Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody)

by Nieto, Ron C.

  “I didn’t…” I started to argue, but then I thought of the times he’d zoned off. His father had called me, and while I had removed his hand forcibly from the guitar, it suddenly occurred to me that Mr. Brannagh must have attempted something similar. Only, it had not worked then. He’d had to call me, terrified because his only family was unresponsive and…

  And what about today? I had called him, and he had been able to stop himself. Not easily, granted, but he had done it on his own terms.

  So instead of telling him that I most certainly had done absolutely nothing to help him, I hugged him and let the steady pounding of his heart against mine beat away the worries and the surrealism of it all.

  CHAPTER 20

  The following two weeks, since our general rehearsal had been a success, Keith took to leaving his guitar behind. He left it inside its gig bag, which in turn had found a spot inside his wardrobe. If he had more urges to give into the music, he never mentioned them. We spent our free time together, talking about mundane stuff like classes and ice cream flavors and the upcoming Christmas holidays.

  One evening, we even went to Dave’s place, Anna and him and me, and we played Super Mario for hours on end on the Wii. Keith won, and the rest of us refused point-blank to believe that he had never before played the game.

  For as long as I could, I allowed myself to forget the freaky events and to just enjoy my time with Keith. Bliss found us the night before the grand opening of the play. It was probably the most unremarkable Thursday ever, with the four of us going to the movies and then to the café where everything began. We sat there drinking our mocha, Anna and I making grossed out noises while the guys discussed the merits of the endless amount of dynamite used in the SF of the particular film we’d seen. At that precise moment, I realized that this new life looked the same as the one before Keith. Except, back then, there had been something that didn’t quite work—a discordant note. Something that wasn’t what it was supposed to be.

  Anna reached out and squeezed my hand under the table, giving me a huge smile, as if she could read my thoughts. She looked happier as well. She and Ray had been a hot couple, and I’d not be so callous as to say that it’d been built on looks alone, but she had gotten over him. Looking at her now, at the way she laughed and swatted Dave’s arm and flung crumbs of cupcake in his hair, I wondered how I had ever overlooked the fact that they were perfect for each other. They both had the same quiet charisma and self-assurance. They both were the kind of people you could look up to, not because of what they were, but because of who they were. They weren’t together, not yet, but it only was a matter of time and I was genuinely happy for them.

  The real thing that swelled my heart, though, was the way the two of them had accepted Keith. Beyond just tolerating his presence as my whim, they had given him a chance. While I had a sneaking suspicion that they had stopped talking to the cool guys for their own reasons, namely Ray, the fact that they had stuck with me, with us, was only half as valuable to me as their friendship with Keith. He and Dave had sought interests in common, finding their classes of history a starting point and building from there into TV shows, videogames, and Greek food. Anna had become Keith’s unconditional supporter since The Incident, but they also found a shared sense of humor and a deeply entrenched hate for winter cold.

  When Dave dropped Keith and me at my home and sped off to take Anna to hers, I had had the most normal evening in my life and I was beyond grateful for it.

  I hugged Keith before he could think of returning to his own place, leaving me alone.

  “Is everything all right?” Keith whispered in my ear when he noticed the way I clung to his neck, like a lifeline.

  No, it isn’t. I don’t want to lose what I just found. I’m scared. I don’t want you playing tomorrow in the opening gala, because I have a bad feeling screaming in the back of my mind, saying it’s all going to go to hell in a hand basket.

  “I love you,” I said instead. It might have been too soon for the words, but I knew what I felt, and I needed him to know it as well.

  When he exhaled a long, slow breath, his wiry frame relaxing and melting against my body, I knew I had said the right thing.

  “I love you, too.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Friday after classes saw us in the auditorium, putting up the final details for the decor: all those porcelain figures and frail glasses and picture frames we’d been afraid to unpack when the furniture arrived. I didn’t have to be there, toiling away, because I was the leading female role and I was allowed to be backstage, dressing up in my pretty gown and doing up my hair. Under normal circumstances, I’d have relished the chance to escape the fuss, but I didn’t want to be left alone that night. The worst case of jitters ever was looming over my shoulder, waiting for me to stop hurrying around so that it could settle in my stomach. Granted, I wasn’t doing any of the legwork and my presence on stage could be construed more as an obstacle than as help, but it made me feel better.

  I might be a bit of an egotistic. I’ve never denied it.

  Amidst the swarm of freshmen, I saw Keith wandering around, with no apparent purpose, and I called him over.

  My face must have betrayed my nerves, or perhaps he’d gotten to know me way too well for comfort, because he laughed softly when he saw me, standing between a side table and the settee.

  He made his way over, casually glancing to check on the mics and wires as he approached.

  “Hey,” I said, shyly. We hadn’t shared classes that morning, and I had been too busy at lunchtime with the preparations to drop by the cafeteria, so it was the first time I saw him after… well, after telling him.

  “Hey, yourself.” With a smile, he brushed the hair out of my eyes and let his hand linger for a moment against my face. “Looking good.”

  The moment he said it, I figured my expression must be that of a terrorized hare about to bolt and a wave of heat rose over my features.

  “I still need to do the makeup and hair and everything.”

  “I hoped you’d not play Lady Windermere in jeans,” he said with a smirk. “I like this version of you better, though.”

  The idea that he’d meant a compliment registered on me, and I couldn’t hold back a smile even as I tried to argue the point. “You still haven’t seen the characterization.”

  “No, you’re beautiful like this. A breath of fresh air into the past, a timeless figure unaffected by the comings and goings around her.”

  The heat came back tenfold, and it spread to other places beyond my cheeks. “You do affect me, though.”

  “Have I told you today how grateful I am for that?”

  I grinned and boldly hugged him, in spite of the eyes that were surreptitiously hanging on our every word and of the movement all around us. I didn’t care. They already knew. I’d not let fear of something as absurd as rumors or reputation stand in the way when it came to this boy that could be so tender and brass and perfect.

  His arms closed around my waist, not minding the attention, and the nervousness and jitters that had been stalking me for the whole day receded with the solid thumping of his heart against my own chest.

  But then, that heart skipped a beat, and Keith’s arms tensed around my waist in a visceral cringe. I heard his sharp intake of breath in my ear, and quickly took a step back, out of his protective embrace, worry gnawing at me again.

  “What happened?” I whispered. Had it been Lena? Following his gaze, I saw that no one was bothering us—no one was minding us much, actually. The corner that held his attention was empty, except for a freshman girl arranging a dozen roses into a vase on the side table beside us so that the flowers wouldn’t hang in front of an antique portrait.

  Keith blinked and his eyes remained closed for a second longer than necessary. Then, he turned back to me with a strained smile.

  “Nothing. I just thought the vase might fall.”

  I guessed the girl didn’t look particularly careful with her decorating and that the
vase was indeed frail and expensive, but I was hard pressed to believe that Keith had paled over such a thing. However, he held my gaze with that slightly artificial expression until I was the one who had to budge.

  “You should probably go and get ready,” he said, dropping a soft kiss against my temple.

  “I… suppose so.” I nodded and reluctantly stepped away toward the backstage area. “You sure you’re fine?”

  “Of course. I just have to put up the guitar rack and I’ll be good to go,” he said.

  I waved good-bye and headed over to the gown that awaited me, ready to don Lady Windermere’s personality and to transform into her. I only turned once at the exit, the skin at the back of my neck prickling uncertainly, but it was enough.

  Keith hadn’t moved, and he stared at the roses like a drowning man who’s just seen the silhouette of a great white shark.

  ***

  The play started at seven, as if it were a professional opening. The auditorium was full, and while most of the public consisted of friends and family members, we always relied on word of mouth and curiosity to get the rest of the community to come afterwards, during the weekend performance. It had worked other years, and I had the surety that, this time, the tickets would sell out.

  We didn’t look like a group of high school kids. Professor Hedford had morphed completely into his director role. The younger members all wore plain but utilitarian clothing, ready to rush around and add their bit. Even Mickey, who just had to keep water available for everyone in the breaks, had a resolute set to his jaw that betrayed how seriously he was taking it. And we, the actors who had landed parts? We had spent hours doing up our hair or styling our wigs. The makeup was thick, but not colorful—it looked very much like our research said the ladies and gentlemen of Regency England would look, as a matter of fact. The dresses hadn’t been put together from spare pieces, either. They’d been supplied, and we’d only made slight adjustments to fit our sizes.

  Director Hedford gave us all a once over and I could see his chest expanding with pride.

  Right, now we only have to make sure that the performance is on par with the props.

  He peeked out into the auditorium after a moment of silent contemplation, signaled me to enter the stage and gave a thumbs up to the girl in charge of the curtain.

  I took a deep breath.

  Here goes nothing.

  The light didn’t allow me to see much from the seating area, but I heard a round of polite applause when the play officially started, and I hid a grin under my distressed exterior. This would be my challenge. To make sure they weren’t clapping politely at the end, but rather screaming their throats hoarse with passion.

  Dave entered the stage and all thoughts left my mind as the memory of Keith’s song while we rehearsed this scene for the first time slammed into me. In a blink, I wasn’t worried at all about the public or their reactions. I was just a betrayed, scared woman who didn’t want to believe what the clues were rubbing in her face. Dave must have reacted in very much the same way, because I saw Lord Windermere, pained and tired, but adamant in his silence and unyielding in his terrible request that I must invite the woman who slighted my honor to my party.

  Lines started to pile upon lines, emotion brimming and then overflowing the stage as we danced in and out, weaving the story just as we’d learned, building up inexorably for Act II. The curtain fell and three younger girls and a boy rushed out to add the small decor details that would turn the drawing room into a ballroom floor. I had time to take a deep breath as myself and to note the tense, expectant silence that enveloped the public before we started again.

  I was giddy while the music started and the attendants came over to pay their respects, everyone aware, but ignoring the scandal that loomed over my head. The theme for Lady Windermere’s Fan sounded different from the rehearsals, and for a staggering fraction of a second I had enough presence of mind to worry that it’d not work. But then, at the same time as everyone else, I realized what was happening. Keith wasn’t only highlighting our emotions and helping us to build upon them. His music encompassed the whole auditorium, which up until that night had been empty, and so we were cocooned in the sea of expectation coming from the audience.

  I took it, relished it, added it to my tethering hope, and sent it right back to them.

  In response, the wave of shock and tension and outrage and pain that came to me when Mrs. Erlynne finally made her entrance floored me. I faltered at the proud, unapologetic smile on her face and everyone felt my dismay. The discordant, broken undertones that entered the song brought out their indignation to sustain me, and I pulled all the dignity I could from the melody and kept going, forgetting that it was a play and that I was not Lady Windermere.

  When the play finished, there were no whistles of appreciation or delighted screams.

  There was just a roaring round of applause that drowned the maddening pulse in my ears and lasted while the curtain came down and up, down and up, again and again.

  I was in a daze even when the lights were switched off and the auditorium emptied little by little, in a moved silence. Someone hooted backstage, an escape for the amount of pent-up emotion that still permeated the air, and I grinned and laughed and hugged everyone. Even Director Hedford.

  I rushed to the pit then. He’d been wonderful. He’d been even better than in his first performances during rehearsal period. He’d given us the hearts of the public…

  “Keith?” I asked, the smile wavering on my lips as I saw him.

  The pallor that had receded during his musical break was back in full force. The guitar lay against the wall, and he sat in a corner, pressing one hand against his mouth while shudders shook his entire frame.

  “Oh my God, Keith, what’s wrong?” I rushed to his side, not minding the tumble of curls perched precariously on my head or the huge gown that made the pit entirely too small. I knew what was wrong, but I wanted to be mistaken.

  He looked up, startled, as if he’d not heard me coming to him, and then he forced his lips into a thin smile. “You were incredible,” he said, ignoring my question.

  “Everyone was,” I whispered, framing his face in my hands and examining him eagerly for… I didn’t know what, exactly.

  “Everyone played their part well, but you owned that stage like you’d been born for it. Congrats.” Color returned to his features in small doses, little by little, and I allowed myself to relax.

  “Your song made me feel like I was.”

  He smiled softly and leaned in to kiss my lips, just brushing against them. Warmth instantly spread through me and I fought the urge to melt against him. It didn’t make me forget about what I’d seen when I entered the pit, but it sure convinced me that it had been a bad case of scenic panic and nothing worse.

  CHAPTER 22

  Word of mouth had done its job by Saturday night. The auditorium was full to the brim, and instead of people politely keeping their end of the bargain, expectation shimmered in the air. They wanted to see what this new amazing and scandalous play would offer them. We were ecstatic, because never before had we faced such a public. I could even recognize some familiar faces who had decided to come again after the opening performance! But the one who was most vindicated was Mr. Hedford. He’d always wanted to be a director, always wanted to share his vision of the literary world. The class was a fine place to do it, but the stage allowed him to reach so much further. Lady Windermere’s Fan was proving that his vision, indeed, had reached the public. That it could change them. That was the message he’d tried to get across to the school board since forever, and this year, as soon as they gave him free reign over all details, he pulled it off.

  Of course, the success laid somewhere else—not to say that he wasn’t talented, but it was the joined effort of us all as actors what ultimately reached the public. And, whether we wanted to admit it or not, it had been Keith’s music giving us the motivation to find the right emotions and to portray them.

  I
n spite of this knowledge, though, I was less than thrilled while waiting for the curtain to go up. Absurd, perhaps, but I had come to a decision: I could not turn my back on the state my boyfriend had been in after the play. There must be something going on, so I would keep myself above the music and look out for that insidious melody that kept capturing his attention.

  But at the same time, I could not let the public down.

  The curtain rose and Act I unfolded, and I remembered what I was supposed to feel like and fought to remember that it was me, Alice, and that I was just playing my role. I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it alone, but Dave didn’t hold back and I could recite my Lady Windermere off his Lord. Even as the words rolled off my tongue, I was aware that yesterday had been better. Still, it must have been light-years beyond what the public had expected, because there was roaring applause as soon as the curtain closed.

  Act II began, and I tried to mask my emotional distance under the hardship of the situation. But the first notes to the theme started to resonate, and a sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, making any act unnecessary. The audience was rapt, and once again, the song weaved moods and emotions around like a master of ceremonies. But instead of being captured by the beauty, I was more and more horrified with every passing moment.

  It was the right song. It wasn’t the right player.

  How could the others be so blind? Keith, gentle and loving Keith, never sounded like this. He coaxed the notes to flow into one another, pouring forth complex melodic lines that, for all their independence, always entwined in the moments of tension, supporting each other. This time, the song was forced forward, clipped and frail, each note as cold as an icicle. Like icicles, they shattered when the tension building inside grew too high, and the shards that the breaking moment sent forward scattered on their own, lashing out aggressively at the melody itself.