Jill's Song.Those sheets of paper browned with age remained untouched; I could never bear to even lay a finger on it. The intricate printings on the paper remained the same; I never dared touch the white keys of the piano, and fear compelled me from noticing the contrasting black keys. Those lines on which the notes rested on remained as they were. They remained as you had left them, like you had left me.
The song remained silent.“Are you comfortable?”, his hypnotizing voice drew me from my painful reminiscing and into reality. I was in his office, a room furbished with dimly lit book shelves with their vast expanse of documented knowledge. What am I doing here, I mused.
“Jack,” a voice penetrated the air, cutting my thoughts and forcing myself once again back into my plight, “Jack, are you with me?”
I noticed the doctor's mouth moving; his dry thin lips questioning me about something. Am I awake? No, it has to be a dream. A nightmare, yes, that is what it has to be. The doctor's face wore the cruelty of the impending truth I never wanted to hear. Once again, I pondered a little about the pieces of paper while answering his question.
“Oh, my past,” I finally let my lips part and my voice move. It felt weird though, to speak with no compassion. To speak only when I lost the entire song. To speak only when I finally lost her.
“Let's get to the issue at hand,” the man with the black rimmed glasses stared impassively at me, “Tell me about Jill.”
It had been so long since I had heard anyone apart from myself, utter her name. My palms started to perspire and I rubbed them on my pants, gently brushing them across the fabric and wiping the anxiety away. I took a deep gulp and heard the awfulness go down with my saliva. Where was I to start? I knew reality would never escape, like she did.
“What do you want to know?” I shot a emotionless reply back at the doctor before glancing around, uncertain if I actually made the right decision.
“Masters in Psychiatry, Wallace Maven.” were the words printed on a mere certificate that hung ignored on the wall.
Maven's voice started to sound hesitant, or so I thought. He then calmly said, “Well, let's start simple.”
Simple huh, when was this ever simple? Well I suppose it was, in a way everything was always simple when you were in love.
“Can you describe her to me?”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Framed there in my mind was an image of her. She was at the piano again, not surprisingly. She was wearing her favorite dress, the pink one with the blue flowers. I still remembered.
I let out a small chuckle.
She was playing her song again; the one I composed with her, almost four years ago when we were lying under the old birch down at Willow’s farm.
It was nearing dusk, during one of the summers down at our old hometown. The whispering wind caressed our skins and drew us close as we laid on our backs, staring up at the branches of Old Timmy; that’s what we called the tree.
A small cough broke me from my reverie; an all too familiar repose that I had been spending most of my time in these days.
The music stopped.Wallace was staring at me.
“Well?” He fixed me with an arched brow, not the condescending look, but one that was purely questioning.
I cleared my throat, more to see if I could still speak than anything else. A burning sensation in my chest caught me, and I realized that I had been holding my breath. I exhaled and breathed in deep again; trying to fill my lungs with oxygen, so that the feeling could go away. I realized then that I wasn’t aching holding my breath.
I was aching for love, Jill’s love.
Once again, Jill’s tune started to play in my mind.“In more ways than one, you could say that she was like…music.” At the same time, I flourished my hand in a slow arc.
“Soft at first, soothing…tender notes one after another like…a beautiful song that gets stuck in your head.”
“I’d listen to her, rapt in her…soaking it all in, just…just smiling at my luck to have found someone like her.”
“An angel…music.”
My hands were trembling. It took so much effort to speak about it.
The tune was stuck in my mind, the melody beautiful.I closed my eyes again. I remember waking up one morning staring into her hazel-brown eyes. We were lying on the white satin sheets and she was looking at me, propped up on one elbow. Her sandy-brown hair cascaded down her neck, framing her in a quintessence posture. I could see the white curtains billowing behind her. It was peaceful.
I was in love.
“Go on.”
Damn. I drifted off again.
“Have you ever loved anyone? Have you ever stood next to someone and thought to yourself, this is the person I love. The person who, above all other things I will dedicate myself to, have you ever done that?
And the song came to the bridge, flowing…smooth, with promise of more to come.“It’s…it’s that, incredible feeling that you hear about in the...in the movies. That ecstasy, that…that middle ground between longing and satisfaction. Everything is in the balance and she is right there," I took a deep breath before continuing with words of the past, "beside me."
Jill's delicate fingers gently crept up to my arm. Before I knew it, she was resting her head on my chest. She was there, right next to me. Her hair carried the scent of the previous night's conditioner. Those long strands of brown were pure silk. They were smooth and flowing, just like her voice, that sweet, sweet melody that used to carry her love for me whenever we sang under Old Timmy. That morning, she sang to me, and I sang back.
"Holding onto me," I continued, "Looking into my eyes and I'm holding on right back onto her. We could stare like that forever! That's love! That's Jill!"
My voice peaked in a sudden burst of volume. What was that called again? For a moment only I could catch, I traced my way back into my realm of thoughts, my own library of recollections. What was that term called? Jill used to repeat that to me.
I blinked my eyes in hope of remembering the loving words we used to exchange. That word, that word which described the peak of emotions for music. What was it? Only the sound of our song through the echoes of the piano reached my consciousness. That word was still lost in the antagonizing pain of our separation.
Once again, the music returned to the beginning.
"Music has parts. It has a tune and a medium to it. A predictability, and a reliability," something spoke. I pondered once again, trying to remember that word, but I couldn’t find it. That was when I realized that Wallace had not tried to start up any conversation since I started.
"The introduction always comes first. The music starts out and we got two or three lines of... building notes that set the emotions, the pace. If the song's good, those notes speak to you. They say... they say...”
"Hey... wow! This…is something special, coming up. Something grand and sharp as a chorus! And the chorus comes.”
And indeed the chorus came. It lifted me up and made me feel like nothing else in the world mattered. I still remember our first date upon that grassy hill overlooking the old town. I often dream about it. The sunset that day cast the sky with a passionate shade of purple, covered the old rusty town with a sea of violet and wrapped us with a blanket of relish. I remember the excitement that was building up in me then. I wanted to do something so simple, but it took so much courage.
She was in her pink frolic dress with the silk sash tied into a beautiful bow around her slender waist. Jill sat there, her eyes gazing into the distance. Her legs stretched out playfully on the grass and herr arms propped herself comfortably upwards. I ran my eyes up and down her right arm, which was resting on a daffodil that had no more hope for survival. Her hand was obviously free.
Go on, now's the chance! Nothing happened. No twitch of any muscles in my left hand. No sudden jerks…nothing.
I glanced nervously at the crushed daffodil. My heart was jumping, my palms sweaty and my mouth dry. It was just meant to be a simple gesture. A simple "I love you" action but no, I lacked the courage. I shot another hurried look back at that daffodil; its white petals that once fanned out in pride were now flattened in defeat. Something had killed that flower. Jill's hand, where was her hand?
That was when I noticed her fingers tickling my left arm. Like a conductor waving his hands to ready the orchestra, her fingers summoned strength in my arm. That was when I held her. That was when we first made a connection. That was when my heart skipped another beat. We were madly in love.
Unknowingly, my lips refused to follow the conductor. I felt them moving into an all too familiar curve. That flex of happiness, that brimming of joy. My cheeks were warming itself with embarrassment and my heart encouraged more blood to fill the capillaries there. Then, one member of the orchestra stopped following the commands - my head cocked awkwardly to one side and I tried to avoid Jill's curious stare.
Her gaze was magic. It was hypnotizing. I was caught in the conductor's eyes. Slowly, but steadily, I brought my eyes towards her face. She was coming closer; her breathing brushed gentle warm breaths on my lips. The quaint town then burst into life that very moment.
It was July the Fourth. Jill and I then looked up into the sky, watching as the neon flowers burst into an array of prideful colors. We were watching fireworks. The daffodil was reincarnated into a lovely chorus of fireworks.
“And it's…its bliss; love.”
Jill."The voices of the chorus sing out to you and they say, 'This is the one you've been waiting for. We'll be together forever! I'll never love anyone else...”
“And you…and you take those words to heart.”
At that very moment, I realized the very impact of my words. I sagged in the chair.
“And it’s this rush of pleasure and happiness and security that...
nothing else in this world can provide.” My voice caught in my throat, constricted.
I looked at Wallace. He merely nodded, as if urging me to go on.
I closed my eyes for a short moment, only to see those dark, grey clouds heavily polluting the sky. July the fourth, five years after our first date, was so empty. That day was devoid of passion. It was almost as if the sugar I had been having turned to salt. The conductor was not there for the orchestra.
It rained that day. The rain pelted down on me, unifying the tears I had on my cheeks with their short lived bodies. I stood on that grassy hill, raising both my arms just so that I could embrace the emptiness a little. I wanted to welcome it and be friends with it. That was in hope of simmering the agony she left in my heart. I had wanted to shout, but found no strength to do so. Sobbing took sovereignty that day in the storm.
The tune, past its peak, softened.As did my voice.
“But, things simmer down and the song moves on and the melody returns…and you hum along and you clap your hands and smile.”
“But what you’re really thinking is when’s that chorus coming back?”
“But you can rush it, no.” I surprised myself by smiling. The memories managed to tease out that last remnant of happiness I had, that…final smile.
“It’s got a rhythm to it and if you’re patient, if you’re patient, it’ll come back on its own and you can…and you can sing again and it’ll be just as good as the first time, better even!
“That’s how songs are built, each framed by a chorus.”
I could hear the song building up again.“The voices grow a little stronger,” And I realized that as I spoke, so did mine. “And the message a little more sincere and everything’s good and you go with it and you ride it, and it takes you where you’ve
never been…but it’s…got a rhythm and…you can’t stop it…not for all the trying in the world."
She pushed my hand aside that day. I had gone over to her new place. Her new found home and that abode she shared with her new found love. 'No' was her straightforward answer. 'I'm not returning to those days, Jack!' was what she repeated several times in a row. An alien figure then came into the picture. He was tall, handsome and better than me in every physical aspect.
'What about the love we have for each other?' I asked. Jill buried her teary face in the alien's chest and was cushioned by her well-toned chest. She merely shook her head and wiped her tears on his navy cotton shirt. I blinked. I stared aghast. 'No' was simply her answer.
Wallace remained unmoved by everything. Deep down in his emotionless eyes, I could sense some feelings being stirred up. I then continued, for the sake of just letting someone listen.
“It’s not music if it doesn’t have a rhythm.”
But I did have a rhythm; I pampered her, every day, every minute even! Dint she know that?
I remember being back at her abode. I lashed out at her with those words. She threw it right back in my face.
‘Don’t you see it Jack?’ she cried, ‘It’s exactly that! You care for me, too much! You’re obsessed Jack! I should have seen it from the start, now we’ve both played each other for the fool. And I can’t take this anymore, Jack. You hear me?’
"And as the song builds and as the chorus refrains, before you know it before you can stop it. It all comes to a
crescendo; an incredible realization of everything that came before, the moment of clarity and it rings and it roars and it’s the
loudest sound that you've ever heard, and then,”
‘We’re through.’
“It’s… just…gone.”
Her melody ended on a discordant key.“The song is over and all you’re left with is, silence.”
“That’s love, when the song’s over, we’re still the same people, you just lost your rhythm. Every day that u go on like that your memory fades, it’s gone.”
“No more music, no more…
love.” My voice quavered, I realized.
“And it
hurts,”
Silence.
“That you can’t remember the tune, it meant so much to you and now you can’t even touch it,”
“And it eats you up like a cancer. You try to play it again, but it’s useless.”
I’m not alone, right?
Wallace continued to stare at me, oblivious to the question I posed in my mind. How could he be so insensitive?
I drew in a long breath and realized that my cheeks were moist and my vision blurred.
Was it tears?
“So I went to her, I told her, I said, ‘Honey, I want to sing that song again with you, you remember our song?’ I said it just like that, gentle…calm.”
I gripped the soft padding of Wallace’s recliner.
“She wouldn’t sing it again, not with me. I heard it in her voice. She’d never sing it again with me, she’d found
somebody else to sing it with…and I was all alone.” Surprising how I sounded so bitter, after all, it had been over a year already hadn’t it?
“It’s no way for a man to live.”
Wallace nodded his understanding.
No way for a woman to live, either.-Done by: BryaNik!
Acknowledgement to Lit Fuse Films for their wonderful piece of theater. Kudos.
Nik loved his noodles!
And gave me her prawns...
And we had Teh Tarik...(I finished my cup first)
We ate at Bedok South Market :3 
(This is in Bedok...)
(This is in Bedok too...)
(Yep, Bedok)
This is Diana randomly posing for the camera
I used to live several blocks down from here
And I finished my Mee Goreng fastest!
(These are shoes)
(This is what we thought of our mee goreng)
We took this bus back to the interchange!
And this was the cyclist that posed in my final picture.
