Page 78 of Eternally Yours


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And I will.

I will.

Piano Sonata No. 13

byKALYNN BAYRON

ROBYN’S MOTHER RECOGNIZEDher unique talent when Robyn was just three years old. Robyn’s grandmother, Henrietta, played classical piano and decided that three was the perfect age to start teaching her youngest grandchild. The little girl with the deepest brown eyes and the widest crooked smile was quiet, kept to herself, and seemed to take interest in nothing that other children her age were interested in. Dolls, video games, and even playdates fell by the wayside for the shy little girl. Henrietta never expected Robyn would take to piano the way birds take to the sky, instinctively and without a single doubt about her intent or purpose.

When Robyn was propped at the piano bench with two pillows under her backside, it became evident that sheneeded no lessons. She only needed to hear the melody one time through and then she was off, her delicate little fingers dancing across the keys, pecking out the right notes, rarely missing a single one. She sometimes did this with her eyes closed, swaying back and forth, her body a metronome keeping the time.

Every song her grandmother had ever played lived in Robyn’s head. In fact, every song the little girl had ever heard lived inside her. Robyn was a child prodigy, a piano virtuoso, and when she took up the bench at her grandmother’s baby grand piano, you’d be hard-pressed to find any place she would rather be.

One evening in the dead of winter, when Robyn was ten and when the Christmas decorations were still up and the lights on the tree were bright and twinkling, Robyn’s family gathered to exchange gifts and eat food and make merry. Robyn played festive tunes on the piano, drowning out the chatter and commentary from the football game her father was watching on the TV. She wanted nothing more than to drown them all out. They were always too loud, too demanding. Robyn had grown to understand that she had a gift and that people expected her to share it whether she felt like it or not.

There came a knock at the door and when Robyn’s mother went to open it, a man old enough to be her great-granddaddy came in and made his rounds, saying hello to the family. Someone put a drink in his hand and he sat down in a chair by the fireplace and set his bag on the ground.Robyn watched him closely. He was a stranger after all, and Robyn didn’t like strangers.

“Where’s Henrietta?” the old man asked.

Robyn’s grandmother appeared in the kitchen doorway and when she caught sight of him, her mouth turned down. The old man tapped the side of his bag with his foot.

“Got a piece of sheet music in here,” he said. “Wanted to see if the girl could play it.”

Robyn’s grandmother shook her head. “She’s still working on reading the notes. She can play it if she hears it first. You don’t play anymore, Lester?”

The man bristled and clasped his hand tight against his lapel. “Arthritis put an end to my playing days a long time ago. You can play it, can’t you, Henrietta? Let her hear it so she can play it.” There was a tremble in his bottom lip. Something about that bothered Robyn.

Robyn’s grandmother smiled warmly and shrugged. “I’m right in the middle of cooking dinner, Lester.”

The man took a swig of his drink, then eyed the ice cubes bobbing in the amber-colored liquid. “C’mon now, Henrietta. When’s the last time I asked you for anything?”

Robyn’s father mumbled something under his breath, but Henrietta shushed him.

“I remember you asking me a favor not too long ago,” Robyn’s grandmother said.

Lester set his glass down. “A lot of good it did me.”

Miss Lenore, one of Henrietta’s closest friends, shifted in her seat.

“I’ll play it,” Henrietta said. “But you don’t get to hold things over my head, Lester. Can’t force somebody to—”

Miss Lenore cleared her throat and something silent passed between her and Henrietta. Robyn wondered what secrets they were keeping.

Lester dug in his bag and pulled out several pages of sheet music and handed them to Robyn’s grandmother.

“Lester, what in the world is this?” she asked.

Robyn craned her neck to get a good look at the papers. They were yellowed and curled at the edges. Across the top in big bold letters were the wordsPiano Sonata no. 13. Robyn’s grandma took the sheet music to the piano and sat down. Robyn hopped up onto the bench next to her.

Robyn’s mama, along with various aunties, uncles, and cousins, came into the front room and gathered around the piano as Robyn’s grandma began to play the piece. Lester stood and hovered near the back of the room. He tapped his foot in time with the music. Robyn couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw his eyes glass over, like he was about to cry.

Robyn didn’t need to see where her grandmother’s hands went; she only needed to listen. In her mind she marked every note of the strange and beautiful song. Robyn got the feeling that it was written by someone who was either very sad or very angry. It was hard to tell which one it was.

Lester smiled and Robyn watched as his eyes moved to Miss Lenore. Robyn didn’t care much for the stuffy old lady who always had her chest poked out, strutting around likea bird, like she was the queen of something, but Robyn disliked the way Lester looked at her even more.

“This is familiar, Lester,” Robyn’s grandma said as her brows knitted together and her fingers danced across the keys. “I can’t place it.”

“I don’t think so, Henrietta,” Lester said quietly. “If you knew about it, maybe you wouldn’t be playing.”