To walk up the steps to a house he’d picked out, paid for, and customized as a visitor was about as surreal as it got. It was the final confirmation that the life he knew was really over and there was no going back. Casey’s stomach was in knots as he trudged up the steps, between two marble columns he went absolutely crazy over when he first saw the place, but now he found himself wishing they would both collapse and spare him.
He wanted to turn around. How badly did he need his stuff anyway? Couldn’t he just start fresh with all new stuff? His guitar was out of tune. His wardrobe hadn’t been updated in years right?
He knew he was being ridiculous. Once he was done entertaining his absurd train of thought, he pushed it away with a deep breath, finally standing at the door. It felt wrong ringing the doorbell when he still had a key, and when Sarah opened the door, she seemed put off about it too.
”You could have come in,” she said.
”It felt too weird.”
”It’s gonna be weird forever, Case…”
Their entryway led to a small living room lit entirely by large panel windows, one panel actually being a sliding door that led to the back yard. Years upon years ago, Casey and Sarah’s home served as a meeting place for all their friends. They would all sit together on the ringed couch, or around it, while the open door let the California breeze inside, bringing forth occasional inspiration for the especially drunk or especially courageous to run out and jump into the pool. And then, when they all went home, Casey and Sarah would remain there for hours, talking about life, and the stars, and all the things they would conquer side-by-side as soon as they got the motivation to stand again.
They would lay on the floor, Casey with his head on Sarah’s stomach, staring at the ceiling while contemplating what things would be like had they never met, then opt to drop the conversation because it was too much. They were too young back then, too naive to ever think of what they would one day be reduced to.
It was there that they made the announcement to all their friends that they were months along with Savannah. They were elated, each smiling from ear to ear every time there was a chance to bring it up.
Casey took another deep breath to clear the tightness in his chest. He was coming to find that, on many occasions, the good memories were even more painful than the bad ones.
The entryway branched in two different directions. To the left, there were two bedrooms and two bathrooms with a closet at the end of the hall; to the right was the kitchen and a second common room, where Casey had turned. Sarah hadn’t said a word - not while he was standing there gawking at the entryway floor, not while he was walking down the hall. In fact, she trailed a reasonable distance behind him, and as soon as he got to the living room, he saw exactly why.
Casey stopped in his tracks, as if the entrance to the room was equipped with a booby trap that sent an electrical surge through his whole body. His eyes shot open, jaw unhinged. His piano sat in the corner of the room, all but entirely dismantled.
When the initial shock wore off, all he could think to do was laugh. “Wow…”
”I thought it would be better if you saw for yourself,” Sarah muttered, turning her head away, wrapping her arm over her stomach as if it sickened her to see it, but it would never sicken her as much as it did him.
Casey’s cherry red piano was the room’s centerpiece, reflective slabs embellishing the sides, causing a metallic shimmer in the light, or when the piano was approached from certain angles. Most of them were broken off, scattered across the floor, the wood beneath carved with obscenities and insults at his expense.
Its insides were mangled almost beyond repair. “Wow…” He repeated, kneeling down on the side of it, running his fingers along the surface. When he did, more of the reflective pieces flaked off onto the ground.
Casey had once so proudly proclaimed it was the coolest thing he owned. It was the piano he taught Savannah to play on.
He didn’t even want to think of how Savannah felt about it - if she’d seen Sarah in the act or not.
”I’m sorry, Casey, seriously.” Sarah finally said. She was cowering, still standing a good distance away as though she were preparing herself to make a run for it if she had to. It was something she’d always done, having picked up the habit from the guy she dated before him. The irony that she’d done the same thing to him that she was afraid he’d do to her was striking, but he kept his mouth shut, temporary flare in temper stifled with another deep breath.
He took a good look at the scars - bastard, liar, scumbag. They weren’t just carved into his piano, but in the memories themselves now, and while he deserved every bit of it, it made him sick to look at it. “It’s okay,” he finally said, fingers running through his hair.“This is probably the least of what I deserve.”
“It’s not -.”
“It’s pretty poetic, actually, if you think about it.”
The two shared a laugh for the first time in months - close to a year maybe, Sarah’s eyebrow arching at him. “Meaning the piano represents us?”
“Precisely.”