The Music from the Top Window on the Left
Lisa was exhausted as she closed the door behind her on Friday night. She'd been at work, eyeing everything with a wary eye, and watching, as she always did, the one she loved slipping further and further away.
The addict his behind his electric blue eyes, his flamed cane, and the pills, acting like he never cared, meanwhile harboring pain she knew couldnt be cured by obscenley large ammounts of vicodin.
She glanced out the window of the top floor in her small apartment to across the way, a block or so over, where another house lay still in the night. She closed her eyes and turned away. He was undoubtedly out, drowning in alcohol, hiding again. It was not the first time that week that the top window on the left of that quiet little house had remained empty.
If she looked long enough, Lisa could see the outline of the baby grand, always polished so that it shined. On occasions, some happy, some not so, it was occupied with an owner, playing it as though nothing on earth mattered, only he and the black and white keys existing.
She settled into her chair by the window, opening it a crack, feeling the spring air puff in lightly. She loved her little house in the center of Jersey. Where she lived it was as close to the big city as she could get. On nights when the sky was clear, she looked out her little window and the skyline seemed close enough to touch. She glanced at the house along the way, to the top window on the left, wondering if He looked at the skyline too.
She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment, listening. Car horns from far off, an ambulance, most likely headed to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, to meet her own staff. But none of that was relevant now. Now it was only herself and her imagination, imagining that she was actually hearing the twinkle of piano keys from the top window on the left.
She thought back. The last times she'd heard him playing were so long ago, so far off and distant, a forgotten memory, tucked deep into the crevasses of her mind. Stacey had been in his life then, but yet, the playing was sad, lonely. Then, on some days, he'd play faster songs, with a joyous beat, and a smile in the notes. She never knew what set him off on these songs, but she loved it none the less. Whenever he played, the window would open, and music would pour out of it, filling the air separating the two homes, the two hearts.
She closed her eyes and stood, yawning, deciding to go to bed, when she heard a slight noise, and a piano bench scraping across a wooden floor. Lisa stood stock still for a moment, not daring to look, in case she was imagining things. Then she heard the soft tinkle of piano keys, slowly growing louder. She took in the song for a moment, hearing the beat of the song, deciding whether its emotion was of happy days or the sad lonesome days he usually played of.
The beat picked up and the tune turned joyous. She smiled to herself and sat back down on the chair, looking over across to the house, where inside the top window to the left, the one she loved smiled, and she swore she saw his smile and say
'This one is for you'.