---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Ice King” Down in the Dirt (v141) (the January 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Study in Black the Down in the Dirt July-Dec. 2016 collection book		get the 418 page Jan.-April 2017 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Negative Space (the 2017 poetry, flash fiction & art collection anthology)		get the 298 page poem, flash fiction & art collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Last Time

Andrea Lopez

    I told my mother I would be meeting with my new piano teacher. The ad in the paper listed an address for first-time players to visit with Miss Valentin. The last time I kissed my mother on the cheek goodbye was that Thursday afternoon three months ago. I walked with such fervor in my steps to start playing piano again. I missed the touch of the piano keys and learning melodies. I played throughout most of my life. I once won a First Place Winner ribbon at my high school.
    When I arrived to the address listed it seemed odd to me that a piano teacher should be giving lessons inside of a hotel room. I proceeded anyway. I arrived well-prepared with my piano lessons book from high school since it was where I left off. I knocked on the hotel door. Room 206. Bottom floor. The woman who opened the door had a short blonde bob wearing khaki bell bottoms and a black blouse. “You must be Karen,” she said.
    “Yes. Are you Miss Valentin?”
    “I sure am. Come on in.”
    I took off my navy blue beret and entered into the hotel room. Miss Valentin stole my smile and endearing hope to play the piano the second she closed the door and the world. She told me to immediately take off my pink platform shoes. I obliged and sat at the edge of the orange and green striped bed. She then faced me. She petted both sides of my face as she stroked my shoulder-length brown hair and combed it through her fingers. “You’re perfect, honey”, she said with the deadliest smile. Her brown eyes studying me from head to toe. I couldn’t possibly imagine what she meant.
    One night when I tried to escape, I quietly rose from the death-bed and unlocked the wide glass door to the outside. When I tried to use all my strength to attain silence, the door squealed like a frightened rodent and she jerked up like a mad carnivore, yanked the scissors from the desk drawer, and stabbed me in the right side of my back, just underneath my shoulder blade. I managed to pull myself up over the fence, but fell off before I could climb any further. She pulled me back in the room by my ear and slammed me to the bed. Then she grabbed bandages and a First Aid kit from her closet to disinfect and close the wound. When she was done she retreated back to the closet and something sharp clasped my wrists then tied me to the inside of the checkered bedpost.
    There I remained as days rolled into sullen weeks. Miss Valentin invited men over to fulfill her bargain using me as the conquest. Men paid her to sleep with me. I studied the pattern of each wooden rhombus in the bedpost and the incandescent yellow that burned brightly in the wooden light fixtures right above in the center of the bed on the wall every time it happened. The monsters’ money fed me. After the robbing of my body ended, she returned back into the room, rolled up the money into a tight ball, tied it with a rubber band then stashed away discreetly in the closet. The vibrant hope to touch the piano once burrowed itself deep into my knees like a rocket launching into outer space. Now that same vibrant fuel turned into hope for survival.
    Then one day a knock came at the door. And an alarming man’s voice startled us.
    “Miss Valentin? Please open up.”
    She quietly released my handcuffs from the bed and rushed me up and about.
    “Be completely silent or your life ends today. I mean it,” she said.
    The closet doors mirrored her smuggling me inside. I sat on the floor and hugged my knees together. The smell of newly pressed linen and cardigan hovering above me. The knocking remained then the sound of the latch opening.
    “Hello, Miss Valentin?”
    “Yes.”
    “My name is Detective Larson. I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time.”
    “Certainly. Come on in.”
    “Miss Valentin, I specialize under the work of missing children. It has been brought to my attention that you checked out this hotel room nearly three months ago around the same time as a Karen Dean went missing seven miles from here. “
    The sound of my name choked me up. I tried hard to swallow my nerves wallowing in my throat but the air stiffened and buzzed in my ear.
    “Perhaps it’s better to continue this conversation outside where there’s fresh air,” Miss Valentin said.
    The sound of the wide glass door opened and the trail of Detective Larson’s voice continued. My knees trembled furiously and disobeyed the lock of my arms. I cracked open the closet door and the white polyester chair blocked my path toward them. I hesitated for a beat then cautiously gathered myself up behind the door. I chose in that moment to rather die flocking to the arms of freedom than huddling to my knees in the dark dirty closet floor.
    The moment settled to flee in my brain as a young student nervously spelling out the longest word at a spelling bee. My delicate pale hands moved open the closet door and my lower back heated up as if lying out at the beach. Possibilities to dream normal again of seeing the outside and playing the piano swarmed at me as I let out a footstep from the closet. Another foot stepped forward and the memory of the last time I played the piano shadowed my discomfort. Each step of courage pressed on as the memory of me playing lovingly on each key mastering each note, each exquisite tune of Debussy. I passed the white polyester chair when Detective Larson’s attention steered away from Miss Valentin and over to me waltzing toward him. Miss Valentin followed his gaze and both arose from the chairs outside. My hands pressed down on the last set of keys of the song. I arose and they applauded.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...