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Caleb Brink

Ms. Rachel Wiren

EN302 Creative Nonfiction

17 December 2018

The Musician’s Muse

I used to play the guitar. While I enjoyed the soft echo of the strings vibrating against the

hollow body, I hated the pain they caused. They’d leave marks on my fingers if played too often

or too little. My fingertips would callous and blister and muffle the sound if they were a

millisecond off the fret. The piano was the exact opposite. The keys were smooth and wide.

They responded to both a delicate grace and a frustrated slam. When I first touched the cold,

heavy keys many years ago, I knew I’d met my musical companion. Since then, we’ve been

lovers and our affair has been sweet and long.

We’ve only had a few rough patches. On average, they last for only a few minutes. And

in delicious irony, it’s generally when I need her cooperation the most. Like most performers,

when she has an audience she likes to clam up. Her pedals and keys begin to stick, she falls out

of tune, and an ever-elusive exact pressure is required to get the slightest hint of noise out of her.

I vividly remember a performance that felt more like a wrestling match than a heartfelt

tribute to motherhood. The song was Adele’s “Remedy”, a song I love and have played more

times than I can count. I was accompanying two vocalists, keeping it simple with a minimalistic,

chord-based instrumental. During soundcheck, we worked together with stunning fluidity. She

was on pitch and cooperative, and I knew the correct chords and played them with sensitivity and

grace.
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During the actual performance however, we began to fight. She decided the pedal was

the wrong choice and proceeded to not work. I thought it sounded fine and the pedal faded in

and out throughout the three-minute song. Some measures were legato and flowing, others were

staccato and abrupt. Needless to say, a long conversation followed our battle of wills.

She’s not always to blame however. I remember another performance in which I was

both vocalist and pianist and I was nervous. After a few rushed breaths, My sweaty fingertips

touched the cold white keys and I felt a burst of energy. I inhaled. Exhaled. And tried to play

the first chord but I didn’t have enough pressure. She adjusted for me and I again played the

opening chord, this time, the A minor chord poured out. I started the opening lines with a

nervous waver in my voice. The haunting melody shocked people and the room felt eerily quiet.

The piano graciously came in with its full accompaniment and my voice returned to its natural

almost non-existent vibrato. It was then over so quickly, I sheepishly ran off the stage and

whispered a silent but sincere thank you to her.

Beyond our often frustrating and illogical encounters, she’s been my best friend all my

life. There were no secrets between us and she always made it her goal to make me feel a little

less alone. When I couldn’t talk to anyone, she invited me into deep conversations without

words. Touch and sound were our modes of communication and we both loved it that way. She

never tried to assure me everything would be alright, but she’d play along until I came to that

conclusion alone. She never wiped my tears away, but her ivory keys were a safe place for them

to fall. She never could hold me, but she allowed me to sing away my pain and sorrow until all

that was left was the echo of an unresolved chord.

I truly believe she saved my life. For a couple dark years, I felt completely alone and she

was the only one who understood my pain. Without release, the flood of feelings and emotions I
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was carrying would have destroyed me, but she allowed me to pour out all my pain and joy into

her and create something beautiful. She turned my misery into melodies, my sadness into song,

my brokenness into beauty.