Page 13 of Semblance

“Tranqata oblingonata kaliquicky ayamana,” I replied, ranting off gibberish from the top of my head.

“Translation?” Mr. Fox asked.

Go away,I wanted to say. However what actually came out of my mouth was, “You’re a curious one Mr. Fox.”

“Calisto is storytelling again, isn’t she?” he said.

Damn it. Was there any point in continuing this ridiculous rouse any longer? I knew that the further down the rabbit hole I went, the smaller the tunnel would become.

“Look,” he said. “I personally don’t care which way the wind blows and how far the story goes. I appreciate talent, which you have an abundance of. However, there is one aspect of Calisto’s story that needs to be proved, and any failure to do so will be a poor reflection on your capabilities as an A-list artist.”

“Oh?”

“Play your father’s song,” the fox said. “Play Breathless.”

Perhaps the one thing about Calisto’s yarn that had some fibers of truth to it was that I did write a song for my dad shortly after he died.

His passing away wasn’t an easy thing to get over. He was the only family I had. My dad was the pillar that held me up when I wanted to crumble emotionally.

I remember on one snowy evening, not long after my father died, my loneliness and depression felt like a gun pressed up against my temple. I decided to head over to the university’s conservatory and found myself an old upright piano that was outside one of the examination rooms, waiting to be tossed out the very next day.

It was a little out of tune and missing the F sharp key in the lower octave, but at that moment in time, the piano was perfect for me. This lonely, broken and abandoned instrument was an exact reflection of me, both physically and mentally.

I closed my eyes and my fingers unearthed a simple and sad melody that had long been buried inside me. It was a melody that had haunted my imagination before, but up until then, I lacked the raw emotions to do it any justice. I stored the tune in the back of my mind until the time was right—when I felt the most vulnerable.

I played the song on that old piano with my heart bleeding out into the music while tears streamed down my cheeks. I allowed the world around me to dissolve into nothing, imagining that the only thing left in the universe was that old piano, a heartbroken daughter that played it, and the spirit of her father listening to her one final gift to him.

Since that day, I never played that song again. There were too many raw emotions associated with it and I feared that playing it would tear open deep wounds.

“I don’t think I can,” I replied to Mr. Fox. “I’m sorry.”

The fox shook his head. “Please,” he said. “I wish to hear it. It would mean a great deal to me and everyone here as well.”

I looked around and noticed that Mr. Fox had effortlessly drawn the attention of the room to us.

“What do you say?” he said aloud to everyone. “Wouldn’t we love for the Golden Virgin to bless us with her beautiful tribute to her father?”

The applause and the cheers of everyone provided a definite answer. But I just wasn’t ready, was I?

Oh dad, what would you like me to do?I silently prayed to him. That song was like a secret message to my father, one that was meant for his ears only. The idea of playing it for anyone else felt blasphemous.

No. That wasn’t true. It was just an excuse I was making. I knew exactly what my dad would have said to me.

“Enchant them all,” I whispered aloud. Without another word, I turned my attention back to the Heintzman piano, closed my eyes and allowed the feelings of loss and hurt to overtake me. In my mind and heart, I was no longer at the mansion but sitting in front of that broken old upright on that lonely winter night a couple of years ago.

The music that resonated all around me was filled with pain, as if the loss of my father were still a fresh wound. It would always feel that way.

I played that song with my heart torn apart; the ache of my dad’s passing now at the forefront of my thoughts. It sounded sad, lovely, and wounded. As I reached the finale, I realized that I was crying underneath the mask. My fingers fell on the final chord and I held my hands there and allowed the note to linger until it eventually faded away into silence.

The entire room was hushed. The only sounds audible to me were those of my heavy breathing.

I bowed my head, closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I had bared my heart to everyone in this room, and I was met with silence.

It wasn’t until Mr. Fox began clapping that I realized that the silence was a result of the emotions everyone felt after listening to my father’s song.

Like a musical chorus, the applause started off softly at first but it didn’t take long for it to crescendo into cheers and praise.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Abraham, still in his wolf mask.

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