“Happy Valentine’s Day, Julian.”
32/
someday we’ll all be free
THIS CHAPTER HAS A SOUNDTRACK
Someday We’ll All Be Freeby Donny Hathaway
alyssa
The sound stoppedboth of us. Julian and I were in his kitchen on Belmead. He was loading the dishwasher; I was rummaging through his freezer. We were deep in an argument about ordering takeout or figuring out what to cook, when we heard it. Random notes on a piano. The sound of a child finding keys and banging on them to see what they did.
We looked at each other.
“Micah?” I called out.
No answer, just more notes. Julian’s face fell. He wasn’t confused like I was; he recognized what it was and didn’t look happy about it. He set down the dish he was rinsing, very slowly.
“Where’s that coming from?”
He didn’t respond. Just started walking, and I followed him down the hallway as the sound got louder. Past his home office, his family room, media room, and bathrooms, to a door at the end of the first floor of his home. It was a door I had spent months registering as a permanently closed door. I’d assumed storage and had never asked what was there.
The door was half open and he paused at the threshold for a moment. Then he pushed it all the way open and walked in.
Micah sat cross-legged on a bench in front of a piano half out from under a dust sheet, pressing keys one at a time with the delight of a child who has discovered something magical.
“Micah!” I yelled, moving into the room. “What are you doing? You can’t just go into rooms without asking permission.”
He looked up, startled. “I was just exploring, and then I found this awesome piano under this blanket thing.”
“That doesn’t matter.” I felt embarrassment rise. I turned to Julian. “I’m so sorry, Julian. Micah, apologize right now!”
“It’s fine,” Julian said, but his voice had moved somewhere far away. He stared at the piano with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Micah, oblivious, scrambled up. “Whose piano is this? It’s so cool! Look at all these decorations!” He ran his small hands along the ornate details.
I looked around and started taking in the room. It was nothing like the rest of the house. The rest of Julian’s house was lived-in but curated; modern, clean lines, the order a man imposes on a space when he’s had his life under control for a long time. This space felt frozen in time. Several trunks pushed against one wall, cardboard boxes labeled in faded handwriting, stacks of photo albums and a shelf filled with VHS tapes and DVDs, and in the corner, an old record player, and a cassette/CD combo player, both sitting on wooden stands surrounded by vinyl albums, CDs, and cassette tapes.
But the piano dominated the room. Even partially covered, I could see it was extraordinary. A baby grand, but unlike any I’d ever seen. The mahogany wood was carved with intricate musical motifs, treble clefs and flowing staves that wrapped around the legs, and danced across the surface. The music stand was decorated with hand-carved roses intertwined with lyrics in elegant script.
This wasn’t just an instrument. This was a work of art.
“This is beautiful,” I breathed, moving closer. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It was my father’s. My mother had it made for for him.”
Micah perked up immediately. “Your dad was a musician?”
“Yes.” Julian approached the piano slowly. “He was. He did a lot of things. Played piano, guitar, wrote music, sang.”
“Canyouplay it?” Micah asked with the direct curiosity only children can pull off.
Julian’s hand hovered over the keys. “I used to.”
“How come you stopped?”
I watched Julian’s face move like he was editing his thoughts before they became words.
