Prosperity: short story

Requiem

“Lost time is never found again.”

           “To Edgewater Court, please.”
            I handed the taxi driver the folded scrap of paper with my full address on it for clarification. My swollen eyes were a clear sign that I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. The taxi driver simply nodded indifferently and proceeded to weave the yellow vehicle through the busy streets of New York City as I sat and mentally recounted the events that had taken place in the last few hours.
            Buzz. I took my phone out of my pocket and read the text message that appeared on the small screen. It was from one of my cousins. “Daniel, I heard about Aaron. Stay strong and know that everyone’s here for you.” My eyes scanned over the time at the top of the bright screen. 9:30 PM.
            A sigh escaped from my lips as I reclined in the seat and examined my reflection in the passenger seat window. The city lights were illuminated across my sullen face, distorting my fair complexion with loud neon hues. The messy brown mop of hair that usually sat atop my head was combed back into a slick ‘do, exposing my broad forehead and thick eyebrows. The suit I had borrowed from my roommate was a little too loose on my lanky frame. After all, I was just a college student studying in California who had no need for formal attire. If I had known earlier that I was going to attend my younger brother’s funeral, I would’ve invested in some nicer clothes.
           A strange feeling crept over me as I looked outside the window and took in the nostalgic setting of my youth. Three years ago, I made a decision to attend school across the country despite the fact that I had no family on the west coast. Actually, that was why I wanted to go. I was tired of seeing my lonely mother suffer from supporting me and my brother. I told her that I wanted to be independent and that my leave would lift a burden off her shoulders, but I was actually relieving myself from the embarrassment of living with a sibling diagnosed with autism. Selfish, I know.
            The people bustling along the sidewalks looked so distant from my view inside the taxi. Were they unaware of the precious value of time, like I had been? Part of me wanted to scream out to the faceless pedestrians, warning them to spend each day as if it were their last. But another part of me wanted to keep my thoughts to myself, for the sole reason of making others suffer. I looked on with envy at a smiling family seated in a small diner, but the taxi began to speedily drive away, leaving their faces behind.
            Perhaps it was due to the lack of a brotherly relationship that I had chosen to leave my family behind. I didn’t understand why Aaron wouldn’t ride bikes or play soccer with me when we were younger. I began to understand more as I got older, but the more I knew, the more cold I became. We attended a small school and the kids would tease us, calling us all sorts of hurtful names. The teasing always bothered me more than it should have, and although I never admitted it, there were times that I thought my mom and I would be better off without Aaron. But the name-calling never bothered him. He was in his own world most of the time anyway. If anything, he would go home and play piano.

Yes, piano. That was the one thing Aaron could keep his focus on for hours on end. I clearly remember waking up to the playful tunes of Mozart on the weekends, and studying to the enchanting melodies of Beethoven during school evenings. I can’t quite remember a specific instance when music wasn’t playing in that dingy apartment. But I do remember the loud silence that surrounded me after I moved out. The absence of music had taken something out of me. I tried to convince myself everything was fine, but I knew something was missing.

Time and time again I would feel the quiet atmosphere consume me during the late nights in my dorm. I remember back in high school, Aaron would play when I was trying to sleep, and all I wished for was silence. But now the quiet that I had so longed for was suffocating me. I came to relish my mom’s weekly phone calls because I could hear the soft drone of the piano in the background, and I would think to myself, “Everything is alright.”

Those short, melodious calls were what kept me together during my time away from home, but I had only realized this after it was too late. The phone call that I had received a few days ago regarding my brother’s passing was silent as could be. Minutes passed on the clock, but years passed between me and my mother. I could feel her shoulders trembling through the phone; I could see her eyes welling up with tears. But I could only hear silence.

“Daniel... There was a car accident yesterday... Aaron didn’t make it. He’s gone.”

The words still rang in my head.

“He’s gone.”

But the silence around her words rang louder.

“Sir, that’ll be $10.25.”

I was shaken out of my thoughts as the taxi driver patiently waited for me to search my wallet for some change. I handed him the cash and rushed into the apartment building.

After walking up a flight of stairs, I sauntered over to the door with the number four on it. I searched my pocket for the key and turned the doorknob, carefully entering the threshold of my home. My mother was on the couch and gave me a weak smile. I had spent some time lingering at the funeral while she went home early to get some rest. Now that it was over, a certain tranquility washed over my senses and although I was still sad, I felt calm.

I snuck a quick glance around the apartment. Everything seemed the same, other than the quiet that enveloped the lonely space. I made my way towards the couch where my mother and I sat in silence. I took a good look at her and examined her features. Her eyes seemed to have dulled during my absence, and her once brown hair had faded into tones of gray. Time had taken its toll on my mother’s once youthful face.

A long period of time passed between the two of us before I decided to visit the piano in the far corner of the living room. The old mini grand looked as new as ever. The lid was propped up to half stick, extending over the onyx piano like a graceful wing. The seat was a little tilted, as if someone was just playing it moments ago and had abruptly left. I sat down, ran my fingers over the shiny keys, and played a simple C major chord. It had been a long time since I last played. The happy tune rang sweetly in the dull air.

I skimmed my eyes over the sheet music that was on the music stand. Pages of Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor were scattered across the stand.

“Hey mom, remember this?” I said, taking note of the key signature.

There was no reply.

I turned around to face my mother and saw that she had fallen asleep. I was talking to nobody, so I played my own audience. I took one last glance at my mother’s peaceful visage before turning back to the piano.

Straightening out the pages, I took a deep breath and began to play the requiem. I knew that I couldn’t play like Aaron, and I knew that time with him would never be found again. But at least for right now, I could enjoy the music.