The Other Side
Month:3
Part Fifteen
"It's not much, but it's a place to stay," Christopher, his new landlord commented from where he stood behind him. "But it's convenient. Right in the center of town and all." The tall man leaned back against the wall and pushed his glasses up on his nose.
"It's perfect," Paul replied with a wide grin. He turned around a full circle to take in all of the room. Then he burst open the window so he could peer out at the small town below.
Chris raised an eyebrow at the curious amnesiac. Strange man for a tenant, he thought to himself. But he had a feeling he'd like Paul.
Yep, he decided to himself. They'd get along just fine.
"Thanks a lot, man," Paul told him as he shook hands with Chris. Chris shook hands as well, grinning a broad, lazy grin as he left the room to let Paul settle in.
Paul leaned back against the wall, relaxing as he let his gaze settle over the small shop. After working two weeks in the music store, he still knew nothing about music, but knew how to sell it. He felt peaceful as he listened to the notes coming from the studio behind him.
All to soon, the music ended and then door opened. The boy who had been playing and Della entered the room. Paul watched amiably as Della walked the boy to the front door, saying good bye, and then followed so he could lock up.
"He seems to be getting better," he commented to her as he turned the key.
Della nodded her agreement as she watched him count the money in the register. "You know anything about music?" she asked him.
Paul didn't bother to look up from the money. "Nah," he replied with a grin. "I just sell it."
Della chuckled slightly but shook her head, no. "I think you do," she told him in her exotic voice. "Even if you don't remember."
Paul then did stop what he was doing. He was silent for a moment, then returned to his counting. "Chris said the same thing when I met him," he commented.
"Well if Chris thinks that he's probably right," she told him. "He can tell that sort of stuff about people."
Paul just shrugged as he finished what he was doing.
"Will you try?" Della asked. "Let me teach you?"
Paul looked surprised for a moment. "Della, I don't have money for music lessons," he reminded her.
Della waved the comment aside. "I know that," she replied. "Consider it a gift."
Paul was silent for a long time. "Della, I-" he began.
She cut him off before he could finish. "Come on," she told him. "Just play around with the piano for a little bit."
Paul heaved a sigh, shaking his head as he followed her. "What is it with you people and music?" he muttered to himself.
Della entered the room and took a seat next to the piano. "Have a seat," she told Paul, gesturing to the bench in front of the keys. The piano was large and the room was small so that there was barely room for anything else.
Paul sat down and looked at her expectantly. "Well?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Just...play around for a bit," she told him.
Paul frowned for a moment. "Okay," he agreed. He slowly hit a few keys with his right hand. Then, he added a few notes with his left. The resulting sounds were, at most, unmiraculous.
"See?" he told her. "I don't know anything about pianos."
Della didn't buy it. She refused to give up. "Keep trying," she insisted. "You can do it. Just - let your fingers move," she advised. Paul sighed. He shut his eyes and flexed his fingers in midair.
"Okay fingers," he stated. "Get to work."
His left fingers moved over the keys. Lightly at first, and then with more confidence, they began to play a melody.
His right hand then began in the same way, slowly beginning to play a melody.
At first the two sounds merely clashed, and Della began to wonder if perhaps her instincts were wrong. But before the thought had even formed in her mind, the two melodies began to form a song.
It was a light sweet song but at the same time she could sense it had an undercurrent of darkness in it. To Della it sounded like emotions. She realized that Paul was playing his feelings.
For a few moments the song continued before ending in the same gentle way it began. Paul stopped playing and opened his eyes. Della stared at him.
"Well?" Paul asked innocently, sounding nervous. "How did I do?"
Della stared at Paul in silence, lost in her own thoughts, stunned. He began to wonder if she was alright.
"Della?" he asked. "Are you alright?" In the distance he thought that he could hear the voice that had been talking to him earlier. It sounded like it was laughing. But he couldn't be certain.
"Paul that was magnificent!" Della cheered. "I knew you had talent!"
He shrugged. "Well, it wasn't much, really," he replied modestly. A slight blush appeared on his cheeks.
"Oh don't be modest!" Della replied. "Play something else!"
"Something else?" Paul asked.
"Yeah, another song or something."
"Um..."
"C'mon Paul, surely you can play more than that!"
"I don't know," he confessed. "But I'll try."
Paul positioned his hands over the keyboard and began to hesitantly tap out a tune. Before long he became a little more confident, and soon the sounds of music were coming loudly out of the ancient piano.
He wasn't more than halfway through the tune when he was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.
"Who could that be," he wondered. "We've been closed for a half-hour!"
Della stood up to answer the door, and Paul returned to the keyboard, not wanting to leave the song unfinished. Before long, it was over, and he turned in surprised to hear Chris and Della clapping.
"That was fabulous!" Chris cheered. "I told you that you had talent, didn't I?"
Paul looked down at the piano thoughtfully. "Maybe...maybe I was a musician..," he mused.
He looked to his left and saw a man standing by a microphone. He was singing. The song wasn't recognizable, but the words were.
Someone jabbed him in the side, and he figured he was supposed to be singing along. Somehow, he did, even though he didn't know what he was singing.
To his right he could see a tall man with a guitar. He realized that must have been who had jabbed him, and watched with some envy as his hands moved lightly over the strings.
The song ended eventually and the tall guitarist stepped up to the microphone. "Thanks a lot for comin' everybody!" he announced to the audience as he proceeded with his ending speech.
"Come on, Petah we'd bettah get packing," the short man said to him.
"Paul? You okay?" Chris asked, waving his hand in front of Paul's face.
"Huh?" Paul looked around. He was lying in bed, and Chris was standing over him. "What?"
"Sorry, didn't mean to barge in on you, but it's almost nine. Don't you have to be at the store or something?" Chris reminded him.
Paul glanced at the clock next to his bed. "Oh, yeah!" he realized, leaping out of bed. "Thanks, Chris."
"No problem," Chris replied, stepping back out of the way as Paul rummaged through his dresser for a clean pair of pants. "What were you dreaming about anyway?"
Paul stopped in what he was doing. "You know," he said to Chris as he pulled out a pair of pants. "That's the funny thing. I never can remember my dreams any more."
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