had been making and the morbid way she played it. Slow and melancholy. There was a distant look in her eyes. The song, which was more spirited and lively, droned on in the background almost to the point it was a nuisance.

  I was standing across from her, watching her facial expressions as her fingers trickled across the keys. They barely made contact. My hand smacked down on the top of the Steinway. The reaction brought her attention upward. Get out of your head, I signed in a small burst of anger. You’re wasting your time and mine. Tell me what is going on.

  Emma stared at me defiantly. Nothing, she replied, leaning back on the seat. It’s just been a long day. I’m having trouble focusing.

  Clearly, I noted, more worried than annoyed, but after the very intimidating conversation with my father earlier I dared not to show it on my face. “Ms. Harvey, take a breath.” Emma did as I asked, letting a long slow breath escape her and then another. For a moment it looked as if she might cry, but she managed to hold herself together. I wanted to inquire, but I kept my face calm and my voice firm. “How about practicing something you’d enjoy? We’ll give you a break for the evening.” She seemed to perk up at the idea.

  The room filled with a familiar song that took me a moment to discern. It had been a long time since I’d heard it, and only with the pleasant sounds of Billie Holiday’s enchanting voice. This time, Emma had played the melody out on the piano. I’d never heard it played quite the way she was performing it, but that hadn’t surprised me. I didn’t question her song choice, only listened. It was surprising she’d liked jazz, and I had half a mind to strike a conversation with her about it after she’d finished, but I refrained. Instead, our focus returned on one another, I asked her a different question. “What made you choose that song?”

  It’s a favorite of my father’s Emma admitted. An intimate detail I hadn’t been expecting.

  Not another song you danced to at a wedding? I raised a brow, and she laughed at me. It took everything in my power to suppress the feelings that welded up in me when she laughed. It was good. I could tell the difference in your playing. She looked pleased as if I’d helped cheer her up a little. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, it made me happy.

  Can we play something together? Emma asked me. I’d avoided it that evening because I was still shaken up from the staff meeting earlier that day. I pondered on it before nodding. Perhaps I could have used the distraction too at that point. When I conceded, Emma’s smile stretched across her face, letting her hands dance across the piano keys. She’d perked up in a span of just a few minutes.

  As I uncased my Vuillaume, I sat it against my lap, adjusting the strings. Emma played out the notes to help me tune, and once I was satisfied, I looked up at her again. “What do you want to play?”

  Emma didn’t even think. Perdido.

  Her song choice didn’t register at first. When it did, my head spun. It had been the one Andrew and I had danced to the night at the Red Door. The musicians had announced it before they had started to play. It was the only way she could have known. I couldn’t help but wonder how she knew it. Her interest in jazz music must have run deeper than I imagined. She was taunting me and I wasn’t sure why. Instead of humoring her, I continued to do my best to remain calm and collected, running my Morizot bow against the strings without speaking. I nodded. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Once she’d taken a few measured breaths, Emma started on the piano. The melody was simple at first. Just a few small strokes of keys. I waited till she’d picked up, both hands working in tandem, creating her own presentation of it, as she always did. Finally, I found the place to enter, letting the bow across two of the strings in a slow rolling introduction. Adagissimo. My movements countering hers in an effortless way.

  Emma stared me down as she danced across the piano keys. The song was far more enchanting with her playing it than the musicians from the other evening. We made a production of it as we always did. I’d tried to look away at least a dozen times but couldn’t.

  Where did you learn to dance? Emma asked me once we’d finished.

  I couldn’t help but smile at her curiosity. Lots of dance lessons as a child, I admitted. While I was curious, I didn’t ask her why she wanted to know. Instead, I changed the subject. How did you lose your hearing?

  The question had caught her off-guard. I wasn’t sure if she’d answer. She drew in a long breath. “I started losing it at eighteen,” Emma replied, her facial expression dropping. Even still, she continued. “It’s called Ehler-Danlos syndrome. It takes a while to progress, but it will make you go deaf. I stopped hearing when I turned twenty.”

  There must have been an interesting expression on my face because it caused Emma to smile. “It took me a while to accept it when it happened, but I learned how to adapt. I try to feel the vibrations in the floor when I play piano, and I can remember all the notes in my head pretty well, so I can piece together how the melody sounds, even if I don’t know the song.”

  “Can it be fixed?” I asked, leaning back against the seat I was in. There was a brief flash in Emma’s eyes. Sadness, maybe? I couldn’t quite tell. It was only there a second. Before I had a chance to apologize for being so forward, she answered.

  “It’s irreversible,” Emma said quietly, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. I did my best not to come across as I was pitying her and instead just nodded. We sat for a moment in silence, though I was fighting the urge to tell her that despite her losses, she was one of the most exceptional musicians I’d ever met.

  Before I had the opportunity, Emma signed her own question back. Why did you learn to sign? After she’d asked, I fumbled through my pockets for my phone. When I looked back up at her, she was studying me curiously. It was a little after seven. Lessons would end soon, and I’d promised to be there by eight.

  Then I said the most reckless thing I could have in that moment. “Can I show you?”

  THE SOUNDS OF CRICKETS still filled the air as we walked. Emma and I had trekked across the Bard campus and down several blocks of tree-lined streets. It was a beautiful area of Annandale-on-Hudson. Lines of Victorian style homes with white-picket fences spanned the sides of the roads. Hedges attended to. Old-style streetlamps emitted a yellow glow across the pavement. The smell of oak trees and misty, humid air filled my nostrils.

  Emma and I walked in silence, enjoying the scenery. I dared not speak in fear I’d ask more prying questions of her. Questions that were most likely better kept in my mind, unanswered. Luckily, it was only a six-block walk to the elementary school where we were headed. Emma didn’t ask where we were going, only followed along beside me. She seemed in a cheerful mood. More calm and relaxed than she had been when we’d started our lessons.

  The school theater was small but well-kept. White walls and crown molding throughout, and stuffy hard red-fabric seats. It wasn’t the Fischer Center or David Geffen Hall, but it worked well enough for the circumstances. I’d come many times over the past few years. As much as I would have preferred to sit in my usual seat, I was careful this time. Emma followed me to the back corner, away from the aisles and the crowds that were entering. The more inconspicuous we could be, the better. Emma seemed to agree with my discretion. Even the idea of sitting next to her as the show began had my stomach in fits, but as soon as the line of children trickled on stage, my focus went elsewhere.

  My eyes scanned the several rows of children. Once I saw those pigtails flying through the air, I knew I’d spotted her. A six-year-old blonde-headed girl with bright-blue, beady eyes and a smile that could melt anyone’s heart. She bounded into the spotlight, following along with her classmates to the introductory song of the musical. A song that on any other occasion would have driven me out of my mind, but had me captivated now only because of her.

  Kira Porter and I had known one another for two years now. It had been Miran
da who had introduced us after a Philharmonic show. Miranda’s niece Sarah and Kira had been attached to the hip after finding one another at school. The moment I found out more about her, I knew she’d be around for a long time after.

  Miranda had known Kira was a part of the foster system early on. She’d never had much luck with her foster parents, tossed around frequently. Though her latest home was stable, the family was still absent more often than not, leaving Kira alone and unsupervised. Between the Kepner’s and me, she was well taken care of, spending much of her free time in extracurricular activities and outings between us. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered doing given any other circumstances. When she’d looked into my eyes that night when I’d first met her, that ridiculous smile plastered across her face, she was irresistible.

  As the play droned on in the background, I found myself occasionally stealing glances at Emma, sitting beside me. She watched with wide-eyed curiosity. I was surprised how attentive she was, given it was an elementary school performance, but she seemed to enjoy herself.

  I watched her as she laughed during a scene close to the intermission of the show, and she noticed me. Green eyes fell on brown. A small smile hung on her lips. I returned it, pleased that she was having a good time. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and turned her attention back to the stage. My eyes lingered, noticing her hand resting near mine in her lap.

  How easily I could’ve swept my fingers across the backside of her palm. To feel her soft skin against my own. Even pause there for a moment. I fought every urge to draw my hand closer, in hopes a sudden movement might bring us together. Instead, the idea lingered in my imagination until intermission came. Once Emma raised her hands to clap, the thought dissipated from my mind.

  After the show had ended, we waited in the back of the theater until the audience had cleared out. Kira wandered back out onto the stage, searching for me in what was left of the crowd. I waved to her, and she skipped down the aisle happily, running into my arms.

  Once we’d hugged, she pulled away, looking up. Her hands swept in front of her. Did I do good? I smiled, nodding at her as my hand ran over top of her wavy blonde locks that reminded me so much of Emma’s.

  You were perfect as always, I replied to her. She grinned and then turned her attention towards Emma. I squatted down beside her and Emma followed suit. Kira, there’s someone I want you to meet, I signed, looking at Emma. This is my friend, Emma.

  Emma smiled at her, signing back. Hi Kira, it’s nice to meet you. You’re a really good dancer. Kira’s eyes went wide, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the compliment or from the fact that Emma was signing to her.

  You know how to sign? Kira asked her, and Emma nodded. Are you deaf? Emma shook her head yes, and Kira’s smile grew brighter. The two bounded into conversation while I kept a careful eye of who might be watching us together. Finally, I tapped Emma on the shoulder.

  We should get going. I’ve got to take her home. Emma got to her feet when I said it, and the three of us headed out of the school and back out onto the sidewalk. I took Kira’s hand in mine. When we reached the first block, Kira tugged on my arm.

  When I looked down at her, she signed. Can we get ice cream? I knew the place she was referring to. It was a treat only reserved for outings with her. Rarely did I ever eat sweets. Every once in a while, Kira would talk me into it. It was hard to turn down that face.

  I pondered on the idea. When I looked to Emma, she studied me, having not caught what Kira had said. “Do you like ice cream?” I asked her, and Emma broke into a smile.

  “Who doesn’t like ice cream?”

  The small parlor down the street had been around for nearly a century, just like many of the buildings in Annandale-on-Hudson. A large neon sign sat on the roof. String lights hung in the windows, casting a hazy light outside. On the inside, cushioned, iron-rod chairs and tables filled the space. Rows of glass freezers lined the far side of the room, filled with every possible flavor of homemade ice cream imaginable. There were so many flavors, it would likely take you a year to get through them all, but Kira and I had always had our favorites. As careful as I’d been at the elementary school, I was even more so there. It was just a few blocks from the Bard. There could have been any number of people watching us as we entered. Luckily, there was only a few people inside. The chilly evening likely deterred a lot of the customers. Kira bounded to the counter, and the usual staff greeted her.

  “How’s it going, Juliet?” Kimmy asked me as we reached the counter. “The usual?” I nodded, turning my attention back towards Emma. Kimmy didn’t ask who she was, only smiled as she waited. Emma’s gaze was looking upward, studying the menu.

  “Can I have a scoop of chocolate?” she asked, once her attention had turned back towards Kimmy. They smiled at one another as Kimmy totaled the orders. Before Emma had an opportunity to gather her wallet, I paid for the three of us. I could only imagine the dirty look I was receiving, but I didn’t give her any mind.

  Once Kimmy had made up Kira’s strawberry sundae and offered it to her, she scooped a single serving of chocolate-coconut ice cream in a bowl for me, and chocolate for Emma. After we’d all received our desserts, we took seats on the far side of the store, out of the way of the door and any incoming traffic. I’d expected myself to still be on edge about our public outing, but I was distracted by our conversation and the treat of ice cream I hadn’t enjoyed in a while. Kira and Emma seemed to have a lot to talk about, bonding over their unique hearing losses. Kira had lost hers at birth, a birth defect that had left her without ear canals and outer ears. Emma’s attention never wavered from her as she explained.

  I heard you’re friends with Miranda, Emma signed. Kira nodded, explaining about Sarah and how they’d known one another for a long time. As they chatted, I admired Emma and the way she was enjoying her ice cream. She took small, careful bites in between bits of conversation. The world paused as she ate, her eyes rolling back into her head. It was delicious ice cream, but the way Emma ate it made it seem as if it was the finest delicacy. Her tongue would drag along her lips after she’d swallow to fetch any remnants of chocolate that lingered there. The act caused a painful beating of my heart, threatening to rip itself straight from my chest.

  As she finished the last spoonful, I couldn’t help but notice the trail of chocolate left against the side of her mouth. I hesitated in drawing her attention towards it. She was far too happy watching Kira sign about school. Compulsive desires overcame me, and I reached out to touch the side of her face. The side of my thumb swiped lightly at the corner of her lip to wipe it away. My hand lingered too long, and I swore I felt her fall into my touch just slightly. As soon as I realized, my hand fell back into my lap. I looked away towards Kira, trying not to draw any more attention to the act than I already had.

  Are you ready for me to take you home? I asked, even though I knew the answer. It was likely that she’d be alone upon her return, her foster parents absent most of the time. Miranda and I did our best to ensure she was occupied as much as possible, but sometimes there was nothing we could do. Truthfully, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my life, I would have considered adopting her. I didn’t have the time. The days we had together would have to do. She nodded at me solemnly, and the three of us headed outside.

  When we reached the outskirts of campus, Emma parted ways with us. She squatted down to say goodbye to Kira, who wrapped her arms around her neck. Once they’d broken from one another, Emma got back up to her feet, bringing her attention to me. She smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face, in almost a nervous way. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I’m glad you could come,” I replied, trying to be careful in what I said. I’d been more than glad. It had made my entire day she came and that Kira had liked her so much. Even still, there was no way I would ever say it. I couldn’t.

  Emma studied me in a strange way before she gave the two of us a wave. Goodnight Kira, Emma signed. “Goodnight, Prof
essor Hamilton.”

  Juliet, I thought to myself. I wish she’d call me Juliet.

  12

  Emma

  Think of Me from Phantom of the Opera

  Metamorphosis, Movement III by Philip Glass

  All I Ask of You from Phantom of the Opera

  THE SEMESTER SEEMED to fly by. Before I knew it, it was near midterms and fall performances were just around the corner. Every assignment and test and miscellaneous school-related task was thrown at me. I was given so much work from Counterpoint and Harmony to grade or look over, I could hardly keep up.

  Rehearsals with Lydia had seemed to get better as time went on. After the incident after the Red Door, it had been awkward. We’d practiced, without much outward conversation. Only small chatter about redoing certain sections or rehearsing a different song.

  Lydia was in a good mood the week before midterms. Neither of us had brought up the incident after the Red Door, but she’d seemed to have put it far out of her mind. Eventually, I’d have enough nerve to talk to her about it but for now I enjoyed that I had my friend back again.

  Today, she was practicing a favorite of hers and mine. She was taking a break from her classical opera repertoire to sing a song from Phantom of the Opera. It had been a favorite of hers since we saw it on Broadway. The song she’d auditioned with in high school. I remembered it fondly. She was made for the role of Christine, and her voice had been perfect for it.

  I watched as she sang it once through, playing along the accompaniment. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind she was outshining my piano work by the way she lost herself while she was singing. “Think of Me” was such a poetic song. The way it captivated her, and she’d lost herself as if she was performing it live on stage, was mesmerizing.

  “That should be your final piece,” I noted when she’d finished. Lydia smiled at me as she caught her breath. “You sing it with such conviction. You should just do Broadway.” It was teasing. Lydia was made for the opera. Still, I could see her doing either without any trouble.