WL's Prompts- Short Stories - 4. PT 77 & 78-Melody of Rain

Melody of Rain

(Mark)

I’m pretty much fucked, how can I ever relate to Brad? We’re too different to ever work romantically and sexually, I am afraid I am going to hurt him accidentally if he’s interested in sex. Do blind people have sex? Do they know what being gay is, if there’s no visual frame of reference? I visualize everything in my life, my body is a good example of it. My fear of being bullied as a kid for being obese led me to admire the male body. It’s that appreciation that helped me discover my sexuality. I’ve met other gay guys like me, who fell in love with the male form before discovering their sexual orientation. It was the same with them.

No, he couldn’t be into men, like I was. This is a friendly platonic coffee date at his studio apartment home, I shouldn’t expect to be snuggling up to him in the morning.

I looked around the apartment from the comfortable living room couch as Brad prepared coffee for us. Carl, Brad’s seeing eye dog, was waiting patiently for his owner near the kitchen nook. Brad had given Carl a quick bath when we got into the apartment. He also gave me a hot wet towel and some Axe body spray for me. I was grateful for the towel and spray as I feared the smell of my body odor would end any further conversation. It was a charming gesture.

His studio apartment was adorned with various trophies and plaques, but it was mostly bare except for the living room’s coffee table. A small sound system sat on one side of the living room, hooked to what appeared to be an iPhone dock. On the other side, a large grand piano appeared out of place in this minimalist room. Brad had started playing some classical music. The music sounded like rain with each piano note appearing to grow with intensity as raindrops slowly piled on. It was beautiful, but it felt melancholic and dark at the same time. Despite not being my usual brand of music, I can’t help liking it.

When Brad brought out the coffees, he gingerly placed coasters on his table first, then one cup at a time he slowly laid them on the table in perfect placement. His motions were like a dance.

“Did you enjoy Chopin’s Raindrop prelude?” Brad asked me.

I nodded still enthralled by his beautiful movements, then realized he wouldn’t be able to see my physical expression.

“Yes, it was nice. I am not really into classical music, but the music reminded me of a rain storm and it was a little darker than the music I am into.”

I thought that would be it, we would amicably try to make some awkward small talk, but we are too different.

Brad shifted closer to me on the couch and offered “Want me to play you something, not from the 19^th century? I’ve got a wider range than just classical. I’ve even done some band work on the keyboard with a few of the local groups that have accessible stages or studios. Maybe you can sing out the lyric from memory as you did during the run.”

Brad was a musician, no, he was a pianist. I know there’s a difference between the two from watching movies like the Pianist. The image of Hosenfield and Szpilman briefly filled my mind, the unlikely friendship of two men on opposite sides, one a Nazi soldier and another a Jewish-Polish resistance fighter, brought together by a shared love of music. I don’t know why the idea came to my mind, but it fits the gulf between me and Brad, we’re never meant to be more as we come from two different worlds just like those two men could never be true friends.

Brad made his way to the Piano, then surprisingly, he asks “Will you sit by my side, so we can match melody with your voice.”

I sat on the piano bench alongside him as he began to play a familiar tune. I did not know what it was at first, but something in my mind began to click making connections.

I began to sing the lyrics:

“Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Remains
Within the sound of silence”

As he played and I sang, I found myself relaxing and growing bolder with each note. I sang out my feelings and fears. As we neared the ending, I realized why he chose this song as my voice crescendo.

“"Fools," said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence”

I stopped singing and Brad stopped playing, the meaning in the music was clear to what he wanted. He wrapped his hands around my face and kissed me. I returned the kiss and we shared a night of passion and understanding.

(Brad)

I’m nervous about bringing Mark to my home. I do not know if he likes me or if he just wants to have sex. He said he was gay; I knew what that meant despite the few chances I had to experience it. Sexuality never made much sense to me, because if you like someone, why does it matter if they had the same body as you or a different body? The act of sex is just to make each other happy after all.

Being blind, I didn’t get the chance often to be with other boys or girls, when I was a kid. I played piano to help break the tedious nature of structured life, because of the idea of living every day with fixed schedules, meals, and interactions being necessary for people like me, I was left feeling empty. I wanted to be like everyone else, wanted to be someone’s friend. When I got into art school, I found friends who helped me explore the world and my body. Sexually, I learned men are my preference in partners, but females can offer slightly less rewarding release. Yes, I know some might have taken advantage of my feelings, but I never stopped searching for those connections. Being a Pianist, who worked with everyone from classical orchestras to rock bands, I had my fair share of male and female bandmates to play with sexually. However, only a few of them would I sincerely call friends and never true lovers.

Mark sounded like he was a singer for an up-and-coming boyband based on his amazing vocal range. He reminded me of a younger Justin Timberlake, still trying to find the right chord to strike with his listeners.

When I got home with Mark, I first bathed Carl. Then, I gave Mark a hot wet towel and some Axe body spray since I know he was running.

Normally, I would strip down naked at home as I prefer to leave the outside version of me behind when I am alone with just myself, Carl, and my music. However, I’ve learned that it’s better to not show that vulnerability in front of guys, including a traumatic hospital visit the following day when my booking agent found me beaten and unconscious on the floor. She visits me daily now, just in case something like that occurs. She said I was worse than Liberace when it came to my hookups. I knew the risks and my limitations, but death would be preferable to living a lonely existence.

I started playing my rendition of Chopin’s Prelude Op. 28 No.15, otherwise known as Chopin’s raindrop from my iPhone. It was one of my earlier piano pieces, but I enjoyed the aesthetics that it brings to the room. Classical music is usually how most Pianists break into the professional world, but it’s not what interests most modern Pianists, including myself. Musical scores and compositions have evolved in the last few hundred years.

For coffee, I chose the Vietnamese French press coffee that I had bought. It had a rich aroma and the context between Chopin’s iconic music and the drip-drop of this coffee seemed to fit. I know such romantic pageantry is lost in the modern age, but I still want to cling to it.

I delivered the coasters to the table and the coffees, one at a time as was my custom. After all the work was complete, I sat down on the couch opposite Mark. I identified his location based on his nervous feet tapping on my floorboard.

I asked him curiously, “Did you enjoy Chopin’s Raindrop prelude?”

It took him a few minutes to reply, I knew he probably had made a physical motion to indicate his approval out of respect, which meant he wasn’t interested in classical music. I can understand, he’s nervous that he might offend me.

“Yes, it was nice. I am not really into classical music, but the music reminded me of a rain storm and it was a little darker than the music I am into.”

Trying to assure Mark that I am not offended and hoping to relax his mood, I had an idea. Music can communicate emotions and desires. There’s a lack of communication between us, probably due to the novelty of my eyesight issue. An iconic song should get him relaxed.

I offered “Want me to play you something, not from the 19^th century? I’ve got a wider range than just classical. I’ve even done some band work on the keyboard with a few of the local groups that have accessible stages or studios. Maybe you can sing out the lyric from memory as you did during the run.”

I went to the duet bench of my grand piano, then patted the open area next to me.

“Will you sit by my side, so we can match melody with your voice.”

I knew he hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he did sit next to me. I began playing the familiar notes from Simon and Garfunkel’s The Sound of Silence. At first, he did not recognize the opening chords, but I kept repeating them until he finally broke out singing his beautiful notes. He sounded less like Paul Simon’s version rather it was eerily close to Disturbed David Draiman’s version.

When we finished the fourth stanza, I noticed that Mark had finally gotten over his fears and shyness. I stopped playing on my piano and he stopped singing. I hoped he understood what I was trying to tell him through the music. I wanted to have more with him than just a coffee and polite conversation. He didn’t need to be gentle with me. To further the point, I place my hand around his face, feeling the short soft facial hairs under his nose. I went in for a kiss.

We spent part of the night engaged in sexual activities, and part of the night talking, but we never allowed the silence to come back in.