Page 60 of Hurt

“Is this…” She paused when she caught sight of the stainless-steel sign affixed to the side of the building.

The sign read ‘Museum of Modern Music,’ and Willow stared at it with her mouth open.

“I’ve been wanting to come here forever!” she said excitedly. Reaching for Roland’s hand, she dragged him toward the front of the building. “How did you know?”

Roland stared at their connected hands and cleared his throat. “You love music.”

Willow looked back at him. The wind picked up and blew some errant strands of chestnut hair in front of her face. “But do you like music?”

“I like seeing you happy.”

Willow’s eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a bright red. “That’s…dates are supposed to be something both people enjoy.”

Roland squeezed their hands and pulled Willow along to the front. “I am enjoying myself.”

They were greeted by a sharply dressed woman at the entrance. She smiled at them both and welcomed them.

“Would you like a private guided tour?” she asked pleasantly.

Roland shook his head, and she told them to simply ask if they needed anything, then walked out. He looked at Willow to see if she was disappointed with Roland’s decision. He wanted it to be the two of them.

Willow wasn’t paying attention. She was staring at the large two-story foyer. A massive glass piano was positioned under a matching chandelier. The sunlight came in through a skylight and splashed little rainbows prisms of color across the white marble floor. It was a self-playing piano and soft music resonated around the cavernous space.

Because of the glass, you could see the inner workings of the instrument. Levers and strings pulled and thudded against things Roland didn’t know the names of. But Willow was transfixed. She walked toward the thing like a zombie. The fingers of her right hand started dancing, tapping against her leg with the music. It looked like an unconscious motion.

The piano was beautiful. But Roland couldn’t take his eyes off Willow. The wonder on her face was palpable. There was reverence in those bright gray eyes, like she was a pilgrim who had just found mecca.

“Do you know what good music is, Roland?” Willow asked in a hushed tone, as if she was afraid to interrupt the performance.

Roland stood next to her. “A balanced composition with pleasing timbre?”

Willow shook her head. “No. It’s feeling. Music is nothing if it can’t evoke feelings. Even if you hate a piece, it’s done its job because it’s made you feel something.”

He didn’t really understand what Willow was saying in the context of music, but he did understand in the context of how he was feeling about Willow. There was no technical answer as to why he felt the way he did about someone he hardly knew. But he did. He felt so much that it was a little terrifying.

The music stopped, and the spell was broken. Willow grinned, and then she was gone to the next exhibit.

If Roland thought Willow was normally exuberant, then today, she was downright wild. Flittering back and forth, she spouted information about each instrument they saw. If there was something she didn’t know, she would bend down over the plaque set in front of the piece and read it quickly. Then stand up and explain what she had just read in her own words to Roland. She would pepper these explanations with random bits from her life, experiences, and anecdotes that Roland couldn’t relate to but found interesting, nonetheless.

In between finding out that the very first version of the guitar was thought to have been developed in fifteenth century Spain and that Willow’s favorite activity during music class was to consistently practice the same piece of music and then, when the performance came around, she would play something completely different. She said her instructors used to throw things at her they got so annoyed.

Roland got the impression that Willow didn’t realize how intelligent she was. She knew her talent was good, but she didn’t understand that the talent was borne of an innate intelligence and an excellent ear.

“Do you miss it?” Roland asked when they were walking between an exhibit of famous musicians and the conservatory where they repaired old instruments.

Willow chewed the inside of her cheek. “Yes. All the time.”

“Why don’t you go back?”

She got a funny look on her face. “If you had to choose between your brother and the thing you love, which would you choose?”

Roland realized it was probably a rhetorical question, but he took the time to consider it. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

“I do. I know what choice I made, and I know it was the right one.”

“Even if it means throwing away your talent?”

Willow raised her eyebrows at the question. “Who said I threw it away? It’s still here.” She waggled her fingers at him.