NOVEL NEXT 280: Keys On Fire
I settled on the sofa, full from the big lunch of pupusas, and opened Shapeless Poetry. Half a chapter in, my eyelids were too heavy to keep open, so I curled under the blanket and let myself drift. The church. The piano. Debussy. "Reverie." Nothing.
Ping! I startled awake at the Discord chime. Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I picked up my pad and saw the preview. A DM from B. I clicked it, but when the app opened, there was nothing there.
Still with the empty notifications. Annoying. I rebooted my pad in case that would clear out whatever was wrong with it, and by the time Discord re-opened, there was a new DM from HC.
HC: you there? I heard you're performing for Cora
Ayela: you talked to her?
HC: DM'd her
Ayela: 👀
HC: lol. she said you're supposed to play for her. I wanna hear it too
Ayela: ha, yeah, I'll let you know. Guess what just happened?
HC: 👀
Ayela: I was reading Shapeless Poetry and fell asleep on the couch
HC: that good, eh?
Ayela: lol. I didn't mean it like that!
HC: 😄
Ayela: I had a dream
HC: a good one?
Ayela: you know that show Joy!
HC: 😂. the high school kids singing and dancing? my fave!
Ayela: lol. no way
HC: you know you love it too
Aylea: I fast forward and watch the songs
HC: liar, liar
Aylea: my pants are NOT on fire
HC: they would be if Cora were here
Ayela: ❤️🔥 hey- stop distracting me from my story!
HC: 👀
Ayela: I had a dream about you
HC: should I be scared?
Ayela: lol. we were in an episode of Joy!
HC: we were in high school?
Ayela: nightmare, right?
HC: lol. What did I look like?
Ayela: a sexy beast, what else?
HC: tru dat
Ayela: 😂
HC: 👀
Ayela: we were in a classroom with a bunch of students and a screen was playing a show. it was dark
HC: this is sounding oddly romantic. were Montana and Dittany there?
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Ayela: lol! cross-eyed lesbians 🥰
HC: I KNEW you watched every episode!
Ayela: only when they're kissing
HC: perv
Ayela: I don't deny it. Anyway, you know those torch lighters? Not the long ones for candles, the upright kind like you use to light a wood stove
HC: a WHAT?
Ayela: you don't know what a wood stove is? WAIT— do you live in FLORIDA?!
HC: no comment
Ayela: omg, you're a fat, old, FLORIDIAN retiree!
HC: no comment
Ayela: you must've retired from somewhere ridiculous like Schenectady
HC: what's wrong with Schenectady?
Ayela: I KNEW IT
HC: lolololol
Ayela: you know the torches I'm talking about?
HC: ????
Ayela: lord, you really are from Florida. Link to image of hand-held torch
HC: the DREAM, Ayela
Ayela: ha ha, so we're in class, at the front of the room, and you hand me one of those torches, only it's more like a pepper spray container than a torch
HC: ????
Ayela: lol. yeah, why would you know how those work? Okay, so there's more than one step to pepper spray. You gotta lift this safety lid and push it back then you can access the trigger
HC: LordTyrant would love this conversation
Ayela: not enough bullets 😂. Well, for some reason in the dream, the torch wasn't like a torch or pepper spray
HC: oh, I'm following this madness perfectly
Ayela: there were two containers. A spray of accelerant and a spray of flame
HC: because that makes sense
Ayela: so I sprayed accelerant all over my hand then looked at you
HC: dear gods, this is WORSE than being in high school. do we get to sing and dance yet?
Ayela: I was laughing at myself 'coz I couldn't operate the torch
HC: that tracks
Ayela: then I started to pull the trigger
HC: waiting with baited breath
Ayela: and I woke up
HC: DAMN GIRL
Ayela: I know!
HC: you sprayed fire accelerant all over yourself then pulled the trigger to light it? is this a metaphor? do your dreams ever come true?
Ayela: no comment
HC: I don't like this. I'm worried now.
Ayela: lol
HC: Ayela, I think that's your next poem
Ayela: stop
HC: nope! You're writing a poem about setting yourself on fire. Do it. Or maybe you and Cora are setting each other on fire . . .
Ayela: I'm going now
HC: not without singing and dancing
Ayela: Link to j-pop song
HC: I still wanna see you play piano
Ayela: I'll keep that in mind 👋
HC: 👋
So, HC had been talking to Cora, and they'd talked about me??? Interesting development. What did she say about me? Obviously enough that HC knew I was supposed to send her a video of me playing the song . . . What did HC tell her?
About my parents?
Did they talk about me?
What would they say?
Did I seem lonely? Desperate for attention?
I clicked open the video Rhoda'd taken of me playing piano in the Methodist church. I wasn't terrible. The sound was good, but I looked like a silly, scruffy child in an over-sized tee, hair a mess, disheveled like a nobody.
Nothing like Cora, professional, composed. A natural-born entertainer.
I looked scrawny and simple. A country misfit, out of place, trying to pretend I knew anything about music and talent. I could never share a stage with someone like Cora or HC.
I was nothing like either of them: successful, pockets full, contracts and audiences waiting for them to open their mouths.
I was mousy and ridiculous.
I wanted to delete the video. I hated it. Hated that I was so simple and forgettable. I tossed the pad down onto the sofa and went to the window, mind racing.
What did I even think I was doing? Why was I even trying? Writing a story about girls who meet in dreams. Stupid.
Just the silly wishes of someone with a nothing life that no one would want. Nothing that could ever come true. Fancies and day dreams.
Bong!
A reminder alert. I went back to the sofa to see what it was. Oh. The prompt I'd set for myself to ask my boss what we were going to do for the twins' birthday this year.
Good, something to think about. What would Joey and Mal like for their fourth birthday party? Would their parents come this year? They hadn't last year; it'd just been the nannies and the kids.
Maybe we could do a picnic in the park since the weather would be nice in September? Something simple.
Ping!
CoralineAsIs: I never closed this. Remember your promise
No, Cora, not happening. I'll figure something else out; you're not getting that video. Maybe Rhoda could fix me up. Clothes, hair, make up. Something so I didn't look like a frumpy child sitting at a piano made for someone with real talent.
I left her message unanswered, pretending I was away from my screen. HC'd told me to write a poem about setting myself on fire, and it seemed like it was right on the tips of my fingers.
"Keys On Fire"
I reached inside a place pitch dark
hoping there would be a spark
all I found was endless flame
and under that, I spoke a name.
It wasn't yours;
it wasn't mine.
But it was there
all the time.
I had no idea what it meant, and I didn't want to. I copied it into the Purple Road Poetry Contest submissions and hit "Save."
Done. I was done with all of it and went to the fridge for a beer.
Or three. And got lost in a drama. All eight episodes, only pausing for pizza delivery.
At 3:00 AM, I crashed into bed, not happy about needing to be up in a few hours to go to work.
