The Duet
Octavia bit down on the soft blanket and pulled it over the shoulders of her daughter. The filly cooed in appreciation and wiggled into her warm pocket of bedding. A single candle lit the entire room with a soft orange light, illuminating all the scattered toys and piles of clothes that made up the decor. On the dresser across from her bed was a phonograph that had once belongs to her mother. Above it was the only photograph in the room—that of a smiling stallion sitting in front of a piano. Unlike the state of the rest of the articles in the room, this picture was obviously treated with great reverence. It had been meticulously cleaned of any dust or smudges, and a small wreath of flowers was placed on the top. Octavia took a moment to straighten the frame before moving to blow out the candle. She never got that far, however.
“Mommy, do I have to go to bed yet?”
Octavia sighed. “Yes, Viola. We have this argument every night, and every night the answer is the same. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“But I want to wait for Vinyl to get home!”
“Vinyl will be here when you get up in the morning.”
Viola crossed her arms. “I’m not going to sleep; I’m not tired.”
Octavia reached up to massage her brow. “Then just stay in bed until you get tired. Good night, Viola.”
“But Mom…”
“No buts, sweetheart.”
“Can I at least listen to the lullaby again?”
Octavia thought for a moment. “If I play the lullaby, do you promise to go to bed?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Octavia turned toward the phonograph on the dresser. Seeing the familiar worn record already in the player, she lowered the needle onto the outer ring of the track with her mouth. She pressed the switch, and soft static started coming through the horn.
Before long, the soft tones of a master pianist reverberated through the room. Viola closed her eyes and sighed in satisfaction. Octavia sat next to the bed and softly pushed her daughter’s mane out of her face. Before long, a cello joined in with the piano, and the instruments sang together in soft harmony.
The melody awakened lost, warm memories in Octavia's heart. Her eyes unfocused, and a day from years past began to replay itself in her mind’s eye.
Ivory Concerto laughed as he banged out a ridiculous array of dissonant chords. His wife let go of her cello and threw her hooves over her ears.
“Will you stop playing that racket?!” she screeched.
“Octavia!” he said, feigning a hurt voice. “Is that any way to talk about my magnum opus?”
She shook her head. “If I didn’t know you were trying to pull my leg, I’d swear you were trying to play Vinyl’s wub-step.”
“‘Wub-step’?” he laughed.
“Or whatever in Tartarus’ name it’s called. Now be serious, we have to practice for the concert.”
“You and I both know we could play that set in our sleep,” Ivory said in thinly veiled exasperation. He pushed away from the piano and trotted over to his wife. Taking the cello from her, he placed it gently on the floor and slid his hoof around her. “We should do something to relax. You’re driving yourself nuts about this stupid concert tomorrow. The other guys aren’t worrying about it—they’re out drinking.”
“Ivory, I’m pregnant!”
“I’m not suggesting we drink!” he responded quickly, “I’m just saying, how about we try to do something relaxing instead? You’re always so pent up about our performances you practically collapse afterward. It’s not good for the foal, either…”
Octavia sighed. “I just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t do absolutely everything I could to prepare.”
“Then how about we do something a little different? We’ll still play, but we’ll find some way to relax while we do it.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?”
“How about we try composing a song?”
She crossed her arms. “Like that ‘wub-step’ you were just doing?”
“No, not that.” He shook his head. His eyes scanned the room before settling on his wife’s swollen abdomen. “Why don’t we write a lullaby?”
“A lullaby? For the baby?”
“Yeah! We’ll write a duet. Then whenever we see Vinyl again, we’ll ask her to make us a record of it after she does the recordings for the group. How about it?”
Octavia looked over at the cello that laid on the floor next to the meticulously marked sheet music. It stood as a testament to her fervent preparations. Preparations, she reminded herself, that weren’t what they could have been. The thought of relaxing ate against the part of her mind that demanded perfection. It just seemed so irresponsible to be goofing around when they had work to do.
She turned toward him and opened her mouth, but the words of admonishment caught in her throat with one glance at his face. His eager smile radiated sunshine throughout the room, and the look of love in his eyes bored into her. She realized he wasn’t doing this because he wanted to slack off—he wanted to do it because he wanted to enjoy time with her while doing what he loved most. The stern look melted off of her face. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try. I do want our foal to grow up appreciating classical music…, she rationalized.
She smiled. “Alright, Ivory, you win. But just this once!” He grinned and jumped onto the piano bench. “And if Vinyl says she doesn’t want to record it, you aren’t going to bother her about it. Got it?”
He waved a hoof dismissively. “Of course she’ll do it; Vinyl’s our friend and one of the best sound techs around. In fact, maybe I’ll write some other instruments in that we can add later. I bet she’d love that.”
“Ivory…” Octavia started warningly.
He ignored her. “We’ll be seeing her on Friday for the group’s monthly recording session, remember? We can record it before you go to Fillydelphia.”
Octavia sighed heavily at the words. Fillydelphia. She couldn’t explain it, but something was eating at her about this trip. It was just another trip to her parents’ house, but the very idea of it felt draining, somehow.
Ivory looked at her with concern. “What’s wrong? We don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to…”
“It’s not that. I just… I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this trip.”
He waved it off. “It’s just a feeling, Tavi. Try not to worry about it; I’m sure your parents will be glad to see you.”
“I suppose.”
“If you want to talk about it…”
“No, I’m fine. Really. I’m just being silly.”
Ivory raised an eyebrow. “If you’re sure. Do you still want to play together?”
“Just as long as it doesn’t go on too long. We still have a concert tomorrow.”
“We won’t. So how do you want to start it? I was thinking playing a few bars of arpeggio, then you can come in…”
The chorus of angels that was the genius of Ivory Concerto’s musical composition came to an end. A tear fell out of the corner of Octavia’s eye, finding its path down her cheek to fall forgotten on the floor below. Viola clutched the blanket around her, staring thoughtfully into space. She turned toward her mother just as she shut off the phonograph.
“Tell me the story again, Mommy?”
“Sweetheart…”
“Please!” She looked desperately at her mother, her eyes full of determination to hear the story that Octavia had told her countless times. As always, the mare capitulated. It may have been late, but deep in her heart, she knew that it always warmed her to the core to know that her daughter wanted to know about her father so much.
“You really want to hear the story about the song again?”
She nodded eagerly.
“Alright, but I’m very tired, so it’s going to have to be the short version.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Well, when you were in my tummy, your father had the idea that we should create a special lullaby just for you. Then you could play it whenever we went away to play a concert. He wrote the whole score.”
“You never told me he played the cello.”
“He didn’t really. He just wrote down the notes, and I played them. We perfected the whole thing in less than a week, and then Vinyl made a recording of it.”
“So I could hear it whenever I wanted!”
“That’s right, sweetie,” said Octavia, smiled sadly, “He would have been so happy to know how much you love his music.”
Viola nodded, apparently deep in thought. The smile on her face started slipping, and the eyes that stared into the dark so fervently started growing wet and shiny. It broke Octavia’s heart.
“Why didn’t he just leave the house?” she asked, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“I don’t know. The firefighters said that by the time he woke up, the fire could have spread so far that he couldn’t… he couldn’t get out. I was visiting grandma and grandpa in Fillydelphia, so I don’t know. I wish… I wish with all my heart I had listened to my feelings and stayed home that weekend.”
“…I miss him, mommy.”
“I miss him too, Viola. He was a good pony.”
“Why did it have to happen to him?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. Sometimes, things just happen, and we’ll never know why. I do know one thing, though—he would have loved you like crazy. He would teach you to play piano, and play hoofball with you, and read you bedtime stories… He was so excited that you were coming.”
“Can I have a hug?” Viola asked quietly.
Octavia approached the bed and wrapped her arms around her daughter, trying to fight back her own sobs so as to be a source of comfort to her. She stayed there until her back legs began to ache from the position, and even then, she crawled onto the bed to lay next to the sunshine of her life. Viola buried her face into her mother’s fur, trying to muffle the sound of her sobs. Octavia stroked the filly’s blond mane with her hooves, trying to impart some sort of comfort that she didn’t feel herself. After several minutes, Viola looked up with red eyes.
“What was he like?”
Octavia gazed off into space, remembering. “Well, you’re a lot like him in a lot of ways.”
“Like how?”
“You both love music. He used to play it so loud that I had to march into his room and turn it down myself.”
Viola giggled. “You do that to me sometimes.”
“Yes, it seems my eardrums will never fully heal. Let’s see, what else?” Octavia tapped her chin with her hoof. “You are both very musical. Even Vinyl says that you’re an excellent singer, even if you just make it all up on the spot. You get that from your father; I never wrote a piece of music in my life.”
“What about the music on the record?”
“Your father wrote that, remember? I just played the notes he wrote. He could write music for all kinds of instruments, and could even play them to a degree. Not like the piano, though. I’ve never met another pony who could master the piano quite like him.”
“When I grow up, I want to learn to play the piano like that.”
“He sure would have loved to hear that. I’m not very good at it myself, but I’m sure Vinyl would be glad to teach you.”
As Viola opened her mouth to respond, the faint sound of the front door slamming shut resounded through the house.
“Speaking of… We’re up here!” Octavia called.
Soft hoof thuds could be heard coming up the stairs, and the door to Viola’s room slowly opened. Vinyl Scratch came in, smiling. Her goggles were lifted up over her brow, and she stank of smoke and sweat from a night of work, but she was a welcome sight to both of them.
“How are my two favorite fillies?” she said, trotting over and kissing both of them on the forehead.
“Hey Vinyl,” Viola said, “We were just listening to daddy’s record.”
“Again? I’m going to have to make a copy of it before you wear it out.”
The filly nodded her head as Octavia pulled herself off the bed.
“Alright, sweetheart. I think you’ve been up for entirely too long. Say goodnight to Vinyl.”
Viola yawned and slowly blinked. With droopy eyes, she looked up at Vinyl and smiled sleepily. “Night, Vinyl”, she muttered before her eyelids sank down in protest. The mares smiled as Octavia blew out the candle.
“Night, kiddo,” Vinyl whispered.
They exited Viola’s room and quietly closed the door. As soon as the latch clicked, Octavia grabbed ahold of the other mare and pulled her into a tight hug. Vinyl smiled softly and wrapped a hoof around her as she started to cry.
“I’m sorry, love; it’s just… so hard sometimes. I know it’s been six years, and I really need to get over it but…”
“Shhh,” Vinyl whispered, “Ivory was a great stallion, and he loved both of you very much. You don’t have to get over anything until you’re ready. Come on, I’ll pour you a drink.”
Octavia lowered herself onto her hooves and nodded. She followed the other mare down the stairs into the kitchen. Vinyl guided her into a chair before she took to rummaging around the upper cabinets. She grabbed two bottles and two glasses in her telekinesis, filling one with red wine for her marefriend and one with amber liquor for herself. Octavia took the glass in her hooves and sipped from it slowly, staring off into space, deep in thought.
“Bit for your thoughts?” Vinyl asked, slipping into the chair across from her.
“She’s so much like her father. I can’t believe she’s growing so fast.”
“Yeah, she sure does love music,” Vinyl laughed, “Especially that record.”
The smile slipped slowly off her face. She subtly looked across the table and tried to read her marefriend’s expression. There was something she had been curious about, but she didn’t want to bring it up if it would upset Octavia.
“Uhm, Tavi?” she started hesitantly. Octavia looked up at her slowly. “Does Viola know that the original recording was destroyed in the fire?”
She looked down again and shook her head. “No. She doesn’t know that it’s you she’s hearing playing the piano. Does that bother you?”
Vinyl shook her head. “No, not at all. I’m just curious why you haven’t told her.”
Octavia thought about it, taking another slow sip from her glass. She swilled it around, staring at the wine absently. After a minute, she gave her response:
“Everything we owned was destroyed in that fire, Vinyl. Everything. There is not a single thing remaining on this planet that belonged to Ivory Concerto. Viola has absolutely nothing to remember her father by, except for that recording that he scored. One day, you and I will be dead and gone, but Viola will still have that record, and will tell her grandfoals about how great of a stallion her father was. His music will live on.”
Vinyl nodded slowly. She wouldn’t have it any other way.