The Pianist Her and I were like a badly-tuned piano; only ever in harmony at unusual times. Still, I wanted to know how to play that song even if I never quite knew why she was willing to teach it to me.

There was a night when we spoke on the telephone, when she set the receiver down on her mother’s piano and played, beautifully, showing a dexterity I had not previously known. It was the memory of this night that came to mind when I was driving home years later with a beginner’s keyboard in my back seat. We hadn’t been in each other’s company in a long time; not since we’d spent entire nights believing we might actually be able to fall asleep near one another.

I asked her to show me how to play. Where to put my fingers, how to move them up and down the long row of black and white. I learned that despite the many different sounds that a piano can make, it’s nothing more than the same few notes over and over. They only sound different depending on when they’re played. And that’s all we ever were, the same note repeated. Neither of us had changed in the time we were apart, neither of us had grown. We were still slaves to the same irrational lust. All we ever needed was for our song to peak and finish. Instead, all we heard was a slow fade to silence, and the crescendo was all in the first few beats.  ¶ 7:52 AM

  The Steadiest I met her at a tournament far from home. Before that weekend, I didn't know her as anything other than in the context of my captain's brother's friend, but after an evening talking to her around a campfire on a beach, I knew we would soon create our own context.

A month later, after many letters back and forth - electronic and otherwise - we found ourselves in each other's presence once again. A thousand kilometers apart, we met somewhere in-between, and together we shared an amazing and memorable weekend.

We started the day next to each other, waking to the sound of birds chirping outside our tent. After lunch, we explored the majestic mountain scenery by horseback, until our bodies were too sore to venture any further. We stopped for a quick picnic and then we were sitting close to each other in the hot springs, laughing and holding each other at the envy of all the other guests. They must have thought we were lovers from years ago; and yet it was only our first date. Back at our campsite that evening, she made me dinner and I serenaded her with my guitar, and finally the day ended the same way it had began, next to each other in our tent.

We held each other a lot throughout those short days and when we both knew it would be our last, it was hard to let go. I remember looking into her eyes, so entranced and certain, and asking her if she would go steady with me, even despite of how far apart we were.

She looked at me and asked, "If I go steady with you, will you go steady with me?"

My heart skipped. And I said:

"The steadiest."  ¶ 4:06 PM

  The Distance The furthest I'd ever travelled to see a woman was about 200 km. We'd been dating for a few weeks when this particular evening had come around and left me alone in the city while she was alone out of the city. It was after nine o'clock and towards the end of a long telephone call when she asked me to come stay over since her parents were not at home. It had all the markings of a high school romance but without the age and with added distance.

It was a long drive through the darkness and I thought I missed my turn more than once, but managed to make it to her easily enough. By the time I arrived, though, it was nearly midnight, and we hardly had time to enjoy the fire she had waiting before I had to sleep, wake, and leave. Still, though, I remember it being worth the trip just to see her smile.

Love could easily be defined by everything between two people, even more than just how they relate to one another. The distance between them and the obstacles they have to overcome to prove to themselves, moreso than anyone else, that they're ready for what might be.  ¶ 10:58 AM

  A Moment's Impulse I was hardly ready to say such a thing, but I said it anyway. That is, there was so much wine that night that I don't even remember what it was. And, to my credit, I might have meant anything by it, if I could clearly recall what I said.

But I remember her justification while the water fell over us. For what could only have been several breaths, we saw the same things in each other at the same time, and we were so comforted by disillusion that we believed. If she hadn't eventually come to our senses, I might still be committed to a life based on a moment's impulse. This is no reflection on her; this is because of who I am and who I wasn't and the confusion in-between.  ¶ 9:13 PM