Substantive Change Chapter 8: A Dialogue & A Solo
-a Novella-
I only am escaped alone to tell thee.
Joseph slowly slid open the bedroom door, listening as the phone continued ringing for what felt like an eternity. Walking in and peaking over, he saw Sofia’s name on his caller ID; the picture displayed was of them when they were still together, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and her lips on his cheek. Joseph reached to the phone just as it went silent. Relief washed over him. He breathed a heavy sigh, but as he looked away, it rang again, startling him. Joseph removed his glasses, rubbed his temple, and answered the phone. After a few moments of quiet, Sofia began, “Hello? Joey, are you there?”
“Yes,” his voice cracked. Joseph cleared his throat and then continued, “Yes, I’m here”
“Joey, you sound terrible. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I came down with strep or…”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me your father died? I heard from your sister!” Sofia interrupted Joseph before he could finish his lie. Her voice was distraught, it was obvious she was holding back tears.
Joseph let out another tired sigh. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t know you would care so much”
“Of course I would care!”
“I guess I was just afraid it wouldn’t come out right,” Joseph said with sarcastic venom, recalling her letter. Sofia went silent, and Joseph felt immediate regret seize him.
“Sofia… Sorry. I… I guess I just didn’t want to talk about it,” and after a long pause, added, “With anyone.”
“No, of course,” Sofia said, “no, I’m sorry. For your dad, for the way I left things. I should never have left like that. I should have,” now Joseph interrupted.
“It’s fine, Sofia, don’t worry. At first, I was upset, but I’ve been thinking… I’ve been thinking about how there’s plenty of blame to go around. Things don’t just happen for no reason.”
“Yes, of course, but still… I think we should talk. When you get back in town, let’s talk, okay? When will you be coming home?
“I already have all his affairs in order. I sold all the furniture in an estate sale, all but a few lingering pieces. Lola’s gonna take care of whatever is left. The house closes next week, and I should be heading home tomorrow.
“Okay, well, call me when you get back okay.”
“I will,” said Joseph, exhausted.
“You will call, right?”
“Yes, I will. I promise”
“Okay, well… I’ll talk to you soon, Joey.”
“Goodbye,” and before hanging up, Joseph added, “talk to you soon.”
Joseph stood over the dresser for several minutes. He then pulled out his to-do list. As he looked it over, he felt an irrepressible sensation of vanity regarding the whole project overwhelm him. In frustration, he crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a cobweb in the corner of the bedroom.
The imposing sound of the downpour outside the house had started to slow. Joseph shuffled over to the sitting room and sat down at the seat of the piano. Pulling out another wrinkled sheet of paper, he placed it on the seat beside him, not bothering to unfold it, the letter already memorized. The piano was a dark brown but looked gray with a thick coat of dust over it. Joseph began wiping the table down in another vain attempt, this time to refurbish the relic. As he wiped, the dust smeared in spots and began to clump up. Joseph went again into the master bedroom, came back with a rag, and began working to remove as much dust as he could. The room slowly filled with fine particles that were visible stagnant in the air over the window, where rays of light shone through. A small opening in the sky where the clouds had subsided during his conversation with Sofia allowed for the thin streaks of light. The dust in the air made Joseph sneeze, which caused a sharp sting of pain down his lower back. Undeterred, he persisted with a newfound tenacity until the piano was mostly dust-free.
Joseph sat down, adding pressure to his aching back, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and played an E chord. To his surprise, the piano was perfectly tuned. He then played Cadd9, D, G, and E, and each chord sounded just as it had when he was a child. ‘No one has played this since mom died. How is it still in tune?’ Joseph wondered to himself for a moment. Refusing to waste anymore time over mysteries, he dispelled the notion and began to think of what song to play. He knew, one way or the other, that it would be the last song he ever played on that piano. Joseph decided to play a song he learned from his mother when he was a child. He closed his eyes and began playing Pachbel’s Canon. He grazed over the top of the keys, positioning his hands over the starting position he learned decades ago, and started playing simply at first; each of the chords in their order, and with each cycle around the chords, he added flourishes, making each pass richer and more complex. As he was nearing a plateau in the composition, an arthritic spasm seized his wrist. Joseph let out a short grunt in pain.
Rubbing his wrist and wincing at the agony, he slowly got up from the chair and closed the piano cover that shielded the keys from dust. Walking over to the dining room, he looked out the back window and saw the setting sun between the large pine trees. The sky was painted a deep violet and pink from the reflections of the sun, as if the day were refusing to die without a final, satisfying denouement.
Joseph felt a heavy tiredness come over him. “It feels like all I’ve done lately is sleep.” Unable or unwilling to prolong the day any longer, Joseph crept into the bedroom. He laid down and fell into a deep and dream-filled sleep.