Melody

Melody

The aged, forgotten man sat at the piano, some pills to the side, remembering every detail. He remembered it. All of it. The happiness, the silliness, the joy. He remembered the small moments, but not the big ideas. He remembered it all for the details; for the Thursdays, the small meals together where they talked about small things, just for the sake of talking with one another.
He remembered the guilt, the regret for not doing unnecessary, insignificant things, and then the throbbing pains for messing up big time. He remembered everything he tried to remember, and dwelled on it hopelessly. Her light that once lit up his life was now a match in the vast darkness.
He dwelled on the past, and on the war. But the war didn’t matter afterwards. He found happiness after the war, but the scraps of memories still haunted him. The silence of the jungle, perhaps a crunch of twigs, or a small bead of water slipping from a leaf. All so quiet, and then a roar of gunfire, everything happening so fast, the sun’s rage unleashed in a small jungle clearing, lightning and thunder booming from guns.
Casualties, deaths left and right. Hide behind the tree. Jay is dead. Keep on firing. Request for air support. Affirmative. Village gone. Townsfolk shot. Pigs and buffalo shot in anger. Sun is set. No sleep. Paranoia. Send in body bag. Morning. Repeat.
But it wasn’t the war that haunted the old man day to day. Yes, it was traumatizing. The adrenaline, the pace, the run and gun, but there was more to what haunted him. It was Noelle.
She was incredible. He kept telling himself he didn’t deserve her. She was the light of his day, and the moon of his night. She drove Victor Charlie away. She drove the memories away. She was a medicine, she was his other hand.
She was the only thing in his life that mattered. Whenever she felt guilty or sad, he always brought her back up. He treated her like a princess, buying her gifts and treats and surprises, more and more. He couldn’t stop. She was his love, she was his life.

He held close a short memory, and replayed this one in his mind, every day. It was 6:00. They were at his drab piano. There she was to his right, smiling in her vibrant, colorful dress, relaxed and ready to play. Some music was propped up. There were two parts, so they played it together. He loved this moment above all others. She was the melody, he the accompaniment. He would play with his one and only hand a stern, low groan. It was heartless, miserable, repetitive. He played like the water, like the rainforest.
Then Noelle came in. A happy, city life sound of beauty and harmony; upbeat and inspiring. Together they made something beautiful: a song. This was their favorite song, their only one they both knew how to play.
Then Noelle came in. A happy, city life sound of beauty and harmony; upbeat and inspiring. Together they made something beautiful: a song. This was their favorite song, their only one they both knew how to play.

He kept a small memory, and replayed this one in his mind, every day. There was a piano. It was 6:00. There she was, to his right. Some music was propped on the stand. There were two parts, so they played it together. He loved this moment above all. She was the melody, he the bass. He would play with his one and only hand a soft, stern, low groan. It was heartless, miserable, repetitive. He played like the water, like the rainforest.
Then she came in. A happy, city life sound of beauty and harmony; upbeat and inspiring. Together they made something beautiful, a song. This was their favorite song, their one and only they both knew how to play.
Noelle agreed to marry him. They were both alone with each other, and both had no one else to think about. It was a small wedding on the beach. It was just what they wanted: to be alone and happy together.
Life couldn’t get happier, but naturally, with Noelle, it did. She lit up his life even more. More gifts, more treats, more surprises. She was his wife, his melody. No one had her besides him. They were alone and happy.
She didn’t get back from work. She was late. He made a special gift for her, candles with wine on a white tablecloth to match the season. He made it better, taking off dust and paying attention to the details. She was two hours late. He tried several times to contact her, email, phone, text, but nothing. She never responded.

He was getting worried. What happened to his Noelle? His joy? He was growing paranoid. He contacted her, again and again, but no hope. She never responded.

He didn’t sleep. He stayed in the kitchen the whole night. Texting, calling, emailing, anything. She didn’t respond. Something must’ve happened, it must’ve. In a surge of anxiety, he reached for the phone.
“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”
“I can’t reach my wife, I’ve been up all night trying to contact her and can’t reach her. She didn’t come home on time, and isn’t answering my texts and calls. I have even emailed her, please help me find her,” he pleaded.
They asked for his name, her name, and their address. They said they would send someone over to talk with him. There were no answers. He was not satisfied. He was the most scared he had ever been in his whole life.
Daylight started to break through the curtains. He could see snow outside. A woman lost her scarf as it was tossed around in the wind and lost into the gray sky.
He sat there waiting, wondering, nervous. His chest was filled with worry, tearing him apart. Possibilities raced through his mind to settle and calm his nerves. They didn’t help.
The doorbell rang. He shot out of his chair and went past the table and candles to open the door.
A tall, stern looking man of his junior arrived. He asked for his name, and then asked if he could come in.
The officer solemnly entered.
“May I sit down?” he asked taking a seat, and his eyes told the story before the he even opened his mouth.
The old, hardened warrior trembled, held his chest, and fell into the table that he assembled for Noelle. The officer shouted in surprise and went to help him up and extinguished the candles.
He helped up the trembling man, and took out a chair to sit him in.
“Are you okay, Sir?” he asked.
The old man didn’t speak, but trembled in his seat.
“Where is she?” he whispered.
The officer took in a deep breath, and then a long exhale. He took off his cap, wiped his hair back and put it back on.
The officer’s eyes were wet and pleading, telling a story that didn’t need telling.

The officer left.
The very old man sat at the piano with a handful of pills. He remembered her cheerfulness, her personality that could light up a room, and bring the sun back during the night. Her bright, vibrant dresses that contrasted his somber, dull apartment. Her charming smile that no one could look at and not smile back at. Her silliness and playfulness, that made him play along and forget all of his worries. Her laughs, that made the whole world laugh with it. The way she cupped her hands to her mouth and cried as he proposed to her.
He now looked at his handful of pills, and took a sip of water, swallowing them.
The old cripple sat at the piano, his one hand playing the bass part of their special song. It was a sad, lonely, miserable sound, without a change and without happiness, devoid of its melody.