Grand Staff

by shadocoon

"When music on two staves is joined by a brace, or is intended to be played at once by a single performer Grand Staff is created." This will be a collection of short and mostly abstract SoMa drabbles as I attempt to better understand the bond that exists between the two. Each piece will be named after and loosely connected to music terminology.

3. Forte

Forte coming from the term that means "loudly"

They're arguing again. It barely even matters what it's about this time. Words fly hot and sharp, some making impact and others being swatted away, turned back, ignored. Is it about dinner this time? She doesn't know. But for her it is about fear. Fear of losing him, of relying on him. Fear of not being good enough and of being abandoned.

She barely hears what either of them is saying over the symphony of insecurity that rages within her. His expression is hard to read through the haze of furious, frightened tears that threaten to spill onto reddened cheeks. She has time to wonder what he is yelling about. It could be an overflowed bath or dirty laundry, but the fights are never truly about that. It is always the same for both of them. Different but the same.

They're both scared. Scared of their personal demons, of losing each other, scared of the responsibilities that they now carry. They are scared of the fact that they're only teenagers, children, and so much rests on their slender shoulders. At least that's what she's scared of. For him it could really be about that test she had warned him to study for. But there's something in his eyes, something about the quiver in his voice that tells her it's more, tells her she's not alone. And that's the only true comfort isn't it? The thought that she is not alone in her fear, the thought that he shares it with her. It binds them together. Even stronger than the trust they already share. It is constricting, suffocating, but it pulls him closer still. And maybe that's precisely why she now pushes him away. Hurting herself as well with each jabbed finder and angered word.

She is hurting herself more than she is hurting him because she is not the only one who doesn't want to fight, and she is not the only one who can find no other way to let out the darkness that festers and consumes if left unchecked. She is not the only one who wants to instead use words to soothe and whisper and hands to hold and caress. She is not the only one who will go to bed that night with a cold and hollow feeling in her chest. A shared feeling that they will both ignore the next day as they awkwardly apologize for the laundry. Or the test. Or the dinner. Or the bath.