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Thursday, September 20, 2007

Yellow Paper Part 5

When she got home from school the next day, Ava saw her Granma's flash blue jaguar parked in the driveway. It was the epitome of what Granma was like. She still got speeding tickets because she liked going fast, getting places. Walking around the front, she saw her Granma sitting on the old park bench by the garage. She was tapping her hand on the wood arm rest, as though she were getting impatient, waiting. With Granma you didn't wait around for anything. The clothes she wore suited her: she had black boots on, a beret and chunky bracelets. Her hair was out, graying, but still beautiful.

'Hi Granma, come inside.'

'No, it's too nice out here. Come and sit down and we'll talk.'

Her Granma had to do just what she wanted to do. She didn't like being ordered around, even by Ava's simple request. Ava felt slightly annoyed, the way she always did around Granma.

'Okay.'

She walked down the broken concrete path to the seat and sat down. The garden bench creaked with the weight of two people. Tessa looked older, there were more lines sketched in her face than Ava remembered. Her eyes had bags under them, she looked tiered and worn out. Ava wondered why. She also wondered what Granma wanted to talk about so much.

'I thought you were going to listen to my playing.'

'Yes, we'll do that, but we should talk first.' Tessa looked a little nervous, and cleared her throat. 'ou've been having a few problems with your mum, isn't that right?'

What's my mum got to do with my playing? Ava asked herself. She answered unwillingly.

'Yeah, but nothing much really. Mum just doesn't understand that I want to do the music for a career. That I have to.'

'Yes....' Tessa looked away, past Ava. 'I think it's your father. You know, he used to play the piano. He's part of the problem.' So that was it, Ava thought. She'd come here to talk about her dad, not to talk about the music.

'But it's not! It's not my dad. Mum's always harping on about money, that I have to get a job that will earn a lot. That's the problem, she doesn't think playing the piano will make any.'

Tessa looked thoughtful.

'And maybe it's you as well, you can't accept that your father is a problem in this situation.'

'Well why should I? Why do people keep telling me that? It's not like my dad's still a problem for us any more. Why should he interfere with my life?'

Tessa struggled for patience.

'Its those memories your mother has of him, that's the problem, Ava.'

She sighed.

'Remember what happened to your mum, how she made a mistake with your dad that ruined her life. He used her in a way that still hurts her... It's no wonder she doesn't want you to play, when she connects that lifestyle with her husband.'

Ava was shocked. She'd never thought about it like that. Still, what was the point in talking about it?

'Are you going to come and listen to my piece?'

Tessa looked slightly suprised about something.

'Yes, I suppose so. Just a minute.'

She grabbed hold of the arm rest on the bench with one hand, with the other she clutched a walking stick. With some effort she got up, and walked toward the front door.

'I didn't know you had a walking stick Granma. Why're you using it?'

'Hurt my leg last year, fell down somewhere and damaged it a bit. I won't have to use this for long.'

Ava ran up the steps ahead of her Granma, found the house key in her bag, and unlocked the door.

She watched as her Granma came up the steps. She leaned one hand on the old hand rail that went up the steps. Tessa was independent, unless she asked for help she didn't want it from anyone.

She sat down on the sofa and turned towards the piano.

'Let's hear it then.'

Ava looked at the sheet of music. It was a familiar sight after having practiced this piece for so long. She lifted her hands and started to play.

The piece didn't really mean anything much. It was all expression, a moment that Debussy had captured, like a Monet painting. When you heard it it trapped you into a kind of false security, just for a couple of minutes, as though there could be no trouble anywhere. That was what Ava liked about it.


3 Comments:

Blogger Andy Moore said...

Nooooooooooo!!!

The piece didn't really mean anything much. It was all expression, a moment that Debussy had captured, like a Monet painting. When you heard it it trapped you into a kind of false security, just for a couple of minutes, as though there could be no trouble anywhere. That was what Ava liked about it.

Come on Lyd, don't try and tell me you wrote that, it is seriously too good.

Oh, and by the way, I bet that Granma is actually getting old, I reckon she's not telling the truth; she didn't hurt her leg, she's just in need of a stick because she's getting older. I think.

Ok, finally I've caught up, and I'm waiting for more.

2:54 am  
Blogger Lydie said...

I am so glad you think it's good! It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time! By the way, I have more written to put up...

8:27 am  
Blogger Theresa said...

Nice post Lydie, its not as awesome as the other ones though to be honest. Perhaps it could do with a bit of punctuation editing?
But apart from that its real good, nice and thoughtful. You can really build on this aye.
I'm waiting for part 6.

10:59 am  

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