A Sound Not Noticed
Something so extraordinary had never occurred before. We were driving amongst houses, trees, afternoon lights and shadows, and I knew where we were going. Yet, I had never been there. I leaned forward between the front seats of the old car, playing with my necklace, a metal tree I’d worn for years.
“We’re going there? I love that place!” I squealed in glee, though where my words came from, I could not tell. But even as we neared it, I recognized the place: a haunting, beautiful, decrepit, elegant mansion. I had been here before. The house was the same as then, though the surroundings seemed to waver and change now. At least, I felt that way.
The car stopped, I pushed Andrew out, and I followed suit. Thomas bounced out the other side.
Rushing to the heavy, rotting double doors, I waited for the butler, Stanley, to welcome us in before I was inside, gaping at the beautiful, terrible place. The foyer was as before, as was the dining room, just a few steps up on a stone balcony overlooking the living room. Some walls were plaster and others wood paneling. Oriental tapestries of burgundy and gold covered the floor; dark, peeling furniture collected dust; rich fabrics framed windows and adorned tables; expensive paintings clung to the walls. I turned to my right.
“Why, this old thing is even here!” I leaned forward in amazement at the massive mirror beside the door. I smiled at it, feeling content yet uneasy, for the only reflection was of everything behind me. I wasn’t in it. Neither was anyone else.
“Whoa. That’s something else…” Thomas leaned into it, also seeing nothing but walls and ceilings and decor.
“It gives me the creeps,” Andrew chuckled in his nervous rasp.
“I’ll show you the rest,” I laughed, skipping away with my hand on the banister. A splinter caught in the grain of my skin, but I didn’t notice. Beneath me, the living room glowed welcomingly in the cheerful cascade from the many large windows.
I led them down steps and up steps, through dark and dusty corridors and sumptuous parlors and sunny bedrooms and pale bathrooms. All the while we chatted and joked and laughed, just as we always had. At one point, we locked Andrew in a closet.
Before long we emerged out on one of the many rear exterior balconies, having passed through the 18th-century kitchen with its hanging dried herbs and scoured pots. There the sun was at the height of its passing, its brilliance dying away in a dusty haze as it drew near its bed. We stood for a moment, just the three of us, leaning on the rickety wooden railing. Something was comforting in it all. And something foreboding.
“Let’s go before it’s dark,” I blurted, jumping into action. I ran to a crude ladder built into the wall and climbed it.
“Up there?”
I grinned, already halfway up, ignoring the rust on the ancient rebar. “You’re not scared! We’ve killed wolves and fought zombies! A little ladder doesn’t worry you, does it?”
Andrew laughed. “Ever since grade school,” he pointed out, already on my heels.
I smiled, recalling how Thomas had always recoiled when Andrew and I shared water bottles with other kids, complaining about germs through his ever-stuffy nose.
“Yeah, sure, Mr. ‘shouldn’t we tell mom and dad we’re staying up later than they told us we could?’ ” Thomas laughed back.
I remembered that incident too when Thomas and I had stayed up late, talking, while Andrew fidgeted, afraid that our parents would scold us. They had given us a bedtime, but who obeys that rule during sleepovers? It seemed ages ago. It was ages ago.
By this time, I was standing on the roof. One could see for miles from there, over the glimmering fields and lakes and cities before and the threatening forests and wastelands behind. Or were the wastelands before and the cities behind? I didn’t stop to consider. In fact, I wondered why I had climbed up here at all. It felt so exposed and barren. The boys were talking about something, but I didn’t hear what it was. Maybe I had come up here for the sake of memory? But wasn’t that what I’d been trying to forget? Or perhaps it was what I’d been trying to grasp.
“Hey, come this way,” I called, eager to return downstairs.
I bounded down a crude staircase that ran along the back of the house from the roof to the back patio, with landings at swollen wooden doors that wouldn’t open.
“What’s this for? Why’s it so large?” Thomas asked, eying the structure.
“I don’t know.” I stopped, my right hand on the cold railing, my left fingering my tree necklace, searching for comfort. The sun, hesitant to leave, clung to the horizon for as long as it could. “I was wondering about that too, last time. I meant to ask, but I never did. I don’t know what these rooms are.” I stood there for a moment, digging through my thoughts, finding nothing. As the boys caught up to me, I continued down, afraid to look back, fearing they might disappear.
The last landing before reaching the ground held a single door. Unlike the others, that looked as though someone had hacked them from rotting stumps, this one was delicate and covered in teal paint, peeling but still charming. I turned its doorknob, and we went in. I don’t know how I knew this room. In fact, I couldn’t remember if it had been here before. Or if I had been. It had a single large window facing the sunset and no furniture, dust-laden but not foul.
We sat by the window and watched the yellowing sky. For a long time, we sat there, talking about everything and nothing, yet the sun still lingered. We spoke of grade school and the muddy pond behind my house and the milkshake my dad had made for Andrew back when he was picky, telling him it would give him superpowers. We remembered Christmases and Easters and birthdays spent together, back when food was secondary, and all we wanted to do was play outside until Andrew threw a temper-tantrum and glowered in a corner. I’m sure there were specifics about Thomas and myself too, but for some reason, I remembered the stories about Andrew best.
I looked at the two laughing faces, one framed by light brown hair, the other by dark. And I saw them as they had been thirteen years ago when “poop” had still seemed a naughty word. But, they hadn’t changed. Well, one of them hadn’t anyway. He was still as close as then, only older. But the other seemed distant. I stared at them, my brothers, knowing one and not the other. Not anymore.
I swung away, looking instead at the empty room, but still laughing. How long had we been laughing? When had it changed from lighthearted fun to pain? Or had it?
“We’d better go. There’s still another room.” Whatever that meant. There were dozens left to explore, but I stepped out onto the landing and followed the stairs. At their base, I turned left and pushed on another wooden door, this one crude and dilapidated and swollen like the ones above, but unlocked and unbarred.
“This place is fascinating,” I warned, feeling excitement and fear. Cautiously, they stepped in, with me right behind them this time. We stood in the dying square of light from the doorway and waited for our eyes to adjust to the murky blackness. How was there still sunlight? Hadn’t the sunset begun two hours before? “Welcome to the palace of junk and treasures. And pianos.”
“Pianos?” Andrew chuckled, his voice cracking, not because of fear but because that’s what his voice does. Or did, anyway.
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “I just remembered.” I continued, venturing into the shadows that took form. “This room is full of pianos. It was a beautiful discovery the first time.” Disturbing a dust settlement, I lifted the fallboard of the first piano on the left, an ancient dark upright. I touched the keys and found them as before, aged but in tune. I smiled. The sound was like an old friend’s voice. I sat and played. I don’t remember what I played. I played while the boys explored the room, examining relics and artwork and old furniture. Every note was perfect, and we all would have been happy except for the cockroaches that kept skittering out from under things the boys moved.
The next piano was a carved player piano. I tried it but didn’t know how to work it. The piano after that was a brown upright, followed by a little spinet, then a white baby grand with yellowed keys. Some sounded wonderful; others were off key. I sat at a baby grand next, but I was having trouble seeing and I couldn’t feel my way up and down the keys. My fingers were getting stiff. Apparently, the sun had fallen off the edge of the world. I broke off as a cockroach charged at my hand.
“We should probably go,” Andrew pointed out. His voice sounded different. I looked at the handsome silhouette of a covered concert grand, but the light was too dim. I nodded and trudged out into the cold arms of the soundless night. I heard something light and metallic fall to the ground, but I didn’t notice what it was.
The next thing I knew, I was laying in my bed, the morning sun leaping in through the sliding glass doors, pooling around me without touching me. Or did it, and I didn’t feel it? As I lay there, I lost myself in thought. There were Thomas and Andrew and their sister and their parents and my parents and my sister. The sky was cloudy as we said goodbye. A got a hug from Thomas, his mom, his dad, and his sister. Smiles through tears as we said goodbye once again. But we would be together, one day, so it was okay.
I waved from the car, looking for Thomas and Andrew, my boys. Thomas waved, but where was Andrew? I strained to see him, but I couldn’t. Had I even hugged him or him me? I couldn’t remember.
Clouds and cold. Frigid wind. Tears. They bore us home as I thought of my friends. I’d see them again, so it was okay. But I wouldn’t see Andrew again, so it wasn’t okay. I might, but it wouldn’t be the same. He was gone and would be for a long time. Or maybe he was just gone, and I didn’t wish to accept it. When had he gone?
I reached for my necklace and felt only my neck. The sound of something light and metallic falling to the ground, but I had not noticed.
I noticed now.
