Page 14 of The Night the Stars Went Dark

“Aspen? Aspen Vaughn?” A male’s voice on the other end seemed a little panicked.

“This is her, I mean she,” I stumbled over the words. Bryson’s face lit up across the table.

“This is Ralph Harrison; I work with your dad. Is he with you?” He paused for a moment.

“No. He has a show tonight.” I was confused. If they worked together, shouldn’t they both have a show?

“Right. I’m at rehearsal. Your father didn’t show up today, which is odd for him. I thought maybe with everything happening with you, that maybe he skipped for personal reasons?” He seemed exasperated.

“No. Dad never misses. Are you sure?” I dug some money out of my purse and tossed a few bills on the table to cover my lunch.

“I’ll try calling again. He didn’t answer the last time.” He paused a moment before adding, “You might want to try him too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure this out.” I hung up and looked over at Bryson. “I gotta go; Dad blew off practice today, which is not like him. Something’s wrong.” I jumped up and rushed toward the door. I heard Bryson come rushing after me.

“I’ll come too. You might need help.”

It was only a five-block walk to my childhood home. The brick brownstone always seemed huge as a kid. When we knocked on the door, no one answered. If he wasn’t at rehearsal, I wasn’t sure where he’d be. He still kept his car in a garage down the block, and I didn’t want to check that at the moment.

I dug in my purse for my keys, and slowly unlocked the door. “Dad?” I called as I stepped over the threshold. “Dad? Ralph called me.” No answer. “Dad?” I headed for the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Maybe he was taking a nap.

“I’ll check around down here,” Bryson called to my back as I crept up the stairs and continued to call out.

“Dad?” I pushed open the bedroom door. His bed was made, and the room neat and tidy.

“Penny!” Bryson called from downstairs. I rushed back down the hall, took the stairs two at a time, and skidded to a stop by the opening of the eat in kitchen. Bryson was kneeling on the floor with his phone up to his ear. My eyes blurred and a whooshing sound filled my ears. I could see legs sticking out from behind Bryson. My dad’s loafers were on the feet. Bryson looked my way. I could see his mouth moving but couldn’t hear him for the rushing in my ears. White spots began to fill my vision, and then I dropped to my knees.

Bryson rushed over to catch me before I completely hit the floor, and that’s when I saw his face. Empty eyes stared back at me. A sound like a hurt animal burst from my throat at the same moment EMTs came through the front door. Bryson pointed toward my dad as he lifted me and moved to the couch.

“Penny? Penny?” He cradled me against his chest. “I’m so sorry. Talk to me.” He rubbed my back.

“What ha hap happened?” The words were broken, and I had to force them out.

“I don’t know.” He rocked us. “I’m staying with you tonight. You can’t be alone.” It was the last thing I remember him saying until the next morning.

I remember waking up and thinking that the entire had to have been a bad dream. Things like this didn’t happen. When I shuffled out of my bedroom, I saw Bryson sleeping on my couch and reality set in that this was real. I went through my morning routine on autopilot, and when Bryson woke up, he called the coroner’s office to get an official cause of death. It turns out that my father suffered a massive stroke. He went quickly, and didn’t suffer. The details didn’t really matter to me. It wasn’t about what happened, it was more about why? It was just me now, and I honestly didn’t care about anything.

The next several weeks, I spent locked in my apartment sleeping or watching TV. I called into work and ignored pretty much everyone in my life. If I was being honest, I didn’t really want to live. I saw no purpose for it. I spent most days staring at the keyboard in the corner of my living room. I had no desire to play, and part of me believed that music was the cause of my misery. At the reading of my dad’s will, I found out he left me the house and everything in it. The thought of living there made me want to scream. There were too many memories and the idea of those images of my dad that day plaguing me every time I went into the kitchen made me sell the place. I kept the piano becauseit was his most prized possession, but I let the rest go. I’d already collected a few things over the years that belonged to both of my parents. I didn’t need what was left.

The movers were supposed to be bringing the piano over next week. I felt terrible, but in my grief, I treated Bryson terribly. I started shutting him out because he made me remember. Anything that had anything to do with music or my parents, was locked away. I closed off that part of my memory and forced myself to live without it. This included Bryson.

Two weeks later, my offer letter arrived in the mail. I was offered a four-year contract with the New York Symphony. When I called to turn them down, the guy on the phone sounded incredulous. The idea of playing was just too painful, and as much as music had been part of my life, it wasn’t anymore. The things that once brought me joy now brought nothing but pain. Pain that filled me most days, and on the days it didn’t I tried to live the best I could.

The days turned into weeks, weeks into months, Bryson moved away, and the months turned into years. The piano sat in the corner of my living room collecting dust, my music stacked on a shelf beside it. It just hurt too much to play. Every once in a while I’d hear a melody that my dad used to play and it would remind me why I can’t let music back in. My heart would seize up and the tears would flow, and I’d have to bury it all over again. I was stagnant in life, and for me that was good enough at the moment. Nothing seemed worth it anymore. The beauty I once saw in the world was much darker after the stars went dark.

Chapter 9

Aspen- age 27

Present Day

I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep last night. Sleep has alluded me for so long that I’ve just grown to accept being tired. It’s almost like I’m on autopilot most days. I get up, go to work, come home, and pretend to sleep. I’ve been doing this for almost five years. I don’t really have anyone who I would consider a close friend. I have people who I call friends, but they don’t really know me. They know what I show them, which isn’t much. I work an insane number of hours because it keeps my demons at bay. Demons I’ve fought since the day I found him. Just thinking about it makes my chest hurt.

After Dad died, my world kinda crumbled. I locked myself away from everyone around me and shut out life. Bryson moved to New York. We kept in touch for a few months through phone calls, then it turned to text, and then it just stopped. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be around me either. The New York Symphony offered me the job, but I turned them down. I just couldn’t leave and move on with my life. I inherited everything from my parents’ estate. I sold it all except for a few things I wanted and the piano. I haven’t played since Senior Day, except for last night, which was a mistake. It hurts too much to remember. I’ve been slowly trying to erase that part of me every day.

I’ve been lying in bed staring at the ceiling for the last hour trying to convince myself to get up. My apartment is a mess. I haven’t cleaned up all week, and I’ve just kinda thrown stuff down when I get home each night. After yawning for the third time, I forced myself out of bed. I needed coffee. I shuffled into the kitchen and turned the pot on to brew as I dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster. I could see my reflection in thedoor to the microwave. I looked tired. My mouth was turned down, and my hair was a tangled mess.

As soon as the coffee finished, I poured a cup. The smell alone was relaxing. After buttering my toast, I went to sit on the couch. I clicked on the TV to some random talk show and zoned out while I ate. I was supposed to be off today, but I didn’t feel like being home. Alone time was not good for me, and my thoughts would soon take over and send me down a path I tried to avoid.

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