“Oh my gosh, Jack. Sure, it’s okay.” At the same time, she was touched that he was asking her, realizing that, for him, it was important.
“Okay,” he said, lifting the big lid of the grand piano, putting the prop in place, and finally pulling out the bench and sitting down. “You ever hear of Rachmaninoff?”
Linda shrugged. “Don’t think so,” she said, wishing that she had, so she could be more a part of what Jack was doing.
“Prelude in C# Minor,” he said, looking at her nervously. He sat down, shuffled the bench into position, and checked the pedals. Then, he began to play.
The music rolled over her as Jack’s hands, the same hands she held when they walked together, seemed to fly over the keys, his fingers moving so fast she couldn’t follow them. She watched his face, the concentration obvious, his eyes only occasionally darting to the keys. As he played, she realized they were more alike than she had ever imagined, he with his piano, and she with her running. She marveled that his hands could create the amazing sounds while his eyes were fixed on the pages of music that he turned deftly as he played, never seeming to miss a note.
This Jack certainly wasn’t the same guy who’d annoyed her on those mornings when she was walking to school. Still, it was the same Jack–she was just seeing a part of him she hadn’t seen before. She wondered if he was seeing the same thing in her.
The music stopped quite suddenly, and Jack looked at Linda, a question on his face.
She began to applaude, a big smile on her face.
“You liked it then?” he asked, returning her smile.
She raised her eyebrows and chuckled as his mother came back into the room.
“He sings, too.”
“Mom, don’t.” Jack pleaded.
“You sing too?” Linda was learning even more.
“Yeah, I try,” he said, glaring at his mother.
“Okay,” she said. “I guess we can save the singing for later.” She chuckled.
To his mother, he said, “I’ve tortured her with the piano. That’s enough for today.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Jack said, waving to his mother, who came back into the living room.
“Come over anytime, Linda,” she said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Murphy. Love your piano. It’s beautiful.”
When they got to the sidewalk, Jack stepped around her, so he was between her and the street. She’d asked her dad about that since Jack always seemed to do it, and he’d said it was a courtesy thing men used to do all the time. It made her smile as he grabbed hold of her hand. She teased him about singing to her as they walked, but, as they passed a streetlamp, she could see he was blushing and, feeling badly, she put her head on his shoulder.
At the front door,, she thanked him again for playing and made him promised he’d sing to her, and before too long.
Inside, she smiled. Sometimes Jack surprised her.
***
A month had passed, and Linda was trying to concentrate on her running, but the entries in her book weren’t matching her expectations. In fact, she had even missed making the entries on a few occasions. It was early December, and the cold weather wasn’t helping, even though she’d run in the cold last year. It just seemed that when classes ended for the day, it was difficult to find the motivation to change into sweats and face the cold rain that seemed to be falling almost every day.
Unusual for her, an excellent student, studies often sat there ignored since she couldn’t quite bring herself to concentrate, and if she did get started on something, she found her mind drifting off, and she’d just sit there, staring off into the distance. It was unusual, and she didn’t like it.