A Sweet and Tender Sound

~{x}~

The evening was passing by slowly, painfully so. The day itself had gone well enough, the good weather bringing in tourists and singles picking out flowers for dates, but as soon as the sun had started its descent silence had fallen over Erik's shop like a tomb door being sealed. His thoughts were all too loud, all too busy in his head, and he was dying for a distraction from it all.

He was beyond grateful when his computer finally pinged and an online order began processing. It was for a casket spray, something that actually required quite a bit of concentration to create. It quickly became his all-consuming project of the night, the large ornamentation needing to be ready for pickup first thing in the morning. He selected a heavy base tray and foam block from his back room, taping them together on the counter, making sure to wrap the weighted part securely before proceeding any further. This particular style of spray was a huge seller for his business, and the cost of such funeral arrangements were high do to the sheer size and complexity of them. Therefore, orders like these were one of the only true moneymakers in the floral world. The kind of things that kept a small family business such as his afloat. Unfortunately, in a city like this, he got to make quite a few of them each week. He tried not to dwell on such a fact.

The spray his customer had selected was yellow and white, daffodils and none other than lilies themselves being the main feature. He gathered the flowers from his refrigerated stock and began cutting the leaves that would form the body. Working on the spray was therapeutic for him, spinning the base in small circular motions to create an even body, cutting and trimming each side just right so that it could overhang off a casket without tipping. It all took a great deal of focus, focus he was only too happy to direct towards something other than his own self-loathing. Not to mention the thoughts of Christine he still couldn't seem to shake.

He began to hum to himself as he worked, pressing a single stem into the foam at each change of tune. It helped to concentrate his mind ever further on the task at hand. He hummed a long forgotten piece of his own work, from the time long before he had ever returned to Bradbury. It was a symphony no ears would ever hear again, a graduation piece he'd never gotten to perform that would have, at one time, sealed his Master's degree in Music Composition. As it was, he would probably never return to school to finish that degree, and his symphonies and operas now resided in a box upstairs next to his piano, only for him to play and hear when the mood suited him, which wasn't often. In fact, it may have been years now since the lid to that box had last been removed.

He had become so consumed in the spray before him that he didn't hear his bell go off as someone entered the shop. He was hunched overtop his project, comparing the lengths of two decorative vine stalks, when he absentmindedly noticed a blur of blue in the foreground. He looked up and jumped, slightly startled to see someone at his counter, and even more surprised to see Christine of all people standing there. He wondered if she needed another flower for her work. He hoped somewhere deep down that she would always be in need of floral references from him.

"Christine." He greeted her with a nod and a smile, one she couldn't see but a smile nonetheless. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

She smiled up at him in return, almost shyly. "I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me last night, and for the lily."

"I'm just glad you found it useful," Erik replied, "It was helpful then? For your design?"

Christine nodded. "Oh yes, very much so. In fact..." She dug through her bag and pulled out a large leather folder. "I wanted to give you a copy of the pattern. As a thank you, I guess...if you want it."

She looked nervous as she held out a thick page of cardstock before him. He took it from her and turned it over in his hands, studying the lily she had drawn. The illustration itself was breathtaking, almost as if she had simply pressed the flower he had given her in between two pages. The petals were soft yet defined, and each filament stood naturally between them of its own accord.

"Christine, you drew this?" he asked in astonishment.

She blushed. "I did. It took it me half the night actually. I have a meeting with the client who commissioned it at seven. I'm just hoping she likes it."

"If she doesn't then she has no taste in fine art," he stated firmly, setting her drawing to the far side of the counter. He made sure it was no where near the water damage misting the spray would cause.

"What's this you're working on?" she asked with genuine curiosity, changing the subject as she pointed to the various clippings now sticking every which way from the large foam base on the counter. "It looks pretty complicated."

"It's a funeral spray. I just got the order in a little while ago. The family will come and get it tomorrow once it's done."

"A spray? As in the thing that lays over a casket?" she asked, her voice saddening.

"Exactly," he confirmed, picking up another leafy stem to insert.

Christine shuffled her feet. "They're really expensive, aren't they? We didn't have anything like that when we held my father's service. The only flowers we had were the ones some of his friends brought."

Erik set down the stem in his hand, a bit stunned by Christine's words. He hadn't expected her to share something so personal with him, and so freely at that. He expected her father must have passed some time ago though, because it didn't seem to upset her too greatly so speak about his death. There were no teary eyes, simply a slight frown upon her face as she recollected.

"I'm sorry for your loss," was all he could think to reply, speaking low.

She moved her hands to her jacket pockets and rocked back on her heels with a shrug. "It was fifteen years ago now. I've come to terms with it."

"What about your mother? Is she still around?" he inquired. He wondered if she had also passed, making the both of them orphans. Perhaps the two of them had that much in common.

"My mother and I aren't exactly on speaking terms," she said dryly, "Which is preferable, honestly."

"A little harsh, don't you think?" he teased. He knew he would give anything to speak to his own mother again. She would be fifty-seven this year if she were still alive, her hair streaked with silver and her laugh lines running deeper than ever across her sweet face. She'd still be calling him every Wednesday to see how he was doing out west, or simply to share world news with him since the topic had always bored his father. Granted, it had bored him as well. But he had always enjoyed her calls. What he wouldn't pay to hear her drone on and on about everything and nothing once more.

"She was never much of a parent," Christine said flatly, the tone in her voice signaling the subject be dropped.

Erik frowned, wondering what damage lay between the two women that Christine spoke so bitterly towards her. His own mother had been dear to him, and had always made sure that when he recollected on his childhood, it was with a smile. He wasn't naive though. The world was full of cruel people, and Christine's mother could very well be one of them. Christine herself seemed kind though, as if there had been at least one positive role model in her life at some time.

"But your father was?" he guessed, picking up his cuttings to continue the spread. He started to place the lilies into the foam as she reached up to move a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He again noticed the tattoo on her hand as she did so, only now in detail. It was a beautifully inked violin. He wondered if she played.

She smiled sadly and nodded. "My father was an amazing man. A terrific parent, and an even better friend."

"That's good to hear."

Christine pulled out her phone, glancing at the time. She seemed to be deep in thought as she did so, as if she were waiting for something. Was she waiting on him? He looked at her face, at the sparkle in her eyes as she glanced back up at him. It seemed that she was. This was his chance and he knew it. She was right here before him, seemingly wanting the same thing that he did. He wouldn't have to lie to Annette's receptionist or show up unannounced at her place of work. He simply had to swallow his fears and ask to see more of her outside these brief interactions of theirs. But as he opened his mouth he found the words he wanted to say didn't come. Dejected, he stayed silent, swallowing hard.

Finally, she spoke instead.

"So...I have to meet up with my client soon but maybe, if you'd like, we could get together some time? Get coffee or something?"

Erik saw her cheeks flush a deep red and found himself presently surprised and relieved by her request. It was a request he himself had wanted to make but had been too scared to follow through with. But she was just as bold as she appeared to be, and for that he was grateful. The thought of going out with her though, of being out in public beside her, was a very frightening notion to him. Even something as simple as getting coffee would be difficult. He wouldn't dare remove his mask while out in the city, nor could he bring himself to explain to her why that would be. It would only scare her away.

But he also couldn't bring himself to tell her no. As horrible a person as he thought he was, as terrible as he knew things could end up if he pursued her, he simply couldn't deny his desire to. She fascinated him and he wanted to get to know her better, if only as just a friend in the end. After all, he was getting to the point in his life where dating seemed mostly pointless, but all the same he couldn't deny that he was lonely. A close friend, one who wasn't hundreds of miles away, could be good for him. To end up as anything more than friends would be unlikely in the long run, but also the premise of such an opportunity thrilled him. What he wouldn't give to have a woman such as Christine on his arm, looking up at him with adoration in her eyes.

"I'd like that," he told her. He pulled a blank strip of receipt paper from his register and handed her a pen. She laughed as she scribbled down her number.

"You know most guys these days just pass you their phone," she teased, pulling hers from her pocket. She opened up her contacts and he watched her type his name into a blank slot.

"Actually, it's Erik...with a K," he told her.

She rolled her eyes playfully yet smiled, passing him the phone after she had retyped the name. He quickly punched in his number and gave it back. He grinned then as she held the phone against her chest, as if he had just given her something to treasure.

"Alright then, Erik with a K. I expect you'll call?" she asked, stepping backwards towards the door.

"Of course."

She twisted around and he watched as she reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his shop bell as she exited. Its soft tinkling sound filled the air. It was a sound he usually found annoying but today found truly musical.

He stared down at the scrap of paper Christine had written her phone number on, not realizing he had all but crushed it in his hand holding onto it so tightly. He smoothed it out and tucked it into his wallet, sternly reminding himself to make sure he put it straight into his cell when he returned upstairs for the night.

His heart raced at the thought of calling her, if he could even bring himself to do so. Could he? He hadn't been with a woman in over ten years, not since the accident. Not since Susanna.

Susanna.

Just thinking her name he felt his face twist bitterly. He thought of her laughter, of her smile, of the way they had first kissed in the ocean in front of all of their friends. The two of them had been so happy together, for so many years. The images of their life together plagued him, one after another, no more than a sick torrent of memories for him to dwell on now.

He slammed his hand down on his register, willing the thoughts of her to go away, the loud metallic thump it made meshing with the sound of the coins jumbling within. He knew he would never be able to think of his ex without feeling that same sting of betrayal he'd felt the day he'd finally come home from rehab. His physical wounds, though healed, had still ached him terribly, and being inside his family's apartment, alone for the first time, had been very difficult for him. He'd called her over as soon as he'd found the strength to, needing the reassurance that he wasn't truly alone, that he still had someone after everything else that had befallen him.

She'd come of course. It had been close to midnight and yet she'd walked right into his living room, her eyes wide as she paused apprehensively with each advancing step, as if she wasn't sure how to approach him anymore. When he'd looked up at her his heart had swelled, first with happiness and then with the greatest sorrow he'd ever known as he took in the look of disgust on her face. She had stopped a good ten feet away from him, unwilling to come any closer.

"I'm sorry Erik. I love you...you know I do. But I can't even bear to look at you anymore. It frightens me."

With those parting words she had turned to leave, crying softly. He hadn't believed the words she'd spoken though. He hadn't allowed himself to. He'd stood angrily, abruptly, blocking the door and her only exit. He'd put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him roughly. All she'd needed to do was look into his eyes. She would've found him there, her Erik. She would've found the man she knew and loved. He was still the man who had proposed to her that cold August night, he always would be. Nothing could change that. He was still hers to the end of time. She just needed to see him.

"Sue, it's me," he'd cried, clinging to her jacket in desperation. His tears had stung his eyes like needles as he'd watched her turn her cheek, fighting to look away from him. "I'm still me. Look. Sue, please. Please, I can't lose you too. Not now. Not when I've just lost everyone else. I can't just let you walk out that door. Please baby...come on."

She'd fought against his grip, squirming beneath him, and his patience had dwindled.

He'd shaken her.

"Goddammit Sue, look at me!"

And she had, with fear in her reddened eyes, her body trembling. Reflected in those eyes he had seen himself as she had then, a frightening monster towering overtop of her. Trapping her, just as his family had been trapped. He'd released her then, horrified at having laid a hand on her, and she'd run from him as fast as she could, straight down the stairs and onward into the night. He'd fallen backwards towards the couch as she left, sobbing.

When he'd felt her hand fall gently upon his shoulder a few minutes later he hadn't believed it to be true. Surely it had just been wishful thinking. He couldn't comprehend her reason for coming back, not after the terrifying way he had all but assaulted her. But she had. He'd smiled into his hands, ready to apologize, ready to beg on his knees for her forgiveness if that's what it would take to fix things between them. He'd placed his hand over hers and squeezed it, sighing in relief that she was there, once more by his side. That they would conquer this grief together.

But then, like salt in the wound, he had felt her hand turn against his, a small sharp object passing between their palms. He'd squeezed it hard, knowing exactly what it was. He'd turned to look up at her then, and seen the tears streaking down both her cheeks. The two of them together had been the epitome of misery incarnate in that moment.

"Please don't do this," he'd pleaded in a harsh whisper, "Please don't end things like this - not here, not now. Say you'll love me, just a little while longer, even if it's all a lie."

She'd shaken her head, lips slightly parted, torn in two by the choice she had already decided on, clearly not knowing what she could say or do to further ease the blow. At a lose for words she'd finally turned and, without a single glance back, had left. He was truly alone in the world then, a mess as he'd fallen to the floor crying. He'd thrown the engagement ring in his hand as hard as he could, watching it bounce off the drywall in defiance to his anger, almost as if had known he'd wanted it to shatter upon impact.

The pain of loss had quickly transformed into fury then. He'd flipped over the coffee table in front of him, the legs of it snapping in two as it rolled away. He'd stood up and yelled, tossing anything he could get his hands on clear across the room. His rampage only lasted so long though. His lungs had still been so freshly damaged from the fire, and he'd found himself completely winded after only a moment or two of chaos.

Defeated, he'd dragged himself into the bathroom to cool down. He'd planned on showering, to try and forget for a little while the horrors he'd come to know over those past four months. As soon as he'd entered the bathroom though he'd come face to face with his new, monstrous visage all over again, the face of the demon who had frightened his Susanna away - the face of the monster who had killed his family.

He'd smashed the glass with his fist, those pieces of reflected silver falling to the floor as he'd backed up into the wall and held his bleeding hand close to his chest, cursing at the sharp pains that spliced through his knuckles. There he'd sunk to his knees and eventually slumped to his side, listening for hours to the deafening sounds of silence echoing throughout his childhood home. He'd known for a while now that this would be what awaited him when the reconstruction was completed. That it would be quiet. He'd never imagined just how terrifying the absence of noise would be though. How real it would make everything. Not so long ago he would have heard the sound of his parents laughing downstairs, or the shrill beat of pop music coming from Tabitha's radio in the next room over. But that night it had been silent, so deathly silent, and it had haunted him.

Erik finished the spray, placing the last of the flowers into the foam, turning it to and fro to make sure it was even on both sides. When he was satisfied with it he took it back to his refrigerator, letting his hand linger on the handle as he closed it, staring down at the scars on his right hand. He recalled how Farid had all but saved his life back then. His dear friend had flown all way from California to come and check on him only two days after Susanna had left, and had been the one to pick him up off the bathroom floor and pull the glass from his skin, forcing him to eat and bathe before driving him to the urgent care center down the road. He had stayed with him for the rest of the week after that, to look after and care for him. He was truly the greatest friend a man could ask for, and Erik owed him everything. Farid had given him solid advice back on that dark day, and tonight he needed his wise words once more.

He thought about Christine, about her kind smile and honest face. About the way she had looked up at him. He hadn't had to force her to meet his eyes, she had simply done so of her own free will. He admitted he was smitten by her, just from what little he knew of her so far, and now he had the chance to pursue her. He just wasn't sure how to go about such a thing, and even less sure if he should. She seemed so good, so pure; and he knew very well that he wasn't. Sure, things might go well at first, but what would happen when she got to know him? When she saw his face it would be Susanna all over again, and even if she could get past his outer shell, what would she think of the monster that lies beneath? She would never feel safe around him again if she learned of the things he had done.

He closed up shop early, not bothering to care that he would probably lose a few sales because of it. He decided he could spare a couple of dollars in profit, the spray easily covering any loss from another hour's work.

Mind churning, he climbed the stairs and started some pasta, absentmindedly staring off into the living room. Smiling softly, he pulled Christine's phone number from his wallet and smoothed its creases on the edge of the counter. Such a small token it was, and yet it gave him something he hadn't felt in so long. It gave him hope.

He walked over to his dining room table, unplugging his phone and entering her number into his contacts. After that he scrolled up, dialing a more familiar person as he poured himself a glass of wine and tossed his allergen mask into the trash for the night.

"Erik!" came a chipper voice on the other end of the line, "It's about time you gave me a call! I haven't heard from you in ages. What have you been up to? Composing again, I hope."

"Not anything new," Erik admitted. He had known Farid since college and his friend had always been supportive of his artistic dreams, even though said dreams had died long ago. "I actually called for a bit of advice."

He heard a pause on the other end of the line and sipped his wine, wondering if he'd lost the call. "Advice? I have been known to know a thing or two. What's on your mind?"

"A woman."

He could hear Farid inhale a sharp breath. "What's her name?"

"Christine," Erik said softly, picturing her, "I met her the other day in my shop. She works at the tattoo parlor down the street."

"A tattoo artist?" Farid confirmed, "Is that your type now?

"I don't have a type," Erik stated flatly, "It's not as if I date a lot."

"You used to have a type. Tiny singers, if I remember correctly. Girls in pastels and gauzy dresses and what not. I don't know, my friend. I've just never pictured you with somebody grungy."

"I never said she was grungy," Erik said defensively, "Honestly, I would think you of all people wouldn't stereotype."

"Hey, it's not a stereotype if it's true. In fact, I'm willing to go as far as to bet her hair is pink and she has full tat sleeves. Hm? Am I right?"

"Her hair is brunette," Erik replied, matter-of-factly, "She does have colored highlights though. And as far as tattoos go I'm not sure. Her arms have been covered these past few times we've talked. She does have a tattoo of a violin on her hand though."

Farid laughed wholeheartedly. "So that's how you roped her in then? You told her you play?"

"I didn't 'rope her in', Farid. I'm not exactly charming in that sort of way." He shifted his phone on his shoulder, taking a sip of his wine. "It was actually she who ended up asking me to go out sometime. She gave me her number earlier."

"If you have her number then why on Earth are you on the phone with me?"

It was a good question, really. "She just gave it to me tonight. Don't I have to wait a few days to call her, or something along those lines?"

"Erik, you've got to stop living in 2007. You can text her, you know. People text now. Shoot, I myself wouldn't mind a text from you now and then. Or at the very least you could reply to mine."

"I guess I could do that," he mused.

"Right. Do that then, and let me know how it goes, alright? Don't rush anything though. Take this slow. I worry about you, you know. I don't want you getting hurt again."

"I'll be careful," Erik promised, "Talk to you soon, Farid."

Farid muttered something along the lines of a goodnight and hung up, the tone sounding loudly in Erik's ear. Erik set his phone down, forcing himself to eat something. He then found himself across the room, hovering over his piano. It had been days now since he'd last played and a thin layer of dust had gathered on the wooden hood that concealed the keys. He brushed it off, opening it up to meet his gaze. Something about its ivory stillness called to him tonight in a way that it hadn't in a very long time now. He pulled out the bench and took a seat, beginning to play a piece of his own work as a warm up, one he knew by heart. He played that way for a while before eventually changing over to a different, newer sound. This one was lighter, more free sounding, and he wasn't quite sure what possessed him to play such a melody. He knew right away though it was one he wanted to save.

He stood, fumbling over his too long legs, moving to his bookshelf where he kept his composition notebooks. These music books were different from those he kept in the box by the piano. There were dozens of these books, all drafts and nonsense from so long ago, from his life before. But none had ever been anything special and so, like his true pieces of work, they simply gathered dust and sat sadly, perched on this shelf.

He skimmed his hand overtop of the bindings until he found one that looked mostly unused. He pulled it from the shelf and opened it up. It turned out to be practically brand new, only a few pages having ever been used and apparently torn away by him at some time. He walked back over to his piano and began to scribble down this newfound song in his, pulling it from his mind and jotting it down onto the paper. Before long he had two whole pages of music written. He smiled sincerely, remembering how good it felt to create music this way. To feel it strike him like a sudden burst of lightning and surge through his fingertips onto the page.

He sighed contently as the hour came and went, standing up to stretch. His watch read that it was close to nine. He imagined it would be dark by now, the summer sun having finally set. He brushed open the curtain next to his piano, confirming his suspicions. The darkness of the night had now befallen Bradbury, the space outside his fire escape pitch black above the shorter rooftops around him. Below, the shops around his block where still lit up, most of the establishments ones that stayed open well into the night. There was a Thai food restaurant, a small bar, and a familiar red strip of neon visible from his tower.

He pulled the curtain open wider, holding his breath as he looked down into the tattoo shop's window from afar. An older black woman was walking across the shop floor with files in her hand, and in the lobby a young man sat patiently, playing a game on his phone. Closest to his view though was a station where a red haired woman was leaning backwards in a chair. Another worked on her arm, smiling as she crafted her designs with her slender legs crossed out in front of her. He recognized her immediately to be the woman who had plagued his thoughts for days now. One whose number was now saved in his phone.

It almost felt dirty, watching Christine work, as if he were invading her privacy. At the same time though he couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful, even from a distance. She sat hunched forward, smiling as she worked, her blue streaked hair pulled back from her sweet face, her movements small yet captivating. He only looked a moment more, certain she would catch him in the act, before shutting his curtain with an exasperated sigh.

He glanced back over to his new song, thinking of its sweet and tender sound, thinking of Christine. Of course it had been she who had inspired such a song. He realized that with a smile, picking up his pen and titling his new masterpiece before cutting off the lights. He then climbed into bed, once more feeling strangely at peace with himself. He didn't know why, but he felt as though tomorrow would be a good day.

Unfortunately, life had other plans.

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Christine must've realized Erik (with a K) was never gonna make the first move. Thank goodness she was a bit braver and went for it. I can see why he was so apprehensive though. Your fianceƩ leaving you because you're ugly must really do a number on your confidence. Even Farid is worried that'll happen again.

Anywho, I can't thank y'all enough for all the lovely reviews you've been leaving. Your feedback has really helped to keep my ass motivated.

xoxo,

Nicole