Overture.
Barring an alien invasion, Edie knew she was destined for musical stardom. Even if such an event as an extraterrestrial incursion were to occur, so long as the army of intergalactic villains appreciated an exceptionally played Étude Op. 25, No. 6 in G-sharp minor, she doubted a hostile takeover of the planet could hinder her chances of fame and fortune. The problem was, she couldn’t care less. She should care, as her mother was keen to remind her. But she didn’t, plain and simple. She wasn’t an overconfident teen with delusions of grandeur. Nor was she a spoiled rich kid with relatives in the industry who would ensure her success. Her talent spoke for itself. The day Edie’s mother sat her down at a piano, she effortlessly produced an intricate melody. She was five, at the time. After that, her mother insisted that she perform for family and friends, at every opportunity, which reminded Edie of an old timey organ grinder and his dancing monkey. She didn’t enjoy the attention, but she didn’t hate it, either. Edie liked being good at something, even if it was the piano. She was just indifferent to her own remarkable ability and the pleasure it brought to others.
Had she been born with the skill to pen an epic novel; Edie would be more content. Books transported her to a realm where music feared to tread. Writing connected her to the kingdom in her mind where artistic fulfillment reigned supreme. This wasn’t to say that she didn’t love music. She was a fan of many bands and singers, each as dear to her as the next. It was the performance aspect of music with which she felt a profound disconnect, the piano a foreign entity whose language she could intrinsically speak. Edie simply preferred her native tongue, that of the writer.
To say she was the best pianist in town was a certainty. Best in the state? Probably. Best in the country? There was a good possibility. Yet, Edie remained unfazed. This included the likeliness that she would be remembered for her talent long after she was gone. She might as well be the greatest shoelace tier in the world, so underwhelmed was she by the gift for which others would give their firstborn child (or at the very least, the family dog).
A few years into her foray as a blossoming young prodigy, Edie withdrew from entering piano competitions, after it was brought to her attention that nobody would compete against her. Children either forfeited or despised the girl who robbed them of their chance at glory. She knew she should feel bad, but she didn’t. She didn’t ask to be this good, and she refused to feel guilty about it. Given how hollow the piano made her feel, she believed she was doing these kids a favor. By crushing their competitive spirits, she gave them a chance to focus their creative efforts elsewhere. Perhaps something more fulfilling and purposeful, like baking.
Edie knew that her extraordinary skill could lead to good and practical things. She would be a shoo-in for the music college of her choice – Berklee, Juilliard, wherever she wanted to go. And tuition wouldn’t be an issue, because she would likely get a full scholarship, since any school would be thrilled to claim a pianist of her caliber. After that, a prestigious career in the symphony, perhaps – again, one of her choosing. Or even a recording artist, which would allow her to tour the world. Was any of this so awful? Her mother preached to her about the value of job security, and how today’s job market was cutthroat. Everyone had a master’s degree or higher. Yet not everyone was as good in their field as Edie was at the piano. She possessed the means to provide for herself and a family, live comfortably for the rest of her life. It was the hope of everyone who grew up and entered the workforce. Even then, she doubted anyone’s future was as secure as her own. She tried to take solace in this fact. Some days she even came close. Most days, however, she took greater comfort in demolishing an entire bag of Doritos.
On this particular day, Edie was on her way to school. She enjoyed the languid stroll, which took her along a scenic route bedecked in colorful flower gardens, old Victorian houses near the beach, and white picket fences. The walk helped her mentally prepare for the next six hours, giving her enough time to relish the peace and quiet before entering the chaos that was teenage academia.
As Edie paused to marvel at a butterfly in flight, she remembered that she had jazz band tryouts after school. Jazz band was an easy A; therefore, jazz band tryouts were a necessary evil. Like last year, she would go through the motions and do her best to convey a level of interest worthy of her talent. There was only one slot for the piano, and the piano was a popular instrument. This made the role of pianist a coveted position. Despite the lack of competition where Edie was concerned, it was school policy that all prospective members audition for their role of choice in order to give everyone a fair shot. Given her reputation, the only piano hopefuls that she expected to try out were either students who transferred from another school, those who lived under a rock, or freshmen with no idea who the genius was in their midst. But Edie liked her band teacher, Miss Aumick, and she humored the woman by auditioning without complaint. In a way, it was cruel, she thought. These poor kids actually believed they had a chance. She knew this mentality made her sound arrogant; however, she felt this way without a trace of pride.
Edie pulled the rainbow straps of her backpack tighter against her shoulders and ran a hand through her green pixie-cut hair. Almost time for a trim. Turning down Usher Street, she headed for the library. She wanted to see if Sticks was busking outside, where he banged away on a row of upturned buckets with a pair of drumsticks for tips. Sticks was an older man, with olive skin and long gray hair, which he wore in a single braid down his back. A red bandana circled his head, and silver hoops hung from his ears. Sticks was partial to a green military jacket when the weather was brisk, and one day she inquired as to whether he served in the armed forces. Sticks told her that he fought in three major wars, yet he refrained from naming which ones. She always assumed Sticks got his nickname from playing the drums. According to him, however, he had been a demolition expert in the Marines, his explosive of choice being sticks of dynamite.
When Edie rounded the corner, she saw Sticks hunched over his buckets, his drumsticks elegantly flailing over their worn plastic surface. The percussive clicking of the buckets flowed down the sidewalk toward her, and she caught herself bobbing her head in time. The sound was pleasant, yet she often wondered what Sticks would sound like behind an actual set of drums.
“Hey, Sticks,” said Edie, with a grin.
“Hey, yourself, little lady,” he said back, his drumsticks continuing to tap away on the buckets before him, albeit more softly. “Haven’t seen your pretty face in a while.”
Edie blushed and shook her head. “I was just here yesterday.”
“Feels like a lifetime!”
“Oh, please,” she replied, laughing. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
Sticks cackled. “Only the ones with funny green hair.”
Edie’s hand went to her head. “There’s nothing funny about my hair!” she cried, pretending to be offended. “In fact, I heard the queen of England is thinking about going green.”
“The queen of England, you say?” Sticks repeated, nodding contemplatively. “She struck me as more of a puce or fuchsia kind of gal.”
Edie looked down at her beat-up black Converse sneakers, her grin refusing to diminish. “Now, my tiny feet, on the other hand – they’re hysterical. Mom used to say she couldn’t understand why I don’t fall over.”
“Small feet, big steps. Each one more meaningful than the rest, because it takes a little extra effort. Nothing funny about that.”
Edie said with a chuckle, “You never fail to find the silver lining, do you?”
“It’s just a matter of perspective, that’s all. Nothing magical about it. Hey, how’s the piano playing coming along? Learn anything new and exciting?”
Edie felt her grin dissipate, recalling the day she regretfully told Sticks about the phenomenal skill with which she was born. In an attempt to connect with the mysterious street musician, she divulged her ugly secret. It was an impulsive act she wished she could take back. However, Sticks never broached her least favorite subject until today, choosing to keep the topics of their conversations light, like the finer points of The Black Parade album by My Chemical Romance, or how much they hated Cersei Lannister from the show Game of Thrones.
At once, Sticks stopped playing, his brow furrowing. “What’s that?” he asked, quietly, his tone bordering on grave. “What did I just see?”
Edie shook her head. “Nothing…just a lot on my mind.”
With the tiniest of smiles, Sticks muttered, “Want some bread to go with that bologna? The minute I said the word ‘piano,’ it looked like a switch turned off. You were all bright lights and confetti a second ago. ‘Piano’ called the whole party off, though.”
Edie gave the man a stoic look. “I watch you play your buckets, and you look like you’re having the time of your life. You don’t care how you sound or whether anyone else thinks you’re any good. You just like the way playing them makes you feel. You seem inspired by that joy, elevated, like playing transports you somewhere else, and you’re not really here talking to me…like you’re just a projection, and the real you is a million miles up in the sky right now, moving across the galaxy on the power of your own exhilaration…I can’t exactly say the piano does the same for me.”
“Well, now…let me ask you a very important question. The music doesn’t give you any joy, you say, the instrument doesn’t lift you any higher than the ground you’re standing on, but how about this…what if you could no longer play the piano, huh? What if you were unable to play any instrument, what then?”
Edie emitted a sad chuckle. “My mom once said that she thinks I feel this way, because learning the piano didn’t require any discipline – I didn’t have to work at it. It was like not being blown away that I can talk – it’s a physical capability that came naturally. Nothing more. I didn’t have to sacrifice anything to be good at either one.”
“Maybe,” said Sticks. “But Mozart didn’t have to work at playing the piano, either. And the music was his light. He knew how good he was, and he appreciated every bit of it, since he was a boy. This thing with you, it’s different. I don’t think it has anything to do with the piano – it’s what’s going on inside you. Part of it is just your age, but the music should be able to penetrate that, and it doesn’t. Nope, there’s something else happening. Problem is, you’re the only one who can fix it. Worse, you’re the only one who can figure out what that it is. And you will, whether you like it or not. Whether you want to or not. You won’t have a choice – life doesn’t work that way. What you do have a choice in is what you do about it, once you figure it all out.”
Suddenly, Edie felt as if she was standing naked in front of the library, in full view of passersby. She wasn’t angry about anything Sticks said so much as she felt frighteningly vulnerable. This feeling of existential exposure came from the fact that she feared Sticks was onto something – and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know what it was. More so, she didn’t want to face it at the moment. Perhaps the upcoming weekend; she had nothing planned. Yes, Saturday or Sunday was a more convenient time for her to confront her inner turmoil and tumultuous feelings regarding the piano. She didn’t know what to say, so she blurted, “Thanks,” and headed off to school.
*
The next morning, Edie awoke to the sound of Alexa’s soothing voice on her Amazon Echo. Blinking her eyes, she called for Alexa’s silence, and the room returned to a state of tranquility. She stretched her slender arms with a yawn and yanked her covers down. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she slipped her feet into the black Adidas slides sitting side-by-side on the beige carpet. Her first stop was the cage in the corner of her room, inside which slept the love of her life – Momo, her ferret. At the moment, he was curled in a circle, nestled in the hammock stretched across the top of his cage. Given his rambunctious nature, she was reluctant to wake him, choosing instead to rouse him in the evening, when she could play with him on the floor for as long as she wanted.
Next to her bed, perched on its black metal Z stand, was her Yamaha electric piano – a Christmas gift from a few years ago. Ever since she acquired this gem, she had all but forsaken the upright downstairs. No longer did she have to play in the living room, where her mother wandered about freely, talked on the phone, and prepared meals in the adjoining kitchen. Edie required silence, privacy, and the Yamaha allowed her to put on headphones and either play melodies behind pre-recorded beats or a cover song that struck her fancy. She didn’t write songs of her own, her musical tendencies amounting to little more than a simple riff or chord progression. Instead, she preferred to play existing songs – they required less thought, and there was no pressure to be unique or creative. Playing along to the rhythms in her headphones was more of a meditative act, something to center her mind. Nothing more. The piano served her – not the other way around. Precisely how she liked it.
After checking in on Momo, Edie went downstairs. In the kitchen, she retrieved a can of V8 Energy from the refrigerator and popped open the top. Were it not for these magical concoctions, she wondered how she would ever get out the door. The sweet taste of blueberry and pomegranate hit her tongue, and she instantly felt a little more awake than she did a moment ago. Heading back upstairs, she plopped herself down on the piano bench, placed her drink on the floor near her feet, and turned on the instrument, the little red light greeting her warmly. With a crack of her knuckles, she grabbed her Beats headphones from atop the keyboard, slipped them over her ears, chose a nice groovy lo-fi beat, spread her fingers over the keys, and closed her eyes.
And that’s when it happened.
Or, to be more precise, that’s when it didn’t happen. As in, nothing happened at all. Her fingers came down on the keys, but the keys she chose were random – like a child who had never seen a piano before and was curious about how it sounded. The noise was atrocious, and not because the piano was glitching. Rather, Edie herself was glitching.
Edie squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Perhaps she just wasn’t awake enough yet. She retrieved the can from the floor and guzzled the rest of her V8 in a few quick gulps, before setting it down again. Shaking her hands, she let her fingers wiggle loosely. She cleared her throat and stretched her neck to either side. Feeling slightly more alert, she spread her fingers once again over the keys, and paused. Where should she place her fingers exactly? Which keys were the correct ones? She honestly couldn’t say. Her skill had betrayed her; her musical instincts had fled – to where, she had no idea. Was she sick? Did she have a minor stroke in her sleep? Neither of these possibilities were farfetched. Things like this happened all the time, and age wasn’t always a factor. Her mind was racing. Staring hard at the keys, she ran her eyes over the length of the piano – all eighty-eight keys, each one as much of a mystery to her as the next. This was crazy! She couldn’t have simply woken up and forgotten how to play the piano!
Or could she?
Edie remembered what Sticks said yesterday: What if you could no longer play the piano, huh? What if you were unable to play any instrument, what then?
Had Sticks used some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion on her to teach her a lesson? Even if he possessed this skill, she would like to think that Sticks respected her enough to refrain from going to such lengths. At the moment, however, Edie was without a credible explanation and couldn’t rule anything out.
As she wracked her brain to understand what was happening, Edie had a thought – what if playing the piano wasn’t the only thing she could no longer do? Grabbing a notebook and pen from her desk, she opened to a random page and started writing her name in cursive – a lost art she taught herself in 8th grade. Perfect. She could still write in cursive.
Next, Edie performed the sacred hand dance from her all-time favorite movie, Grease – the Hand Jive. Quickly running through the various movements, patting her thighs and clapping her hands, crisscrossing her open palms in front of her, hitting the top and bottom of her fists together, a hitchhiker thumb over her left shoulder, then another one over her right with the other hand…yup, she could still do the Hand Jive.
It looked like it was just the piano.
Don’t panic! Don’t panic! Don’t panic!
There had to be a logical explanation for this. And Edie was a very logical person – a number of BuzzFeed quizzes online told her so. They also informed her that she would be in Ravenclaw House if she was a student at Hogwarts, and in the Erudite faction were she a character in the Divergent book series – both groups consisting of “the smart kids.” The point being, she trusted facts, science, evidence, and proof. There was no such thing as miracles, magic, or unexplained phenomenon. Things like aliens, Bigfoot, and the Loch Ness Monster, if real, all had logical explanations for their existence.
Then what was going on?!
There was only one thing to do – technically, two. One was stop trying to play the piano. It was obvious that she was unable to at the moment, so continuing to try and do so would only increase her frustration. Two, she needed to see Sticks. Her gut told her that he knew something about what was happening. Even if Sticks wasn’t the cause, there was an element of truth to what he said the day before, and Edie was determined to find out what it was. If he wasn’t responsible, perhaps Sticks knew how to fix it.
She took a few deep breaths and stood up. Glancing up at her wall, she focused on the rich colors of the rainbow pride flag that hung spread out before her. Turning her head, she looked at the tapestry depicting characters from one of her other favorite movies, My Neighbor Totoro, a Japanese anime film that always raised her spirits. It was also one of the first things she ever played on the piano – the melody to the main theme. These kinds of things made her feel grounded, especially when her anxiety became heightened and she needed to keep her wits about her.
The sound of rustling in the cage behind her severed her concentration, and she turned around to see Momo had awoken and was rattling his dish, reminding her that it was empty. Momo always succeeded where others failed – he could always make her feel at ease. Affectionately, she referred to him as her son, or Little Sir, which Edie’s mother endorsed by calling him her Grandferret. Her mother found Momo’s company equally relaxing, and right now, Edie was in desperate need of some serious ferr-apy (as she liked to call it).
“Hello and good morning, Little Sir,” she said sweetly, feeling her stress diminish. Momo was a wonderful distraction, his ability to redirect her attention borderline paranormal.
Walking over to the dresser drawer containing Momo’s things, Edie retrieved the bag of ferret food and scooper and began filling his bowl. She spied the cardboard sign leaning against the inside of her open closet, which she had brought with her to the Women’s March in New York, and noticed the latest round of teeth marks that Momo inflicted on her artistic tribute to female empowerment. She appreciated the animal’s enthusiasm where women’s rights were concerned. However, she knew that when her and her mother went next year, Edie would have to make a new sign, as this one had definitely seen better days. She wondered whether she would come up with a whole new idea or keep the current one, which she was very proud of. THIS EPISODE OF THE HANDMAID’S TALE SUCKS! was, in her opinion, a clever and tasteful statement in reference to the show she and her mother watched religiously on Hulu. Edie had been tossing around another idea, THIS IS MY RESISTING BITCH FACE, but felt that her mother might think the language a bit harsh for a fifteen-year-old.
When Edie finished filling the bowl, she watched Momo go at his food with all the ferocity of a predator feasting on prey, which she liked to imagine was how he saw himself too.
Edie left Momo to his breakfast and began to pick out her outfit for the day. She still refused to let herself think about her failure to play the piano. It lingered at the back of her mind, but she was trying to save the brunt of her worry for when she confronted Sticks – provided he was there. Though street musicians typically worked the same location, they didn’t exactly keep to a schedule. From a drawer she chose two t-shirts and tried to decide which one better suited her mood. Either the one that said Make America GAY Again in rainbow letters, or the one that read Clearly, I Have Made Some Bad Decisions. This phrase was taken from a book series by Cassandra Clare called The Mortal Instruments, and it was a shirt worn by one of her favorite characters, Simon, a music-loving, comic book-reading, lovable nerd. She identified with this imaginary human and enjoyed the reactions she got whenever she wore it.
Simon won again, and Edie picked out her most comfortable pair of ripped blue jeans to go with it. A pair of maroon Converse, her backpack, some deodorant, and a quick run of her hand through her hair, and she was just about ready. Bathing was rarely a part of her morning routine, as she usually showered at night, earning her about twenty extra minutes of sleep. She still needed to eat her English muffin (with organic blueberry jam), brush her teeth, and make her lunch, which typically consisted of a yogurt, piece of fruit, and a bottle of water.
Edie kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to the poster on her wall of her favorite singer, Brendon Urie, vocalist of Panic! at the Disco. She waved to Momo, who was still ravaging his bowl of Science Diet, and closed the door behind her…trying hard not to notice the piano against the wall, mocking her.
Luckily, Edie lived in walking distance of the places she visited most often – the mall, downtown, school, and the library. The weather was surprisingly warm for it being so early in the day, and the sky was a bright and wonderful blue. She pulled out her iPhone from a pocket on her backpack and looked at her class schedule. First period was Study Hall, which was convenient. This would give her about an hour to process whatever Sticks said in response to her strange dilemma. In fact, she was so confident that he would shine a proverbial light on this mystery, she was practically giddy.
Rounding the corner of the library parking lot, she ascended the brick walkway toward the main road. When she rounded the next corner, Edie saw that Sticks was nowhere to be found. Are you freaking kidding me? The one time she really needed him, and…
Edie was disappointed, yet there was always a chance Sticks would be there on the way home.
As she resumed walking, she remembered she had jazz band rehearsal after school (Spoiler Alert: she made the jazz band again). Seeing as she couldn’t play the piano at the moment, this meant Edie had less than six hours to figure out how she was going to dodge band rehearsal but still attend classes. She could pretend to be sick, but that would mean continuing the charade at home, and she was uncomfortable with deceiving her mother. And what about the next band rehearsal? For the time being, she would have to assume her inability to play was indefinite. This meant she would require a long-term plan, at least until she could talk to Sticks.
She had an idea. However, it might involve some petty thievery.
When Edie arrived at Study Hall, she asked her teacher, Mr. Hamilton, if she could go to the nurse. “Woman problems,” she explained.
Without looking up from his desk, Mr. Hamilton dismissed her with an awkward wave.
She scurried along the empty hallway. When she reached the main office, she informed the secretary, Miss Cox, that she was there to see the nurse. Seated behind her desk, Miss Cox typed away vigorously at her keyboard, her eyes glued to the monitor in front of her. Edie waited patiently for her to say something, but Miss Cox merely ushered her into the adjoining room with a gesture of her head.
As soon as Edie entered the nurse’s office, she could tell the nurse wasn’t there. Any other time, she would be annoyed Miss Cox failed to mention this; however, she saw this as a stroke of good luck. Without anyone around, she was free to put her plan into motion. Yet, when she passed a small nook in the corner of the room, she suddenly realized she was not alone. Sitting in a chair against the wall was a girl her age, with a similar albeit more boyish haircut. She had brown straight hair, pale freckles, and kind eyes. A tan fleece vest over a blue-striped button-down shirt covered her top half, and she wore a pair of khaki shorts and Converse sneakers like Edie’s – this girl’s, however, were blue. Edie had never seen this girl before, who shyly glanced her way. Perhaps she was new, and this was her first day.
“She had to step out,” the girl said quietly.
“Oh,” said Edie, equally quietly, scanning the room for the item she came for. “I left my History book here yesterday, and the nurse said she was going to put it aside for me. I’ll just look around really quick to see if I see it anywhere.”
“Fine by me.”
Edie opened every cabinet door, above and beneath the counter. She opened drawers, with no sense of discretion at all. Whoever she was, Edie didn’t think this girl cared. There was a stack of white boxes next to a row of glass jars – a new shipment of medical supplies, perhaps? One of them was open; along the side were the words that she was looking for: Finger Splints.
Without ceremony, Edie grabbed one of the finger splints and slipped it over her right index finger – she was left-handed and would still need to write at school. A perfect fit. She found a roll of medical tape and proceeded to wrap her finger, slipping the roll in her pocket. She didn’t feel good about this, but she was desperate. Wracked with guilt, she glanced at the girl in the corner, as if silently pleading for forgiveness.
“Don’t worry,” the girl said, with a mischievous grin. “I won’t tell. I’ve done far worse…trust me.”
Without thinking, Edie walked over to her and thrust out her sweaty, quivering hand. “I’m Edie.”
“Alyssa,” said the girl, taking Edie’s hand gently and giving it a slight squeeze.
“I have jazz band rehearsal today…and…I’m just not feeling up to playing, so I…”
“Then this is a genius idea,” Alyssa interrupted. “Something I may have thought of myself – if I was half as clever as you.”
“Thanks,” said Edie with a gracious smile. “I just have some things to figure out, maybe afterward I can -”
Alyssa shook her head and held up her hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation – it’s all good.” The girl smiled, its brightness seeming to outshine the fluorescent lights overhead. “Now go…before I call the police.”
“Thanks again,” Edie told her, before slipping away, back to Mr. Hamilton’s room.
*
That night, Edie lay awake in bed, reflecting on the day. One thing that surprised her was how insecure being unable to play the piano made her feel, how much it compromised her sense of self. She felt as if she was missing her nose or an ear. What’s worse, she felt as if everyone noticed. No one at school looked at her funny; no one made a comment. She knew she was being irrational, something at which she excelled, but the feeling of self-consciousness was nonetheless real. A part of her identity had vanished, and she felt like a girl without a name, a stranger amongst familiar faces. She already flew under the radar at school, but now she wasn’t even an occasional blip on the screen – she was just a fuzzy blob of digital nonsense that nobody bothered to decipher. Outside of the jazz band, if she never played the piano again, her life at school wouldn’t change at all. She knew that nobody would treat her any differently and all of this was in her head. About the only thing that would change is that she would no longer be ‘That Girl Who Could Play The Piano Really Well.’ She would just be ‘That Girl.’
Miss Aumick was understanding about Edie’s finger. She knew that Edie didn’t need to practice, and her showing up to rehearsals was more for the rest of the band’s benefit. It gave the other instruments a chance to acclimate to the piano’s presence in the music, to hear the song as a whole. Edie told her that she tripped at home and sprained her finger. This would buy her at least a few weeks to figure out what was going on, and, hopefully, put things back to normal.
Given her luck so far, Edie wasn’t surprised when she passed by the library on her way home and saw that Sticks wasn’t there. It was a fitting end to a lackluster day.
More than anything else, however, she thought about why she couldn’t play the piano. She wasn’t content with her theory about Sticks and post-hypnotic suggestions, so she struggled to come up with another explanation. One thing she kept coming back to was the idea that she simply psyched herself out, that her conversation with Sticks touched a subliminal nerve and, in response, her brain flipped a switch. This idea wasn’t implausible, as she had done something similar before. Edie was terrified of sharks. When she was very young, she watched the movie JAWS over her friend’s house and was traumatized by what she saw. To this day, being submerged in water caused her great anxiety. It was so bad at times that if she thought about it hard enough, she could psyche herself into fleeing a swimming pool. Obviously, there were no man-eating sharks in anyone’s pool, but her fear was so thorough, merely the feeling of being underwater activated her danger sense. This was what might have occurred that morning. She could still play the piano, but her fear of being unable to play was triggered by what Sticks said. If this is what she believed, however, why was she so reluctant to attempt playing the piano when she got home?
On the way to school tomorrow, she would stop by the library again. If there was any sort of kind and loving supreme being in the sky, Sticks would be there to save her from her ignorance and frustration. With that thought, Edie drifted off to sleep.
What awaited her the following morning only made everything worse.
Edie sat on the edge of her bed in astoundment, denial sinking into her pores and gripping her bones. Staring at her piano, she knew what she was seeing, but her rational mind would not accept it. Yet, there it was, clear as day.
Her piano was missing seven keys – an A, B, C, D, E, F, and a G.
Edie didn’t have any siblings who might do something like this to test her patience and amuse themselves. Her mother was not a prankster, either. In desperation, she even considered Momo and his penchant for mischief. Yet this wasn’t a sock the ferret hid under her bed. Not to mention, Momo wasn’t physically capable of such a feat. The piano was in excellent shape – no loose keys or missing screws – rendering the keys’ disappearance a mystery.
Both strange occurrences were too closely related to be a coincidence, and now more than ever Edie was determined to confront Sticks.
*
When she saw Sticks in front of the library that morning, the anxiety Edie was suppressing since all of this began exploded to life. She stopped dead, her breath disappearing in a gasp. She felt as if she disbelieved in unicorns her entire life and was suddenly face-to-face with a beautiful white horse with a long, glorious horn spiraling out of its head.
Edie rushed forward, ignoring the man and woman in business suits standing nearby, listening to Sticks play. “Do you know?” she boldly asked.
The man and woman both glared at Edie before briskly shuffling away.
Her mind aswirl with fear, anger, and confusion, she spat again, “I said, do you know?”
Sticks slowly turned his head, a sly grin on his face. The rhythm he was playing shifted, the tempo slowing. “Do you know, where you’re going to?” he sang, Edie recognizing the lyrics from a song by Diana Ross, “Do you like the things that life is showing you? Where are you –”
“Stop!” Edie shouted, disrupting Stick’s groove. “Don’t do that – not now. Please, just answer my question. Do you know? Do you know about what happened to me? It’s obvious you know something – you must. You have to. You said the other day, what would I do if I lost my ability to play? And then I did – I freaking did, Sticks! So you have to tell me what happened…please.”
Sticks sighed and gently set his drumsticks down on the buckets. “You’re not good for business, little lady,” he said calmly. “You’re chasing away all my customers.”
“I’m sorry – I really am. But you have to tell me if this is all just in my imagination. Did I let you get in my head when you said that to me the other day? Or is this something else, something…unnatural.”
Casting his eyes at the ground, Sticks shook his head regretfully. “Ah, Edie. You must be suffering something fierce right now, not being able to create music with that instrument you love so much. All those ideas, that need to express yourself, holed up in your heart at this very moment, with no way to get out. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like – what you’re going through.”
“Well…actually,” Edie muttered awkwardly, sliding a short lock of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t really know what it was like to not do that. I mostly mess around with beats and chords or run through different pieces for the jazz band.”
Sticks feigned a shocked expression. “Do you mean to tell me that you can suddenly no longer play the piano, and, without writing your own music, you…actually miss playing?”
Edie crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, if I was a runner, I could still love running without entering a marathon.”
“But you would still be running your own race, competing against yourself, striving to run faster, farther, longer, perhaps. You would be on your own unique journey, running how only you can. You wouldn’t be running someone else’s race.”
“You’re avoiding the subject, Sticks. You still haven’t said anything about why I can’t play all of a sudden.”
Sticks snickered, tauntingly. “Who said I know anything about that?”
“I just thought -”
“Little lady, you have to ask yourself, from your heart, now…why do you care? I have never met someone so unmoved by their own talent, so indifferent. Yet, here you are, acting like someone stole your face.”
“Wait, how did you -”
“Now, I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know everything about what you’re asking me, but what I can tell you is that I know something about what you’re asking me.”
Edie took a step forward, clasping her hands together, as if in prayer. “Sticks, you don’t have to tell me everything. Just what happened, and why. Most of all, how do I get it back? I can’t explain why it means so much to me. I didn’t ask to be called ‘Edie’ when I was a baby, but that doesn’t mean the name isn’t a part of who I am. Maybe I’m so upset about the principle of the thing – my ability disappeared, and the next day I’m missing seven keys from my piano – that just doesn’t happen!”
Another sigh, but this time Sticks looked directly at Edie. “If I tell you what you need to do, you have to promise that you’ll do it without question. I can’t tell you the why – that’s for you to figure out. I can’t even really tell you the how in a way that you can understand. Just trust me when I say, what I’m telling you is the truth. I need you to believe me, even though I’ve never really done anything to earn your trust. Except that I love and understand the music, and know what it takes to not just be a musician but an artist. And only a real artist can appreciate the gift you’ve been given, Edie. Only a real artist can take the joys and pains of life and transform them into an audible tapestry of color, in a language that’s never spoken with the tongue but with the heart. Only a real artist understands the essence of passion, the sting of hardship, and the euphoria of happiness – it’s both a blessing and a curse. And this kind of understanding and appreciation for what makes life precious and worth living allows a person to create music that matters, transcend the physical, until it reaches that spiritual and emotional realm where music becomes a magical thing.”
Sticks let his gaze wander to the sky overhead. “Anyone can learn to play an instrument, Edie. Like you, anyone can be born with talent. And anyone can be taught how to play a song. That makes you a musician, a person with a utilitarian skill. Maybe you join a working band, play some weddings, make some money. Maybe this satisfies you – some people earn a good living this way. There’s nothing wrong with it. But when I look at you, I don’t see someone happy with merely earning a paycheck. I don’t even see someone content with just being a really good piano player. That pain you’re feeling now, it doesn’t come from losing your ability to play. You’re hurting, because the rest of your life is suddenly unpredictable. Before, you had the luxury of knowing that no matter what happened, you always had the piano. You’d never go hungry. But now you have no idea what the future holds, and you’re forced to think about everything that could’ve been. And that feeling of uncertainty is driving you crazy, that loss of control. You took for granted something beautiful, something rare, and when it slipped away in the night, only then were you sorry to see it go. Music was a friend whose name you didn’t even know. What could that friend have told you about yourself, if you had been brave enough to let your guard down? They were loyal to the end, always at your beck and call, and you never even asked them their name…you didn’t even know what they looked like. My point is, I understand what you’re feeling, little lady. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes our hearts need to break in order to appreciate the hundredth millionth beat, the one that goes unnoticed, the one that blends in with the rest. But without it, we would die. That hundredth millionth beat becomes as vital as the very first one, and as relevant as the last.”
Edie felt as if Sticks found a secret door inside her soul and was gently prying it open. As frightened as she was before, she was terrified now, her feeling of vulnerability overwhelming. Her lips trembled, and her eyes welled with tears.
“The keys are missing from your piano for a reason,” Sticks informed her. “But they’re not gone forever – not yet. Each one represents a vital aspect of true musicianship, true artistry, and only once they’re learned, understood, and accepted, will your ability to play return. Essentially, these keys will unlock a knowledge already inside you, a dormant moral or value that must be awakened with its comprehension of why it’s important and necessary. Do you understand? You can’t merely be told about these things or taught them. You must experience them and make them a part of who you are.”
Edie looked around in frustration. “So what am I supposed to do, find these keys? Are they literally hidden somewhere and this is some kind of musical scavenger hunt? Are you going to help me or am I completely on my own? And are you sure you can’t tell me why this happened, or who’s behind it?”
Sticks picked up a drumstick and twirled it between his fingers. Edie found the movement mesmerizing, and she had a difficult time looking away.
“As I mentioned before,” the man replied, “the mystery of why and how belongs to me, and I don’t wish to share that information at the moment. Mostly because it’s not important or relevant to your journey. All you have to do is keep your eyes and heart open – the lessons will find you. Just be wise enough to recognize them when they do. As for company, you won’t be alone – not completely. Your companion, however, isn’t me. As to who they are, well, you already met them – quite recently, in fact.”
Edie knew right away to whom Sticks was referring, though she couldn’t explain her certainty. It was as if the name suddenly appeared in her brain like a bright neon sign. “Alyssa?…The girl from the nurse’s office?”
Sticks nodded approvingly. “She’s all the help you’ll need, and the true key to unlocking your artistry. You’ll see, in the end.”
Rubbing the back of her neck, Edie asked, “Can you at least tell me what these keys are and what they represent? It might help, a little.”
“If only the rules of the universe were different, little lady, I’d tell you. But I was only permitted to tell you this much. The rest you need to hear from Alyssa. I’ve never met her – don’t even know her face. I know her name, and her purpose. I also knew the moment when she entered your life, but that’s about it. Oh, she’s also allergic to marshmallows, which I always thought was a little strange…I mean, who the heck is allergic to marshmallows?”
Edie threw her arms out wide. “So that’s it? She’s a girl in my school with a weird food allergy, and she has more answers than you? Do I need a magical password? A secret handshake? Do I have to find the lost amulet of whatever-the-heck and fit it into the eye socket of a golden statue hidden deep in the freaking Amazon jungle!” Shaking her head, she could no longer hold back the tears. “Do you see how crazy this all sounds, Sticks? I’m waiting for you to point at me and yell, ‘Gotcha!’ If I couldn’t play the piano right now, and there really weren’t keys missing from my piano, I wouldn’t believe a single word you’ve said so far.”
“But what’s important is that you care. The fact that any of this is bothering you, and this deeply, is what really matters. It means there’s hope you may actually find your way back, and as the artist you were always meant to be. All your tears, and all your anger right now, that just tells me how much all this means to you. And it should tell you the same thing.”
“Can you at least tell me what the first thing I need to do is?”
“Find Alyssa.”
Sticks picked up his drumsticks and resumed playing, as if Edie never interrupted him in the first place. She knew he had nothing more to say, and she was officially on her own.
*
When Edie arrived at school, she didn’t even realize she was late. This was unusual, as she was the most punctual person she knew. To make things worse, she was stopped by the School Greeter, who informed her of her tardiness and sent her to the Detention Office to sign in. The woman wasn’t the least bit sympathetic, which irked Edie even more, seeing as this was her first offense. After receiving her hall pass, she performed the ‘Walk of Shame’ to the Detention Office. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run into Miss Aumick along the way, as she forgot to wear her finger splint that morning.
When she arrived at her destination, Edie was instructed by another miserable woman to sign her name on the clipboard and have a seat. After that, the Detention Officer would come out and let her know what day she would serve detention, and in whose classroom. With a pitiful slump, she plopped down in a chair, her body melting into the contours of the hard, orange plastic.
“Forgive the cliché,” came a girl’s voice from nearby, “but we really have to stop meeting like this.”
Edie looked up and saw a girl sitting across from her, only a few chairs down. She wore a plain navy-blue t-shirt, a pair of black jogger pants, and red Converse sneakers. “Alyssa!”
Why Edie didn’t notice her sitting there when she first walked in the room, she had no idea. It was as if Alyssa magically appeared.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the freckle-faced girl replied. As soon as she said this, her brow furrowed. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out? What’s with me today and these awful clichés?”
“It’s, it’s fine,” Edie stammered. “I mean, clichés are a staple of modern conversation, right? Like, the ‘in-case-of-emergency-break-glass’ sort of thing to say when you don’t know what to say, or run out of things to say…you know what I’m saying?”
With a chuckle, Alyssa told her, “Clichés are terrible. They’re the bane of civilized conversation. They’re the type of thing a guy says to a woman at a bar who has no game, or what your weird uncle might say, because he has no idea how to talk to kids. I just don’t want to give you the wrong impression – I assure you, I’m a lot more interesting than that. At least, in my own head.”
“I promise not to judge your shameful albeit unconscious resorting to clichés as an ice breaker,” said Edie, “if you promise not to judge my tardiness. I swear, I’m never late. Ever. Anywhere. For any reason. I think I was even born at the precise minute the doctor said I’d be.”
This made Alyssa chuckle again, and Edie thought it might be the sweetest sound she ever heard. “It’s fine, you don’t have to convince me. I can tell just by looking at you that you’re someone who’s typically got a handle on things.”
“Really?” said Edie, raising her eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”
Alyssa sat up straight and looked Edie up and down. “Well, for one,” she began, “your preference for rainbow accessories makes it obvious that you’re not afraid to be yourself in an institution filled with judgmental and insecure adolescents.”
Edie’s hand went to the rainbow Lokai bracelet her mother gave her for her birthday. “So, rainbows make me look like someone who has it all figured out?” she playfully asked.
Alyssa shook her head. “It shows courage, confidence, and of course, pride in who you are. This means your attention is on more important things, and not on what people think of you.”
“What kind of important things?”
“Like getting to school on time.” Alyssa covered her mouth with her hand and unleashed another fairy chuckle.
“I told you,” said Edie, trying not to laugh, “I’m typically very punctual.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued. What on earth could possibly shake your unshakable commitment to being on time?”
The mood in the room suddenly changed, and Edie felt the lighthearted tone of their conversation dissolving. She thought about why she was late, the absurdity of Sticks telling her to find Alyssa so she can help her play the piano again. She thought about the missing keys, the senselessness of their disappearance, and Alyssa’s connection to their recovery. As these thoughts violently swirled around in her brain, she beheld the alluring creature before her, studying the girl’s seemingly common features. She didn’t see any fairy wings – or horns, for that matter. There was no golden aura hovering over her skin. And yet Sticks alluded to Alyssa as being extraordinary, a being who operated outside the realm of reality – like an angel in a Hallmark movie. Then why were they talking like two regular girls who met by chance in the Detention Office? Given the bizarre nature of why their paths crossed, Edie should be scared out of her wits. Yet, strangely, she wasn’t. She didn’t feel fear so much as she did the struggle of trying to comprehend what was happening, force it into a semblance of logic. The intensity of this realization shook her to the core, the surrealism of the moment overwhelming. It washed over her mind like lava, slowly dripping down the sides of her consciousness. Edie considered all of this in the span of a few seconds, and her anxiety returned with a vengeance.
“Who are you?” Edie blurted, her eyes becoming saturated with tears. “Who is Sticks really? What the hell is going on? I just…I don’t…I’m – I’m so confused. I just feel so not in control of my life right now, which is something I’m not used to. And…”
Alyssa all but leaped from her seat and sat down beside Edie. “Oh, honey, it’s all right,” she said, rubbing Edie’s shoulder. “Just breathe. It’s really not that bad, I promise. And it’s not as weird as you might think.”
Edie took a deep breath and gripped her knees, struggling to compose herself. “Could we start with Sticks?” she eventually asked. “Who or what is he? I remember seeing him when I was a little girl, playing his buckets in front of the library. I never questioned it before, but he doesn’t look any different – like he hasn’t aged. I don’t know. Am I being ridiculous? He’s obviously not normal – is he? I mean, he wouldn’t know about any of this stuff if he was normal…right? Oh my god, I do sound ridiculous.”
Alyssa laughed. “Stop, you’re being too hard on yourself. These are all perfectly good questions. The problem is…I’m not sure. Sticks has just always been, you know? Like a park bench, or a rock with one of those historical inscriptions on it – a permanent fixture that’s been around so long, no one can remember life before it was there.”
Edie shook her head. “No, I don’t. Sorry. He’s a character archetype – the mystical old man who shares some kind of profound wisdom or insight before mysteriously disappearing. He’s Gandalf, Dumbledore, and Ben Kenobi, all rolled into one street drummer. The problem is, this is real life, and these kinds of people don’t really exist.”
Alyssa smiled. “Can you suddenly no longer play the piano?”
Edie nodded.
“And were there seven keys missing from your piano the next day?”
“Yeah.”
“And Sticks was aware of all this and told you to find me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then just go with it, Edie. You really have nothing to lose at this point, nothing more, at least, and everything to gain. I hate to ask you to blindly trust me and Sticks, but I’m asking you to blindly trust me and Sticks. This is all happening for a reason, and we really do want to help you.”
“Then what about you?” asked Edie. “Who and what are you?”
Alyssa’s smile was so bright, Edie squinted her eyes. “I’m Alyssa,” she replied, as if this was explanation enough.
At first, Edie had no words. She couldn’t tear her eyes from Alyssa’s gaze, so enchanting was her expression. “Fine,” she finally said. “Keep your secrets, then. You’re right. What’s more important is what you have to show me – and getting back my ability to play the piano.”
Alyssa’s smile fell. “That’s where you’re wrong, Edie. Getting your skill back is definitely not the most important thing. How you get it back is. Finding the keys – that should be your only concern right now. And you’ll only find them by learning and understanding what they have to teach you.”
“But, I mean, how do I do that?” asked Edie, shaking her head. “Am I looking for an actual key? Do I have to find clues and solve puzzles, follow an ancient map, destroy the One Ring or a Horcrux? This is all so crazy!”
Placing her hand on Edie’s shoulder, Alyssa looked her in the eyes and said, “That’s where I come in. Remember? Sticks told you to find me, because I can help you.”
“Right. Sorry. So, what do we do?”
Alyssa leaned back against the chair and crossed her arms. “The keys aren’t necessarily a physical thing you need to look for. They’re a bit more symbolic. And, in a sense, and as annoying as this is going to sound, the keys will likely find you. Meaning, you’ll find yourself in a situation pertaining to what that key represents. When the time comes, my job is to tell you what each key means, so you can sort of be on the lookout for it.”
“Okay,” said Edie, nodding. “I think I get that. It kind of makes sense.”
“Good,” replied Alyssa, also nodding. “Cool, all right. Well -”
With a quick turn of her head, Alyssa looked over at the main doorway.
“What?” asked Edie.
“The Detention Officer is coming back. I have to go.” Alyssa looked at Edie. “Meet me after school at Café Atlantique – I’ll buy you a latte, and we’ll finish our discussion.”
Edie nodded, eagerly. “Sure. Café Atlantique. Latte. See you then?”
Alyssa gave one of her now-signature smiles. “Cool. See you then.”
Getting up from her chair with the dexterity of an Olympic athlete, Alyssa waved at Edie with a parting chuckle, before slipping through the door.
Seconds later, the Detention Officer entered the room, her face a mask of bewilderment. “Edie Fairmont?” she said. “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
Edie slumped back in her chair. “That makes two of us.”
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