The awakening (Short Story)

She felt terrible, especially since she had been ignoring him for the past couple of years. She had finally been persuaded to come back only after her mother called her in desperation with devastating news. She recalled, "The hasty funeral was to be tomorrow at 3" It was due to some heart complication, then, the insurance company called with some details about her fathers will requiring her to sign a few forms. These days everything was due to something, paperwork everywhere, everything  needs more rules to accompany it.
Finally, after about 7 hours of travel, I made it to the house. I was going to stay here for three nights and then travel back immediately. I had lived here for 12 years, and yet still didn't realize what the place looked like in reality. It was much tidier than in her memories. Back when she was growing up here, there was chopped up firewood lying everywhere, and the verandah had been rotting. Now, the house was a pale white, a "safe" colour, she thought. Also, the lawn was mowed neatly, and the grass was a bright green, even that old irredeemable staircase leading to the front door had been polished anew. It seemed that as their late years approached, they started to settle down appropriately. In all the 12 years she had spent here, there was hardly a moment when anything was at rest, that was part of the problem causing her to leave, she remembered.
I turned into the lawn which I had walked over a thousand times before through the years, I could already see the gathering of people inside the house. Before she could get to the stairs leading up to the door, she recognized the silhouette of her mother coming to the front door. They hadn't met in 3 or 4 years.
"My , my, my young girl is all grown up now", mother said, whilst opening the door with a smile on her face.
She was wearing a black dress and her favourite earrings, a Maori symbol she acquired on her holiday to New Zealand. She had it for a long time. Despite her apparent cheerfulness though, it pained me to see years of suffering in her eyes.
"You say that every year", I remarked, with a forced smile, she embraced me tightly, and I once again remembered my mothers warmth.
"Because I'm always overjoyed to see you dear, we haven't met in four years, I'm just so glad you're here."
"How are you coping?" I asked, after letting go.
"Oh, it's difficult, you know, with his passing", she said with a hint of sorrow appearing, but almost as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. 
"Anyways", she remarked "There is a gathering here, so why don't you come on in, the people here are old friends of ours"
Mother hurried off to a corner to talk with a few of her friends, Rose, and Isabelle. I looked around the room and wasn't surprised that I didn't know most of the people here. I knew a few old friends of my parents who would visit frequently, there was John the baker, Gerry, the deliveryman, and..... that was it.
I eagerly approached them, I hadn't met them in about 10 years.
"Hi, remember me?" I asked John who was sitting on the couch alone.
"I'm not too sure that I do, unless..." he connected the dots after seeing me with my mother "I offer you my condolences, Ah, well, you're all grown up now aren't you?"
"Yes, yes I am"
"So what are you doing now?"
"I'm in University, in Gloushire"
"Oh, and did you follow your fathers footsteps at all, I mean because...? He stopped the question after I betrayed some annoyance on my part
"Well, I'm going to get me self some more rum" He said.
I looked around again, and didn't see anyone, so I decided to go and help in the kitchen.
"Do you need any help?" I asked, the lady cooking the food in my most polite voice.
"Oh how sweet of you to offer you help" she replied, "Well then could you mix this?"
She handed me a big bowl and I started stirring.
"You're a bit young here aren't you?" she asked me enthusiastically
"Oh, I am Mr. Waller's daughter, I said."
"I offer my condolences. But, I am also pleased to meet you, she said with a grin on her face, he was an inspirational man."
"Really?" I expressed
"I went to his performances every saturday night at the Banana Cafe, it was a wild place, people were shouting and requests constantly. They called him the piano man. You know he attracted a lot of attention? Sorry, who am I to be talking about your father you would know much more about him."
Before I could reply she continued, "I just volunteered to come here and cook, its the least I could do. Did you decide to follow in his footsteps, I mean with your parent's skill, you must have considered it"
"Oh no, music is not for me" I said.

The day went on with myself continuing to feel displaced until nightfall, when my mother and I finally had a brief chat after everyone had left. She was sitting in her couch reading a classic novel, Wuthering heights from the look of it, maybe for the thousandth time. She raised her head up from her book, and asked
"Anyways, how are your studies going?" mother asked, eager to change the topic. "Are you succeeding with your law course?"
"Oh, I'm trying"
The conversation ended abruptly, and I returned back to my book. But a thought that would cheer my mother popped into my head so I tried it on her.
"Do you still play the piano?" I recalled that when I was growing up in the house the piano could almost always be heard being played. If it wasn't my father playing then it was my mother. My mother was extremely passionate about the piano and had even performed in a few concerts when she was at her best.
"Not as much now, I don't feel I need to, I haven't practiced the scales at all."
"Did you consider music as a minor at least?" She asked, I knew it would come to this, since we argued about this every year.
"You know I have no interest in music whatsoever, just because he was a musician..." I was broken off,
"Don't you have any respect for your father? After all the effort he has put in to put you in a good school, even the slightest tinge of gratitude would do, yet you never visit and only come here after I beg you to come after he passed..." Before she could finish the sentence she burst out in tears.
It took me about an hour to comfort her, but I knew that we had some troubles before us.


The next morning was the funeral, I was called upon to say a eulogy, but I told my mother that I couldn't because I didn't know him well enough. The funeral didn't last very long, I spent it sitting in the back. I did get to see my father one last time though. Soon afterwards, we went to hear the contents of his will.

We all gathered in a small room, There were about 20 of us. My father had dedicated a few belongings to some distant relatives. And many many scores of sheet music that he composed to his friends, and colleagues.
First it was, "this score, Opus. 56 No.3, is dedicated to Friedrich Golliwog". "This one, Opus. 43 No. 1 is dedicated to James Lawrence. Every now and then there would be a whole opus number dedicated to someone, "The whole Opus. 24, from No.1 to ths last one, No. 9 is dedicated to Hadley Dimitri" These people would be overjoyed that they had something in their name. After it felt like the thousandeth dedication was made and all of the Opus numbers had been exhausted, finally the will came upon my mother. The lawyer brought out a box and have it to my mother saying that everything in it was dedicated to her. My mother could hardly hold back her tears. The at the very end, the lawyer held up another score, "This, Opus. 109 No.1, is dedicated to Clara Waller's" He said. "this is the only number in this Opus, and it is also the last Opus he every wrote, keep it safe" the lawyer said.
Apparently the score had not been released to the public yet as he had not published or sold the last of his scores. All of the musical experts were fighting to get a glance at my fathers last work, I let them take a look at it, and didn't really understand their enthusiasm. I mean, of all of the things my father could have given me, I got a score.
One of the musical experts started talking to me, and I listened involuntarily, "You know he skipped Opus Numbers, He goes from 98, to 109. It is as if he wrote 109 earlier and meant it to be his msot important work. You are really lucky to have received it"
"Well, I sure don't feel so lucky", I replied, "If you are so enthusiastic, then you should keep it." I didn't understand what all the hype was about.
But after saying that, I immediately regretted it because I saw the sad look in my mothers eyes.
"Really?" he expert asked
"Oh, no, I'm sorry I can't. " I replied.

I went to my room and stored the score at the bottom of my suitcase, not knowing what to do with it. I would be staying here for one more day until I finally left to go back and study. Tomorrow would be my last full day. I didn't know what I would be doing for the rest of the time.

I spent the next day bascially reading all day, with my mother in the seat opposite me. Every now and then we would exchange a few words. I knew it pained my mother to see that although we hadn't met in so long we still couldn't have a real conversation, the closest we got to one was to share a few words, smalltalk, every now and then.
"Do you have many friends?"
"Yes"
"Any special friends?", this was my mothers way of inquiring about my love life.
"Not yet, I can't find the right person."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really"
"Ok", and the conversation ended.
In the evening we had dinner, it was delicious, but the table was quiet. I started to feel sad that my mother were so close, yet so far apart emotionally.
"Mother, are you coping all right?" I asked
"Yes"
"I am worried about you"
"You should have been worried when your father was not well, now I am fine" she said. I didn;t really understand her, but her emotion got through to me.
"Have some more cake dear", she said, "unless you are on a diet?"
"Oh, no, no" I grabbed some more cake, after realzing how truly distant I felt to my mother.
"Mother, did you play much of his music?" I asked
"I played it everyday, and commented to him about it," she said "It was so deep and moving, inexpressible..."
After dinner, we continued reading. I told my mother that I would have to go upstairs to prepare for my departure tomorrow.
"Did you have a good time? Despite your fathers passing of course"
"Yes, yes I did" I said.
"Good" mother smiled. warmly, so that it made me want to hug her so closely.
I took everything out of my suitcase and folded all the clothes and put them back neatly so that they would all fit. Then  I placed my toothbrush, and textbooks in the pockets, until I realized that I was left with one thing which I had not meticulously arranged. the score was still to be placed. I realized that I coudl just leave it here with the plethora of sheet music that my mother already had. They had sheet music lying everywhere, sometimes different versions fo the same thing. But I found that this would make her unhappy so I had to take it. As I was trying to put it away neatly, I became curious as to why my father woudl dedicate it to me. I looked over the music. I had had 3 years of violin lessons before I quit and refused to practice anymore. With that much knowledge I could barely read the notes or grasp a melody in it. All I could discern from this cryptic language was the english written at the top "To Clara"
I looked at  it but didn't get very far. But I did realize that I needed to take my pills soon, so I hurried downstairs to ask my mother.
"Mother"
"Yes darling?" my mother glanced up, from Wuthering Heights
"Do you think you could play this?" Mother immediatley knew what I was hinting at.
"I thought you didn't like classical music?" She said, "I thought you said it was boring to listen to"
"I want to understand why he wanted to give it to me"
I could discern a sign of joy in mother and decided that it would be good.
Mother went to the piano, it had been covered with a purple rag, usually only used when the family went on holidays. She removed the rag and dusted the piano off with her hands. Then she opened the lid of the piano. I wonder why such a simple machine can occupy so many peoples' attention I thought. Then she sat down, and adjusted the height of the chair. Obviously, it had been adjusted to my fathers height. She sat down with a stright back, curved fingers and closed eyes as if reminiscing the past.
"Can you pass me the music please"
I passed it on, it was about 9 pages long.
"I haven't played this before, but I have heard of it once, when your father was playing it" She exclaimed. "I know it was his most favourite piece, and I hope I do it justice, it's a piano duet fantasy" she said, "He only wrote this first movement, because he couldn't think of any continuation, it's programmatic and meant to be played with a piano and a violin" The violin was the instrument I had been learning.
After a brief silence, she then started playing. First a C, then an A flat in the right hand. It was in a minor key, I don't know how I knew, but the thoery started flooding into me. Her left hand was moving profusely, restlessly over the keys, jumping, or even dancing over they keys. And yet, the right hand was moving ever so slowly with an extremely strong sound hovering above all the notes being played on the left. It was entrancing and absorbing me so much that I lost all sense of self, who i was, what I was doing. I was in a field of grass coming up to my ankles. I'm running around, there are trees in the distance, and insects chirping all around me, I can't stop the smile from appearing on my face, I'm dancing and skipping. Then, there is mother beside me, she is making a crown of flowers for me. Suddenly, the scene disappears, I see my mother in reality playing a series of hard struck chords, A, C, C there's too many notes being played. Soon another transition is being made, probably into the dominant this time, there is an orgasm of sound and every note draws me closer. I'm back in the fields, this time though, there's another person, he's in the forest. waling towards here. I call out to my mother, and we both begin running towards the forest. The man is father, he is walking towards me with arms help wide. I openly jump into his arms for an embrace. And then again, I see mother is striking the final series of chords again to revert to the tonic. She is also overjoyed, and is absolutely absorbed in the music. This time it is not harmonious, and is more towards serialism, but that also soon disappears and I am back in the fields. Dancing and hopping. Finally, as if forever, my mother strikes the final chords, I know they are the final chords, it is as if I have heard this song many times before. She finished the last note, another C, reverting back to the tonic, and holds her head in silence. We are both hypnotized by the music. I look at the seemingly abstract notes on the paper which created such a beautiful image for me.
My mother looks at me, I look at her, words cannot express that instantaneous moment, and we both know it. We have been captivated by father. I immediately feel all the sorrow and anger that I experienced all the years, all the misdirected passion and hate I had, now I understand that it was nothing more than a fleeting thought.
"I'm sorry mother" I manage to mutter
We embrace for a while, and then go to my father's grave where I pay my repects.
Finally, the next morning I fly out, I take the sheet music with me so that I can learn to play it one day too.













Clara has not been a very good girl to her parents, she has issues with her mother and father
she eventually finds a box of scores that nobody had looked over. In her fathers will, he gives her a score he wrote before his passing. It is called "Rose Garden"
Clara asks her mother to play the song he wrote for her because she has rejected music and art and went against her parent's wishes.
Her mother plays the tune and Clara becomes entranced by the music, after the music is finished, Clara and her mother solve their relationship issues and finally move on.
Art not spontaneous , She walks into the house
She realizes her selfishness