requiem

 

 

 

The chapel where the empty wedding rehearsal had been held is now as vacant as it had somehow felt, now devoid of the smiles some of us tried to keep up for Aunt Kiyone and Kenrenya’s sake, stolen of humanly presence other than myself. My fingers are limp as they fumble across the piano, echoing through the entire room with such a bittersweet sound. There was usually such trial and error, such perfectionism, such a yearning for just the right key and tune that went into the compositions written and pieces played, but how can I possibly care now? It‘s all clumsy and without rhyme or reason, but it‘s my only somewhat safe escape.

We were supposed to have performed a piece we wrote together for their first slow dance, a duet of the piano and violin, Victoria and I. We practised it together, separately, in our minds, for weeks on end. Only twice we had gone through the entire song without one of us stopping. It’s not right, she would mumble. I’m ruining it, she would say. Why did you choose me to play this piece?, she would ask. Nora would do a better job, she would state. You’d get it if you concentrated. You’re right fine, just play. You’re best fit for the bloody thing. She’ll be too busy dancing with Matt. All the wrong answers I would give, only resulting in her silence and resumed playing.

I had been the worst brother, the worst person. I neglected and abused her and she took every last bloody bit of it as if she deserved it. Even when I told her very blatantly that she was not as horrible or miserable as she thought, she seemed to ignore my every word, and that, I deserved. It was my fault she had become a bird with a broken wing – one refused hug and an entire youth was stolen from us both. It was as if I had lost the ability to love, and she had lost the ability to feel loved. And she wasn’t the only one I had hurt, but I had hurt her most.

And I couldn’t save her from death.

The sound of her sad, tortured violin fills the room slowly, as if her ghost is playing right along. It doesn’t echo, like a mirror refusing a phantom’s reflection, and I shiver as I think of her, standing in such a perfect position without a focused look, her eyes seeming blind, seeing nothing. Even if her words and actions hid her emotions, her playing revealed it all, for few people to hear. The very slightest falters and slow pulls, the tune she set the melody to. Victoria hid, but she cried silently to be found, and it feels like she’s calling now, from the land of the dead, those tortured and pained, those who had never been appreciated by even their triplet brother.

Almost half of the lot of us died in or before that plane crash. Not one of us escaped unscathed. I have never seen Seishin cry before she lost Klaud. I’ve never seen her collapse and simply refuse to be helped, gasping and choking on her own sobs. I’ve never seen Seth hardly try to keep up a façade before he lost Tori. I’ve never seen him hold to anyone so tightly as he held Kage as she carried him, his face stained with tears and eyes lacking any light or shine. I’ve never felt more miserable and guilty in my life, all their lives running through my mind as tears break on the ivory piano keys, such disgusting tears I shouldn’t be allowed to cry.

Matt and Jayne will never have a first kiss or that slow dance. Charlotte and Vanessa’s public displays of affection won’t be seen again. Seishin and Klaud will never fight over who brought the GPS and who got lost again. Colin will never again cling to Aoife and hide from us all. Suisen won’t become strong enough to walk and Shidako won’t teach her to dance when she would have. Grandmum Kaori won’t have to chase Tachiko away from her laptop anymore. Grandmum Seiya won’t worry about breaking anyone’s heart. Aunt Ashita and Miakoda’s wedding will never be.

And as the sound of Victoria’s violin sinks back into the depths of my insanity-plagued mind, it all feels even more painful. I’ll never see her forced smiles or hear her English accented voice ever again.

And I’ll play this song for her, in complete silence, in an echoing church, with a miserably sad violin and Mami’s sweet voice and my lonely piano, at her funeral, and I’ll make my heart last that long.

A Requiem for Victoria.