On a Rising Current

Longlisted (no shortlist) Reflex Fiction Flash Fiction Competition

The piano arrived after Alfie’s grandpa died, its walnut wood glowing like a firefly. It stood in the boxy third bedroom with noble pride, like a sacred site. Alfie hid his panda bear and Lego bricks in the cave below its lid.

Under his mother’s tuition, Alfie’s handspan strained to reach the keys. He had the gift; his mother was convinced of it. She played him concertos, ones she’d composed but never performed in gilded auditoriums. Alfie didn’t know the word for longing then, but he understood it.

His face erupted in acne and bumfluff. He rolled spliffs on the piano and spilt cider on the keys and pedals. His mother locked the bedroom and hid the key. He knew the word sorry, but never used it.

He slept on his mate’s sofa and worked in a piano shop. After hours, he practised romantic classics, quietly. In the temperature-controlled Piano Bar, he wore a crisp dark suit and met Georgina, who shook cocktails behind the smoked glassy bar. She left jasmine on his collar and became his wife.

In their flat, magazines cluttered the piano. At night, Alfie composed. Melodies murmured in his bones. He performed for owls and cats. Nocturnal others, alone. He felt the wreckage of his late mother’s longing and the aching of his own.

Sippy cups left sticky marks on the piano. His kids hid behind it. When their feet reached the pedals, he taught his twin daughters to play Chopsticks – their chubby hands reminded him of starfish.

During their divorce, Georgina fought for the piano even though she couldn’t play a note.

The piano hogged the lift – up it went to Alfie’s high-rise flat. His new neighbour was the sky. Lifting the lid, he found wings of long-gone insects on the keys. He studied their patterns – transparent and brilliant. An intricate maze of curves like a fingerprint. How on earth did they get in there?

Alfie took a deep breath to blow them away, then stopped. Eyes closed, he pressed down gently on the dusty wings. Under his fingers the notes took flight, fluttering upwards towards the disc of the sun.