Für Lucy

Originally published March 26th, 2022.

~~~

Brahms' Piano Concerto No. 2 rang through the walls of Schroeder's bedroom. Lucy's chatter rang through the walls of Schroeder's ear canals.

It was about an hour after school had ended, and he was nearly halfway through the concerto. He hadn't made a single mistake yet. He had never finished this one without tripping up before, and he intended to do that today.

Strangely, Lucy's presence helped. Because of her, he was pretty sure he'd be able to ace any future college auditions; he could have played the entire works of Beethoven in the middle of a hurricane. Distractions meant nothing to him anymore. Once, he had perfectly performed the first movement of Moonlight Sonata while she and Linus had a screaming match in front of him over that stupid blanket.

The fact that she was behind him now, instead of in front of him, also worked in his favor. If she wasn’t directly in front of him, it was a bit easier to focus.

His parents bought him a secondhand upright piano for his 12th birthday, and it faced the wall, so her new spot was at his desk, usually with her homework spread out in front of her. There was a mirror on top of the instrument that he used to comb his hair in the morning and glance at his constant companion from time to time. He hadn't turned around in more than twenty minutes.

But, even if he wasn't looking at her, he certainly heard her voice.

"This poem is so stupid. Those people in the 1800's must have been real pansies if they were this scared of a lousy bird."

"Have you ever seen a raven in real life? They're pretty big." He had also mastered talking while playing.

"A bird's a bird's a bird. Just get a broom and shoo it off. Man… Lenore really knows how to pick 'em."

Schroeder began to reach the end of the allegro appassionato. "Does that poetry book of yours have Shakespeare's sonnets?"

She shrugged, not looking up. "I guess so."

"Flip to Sonnet 130. It's always made me think of you."

"Aww, Schroeder! You're such a romantic. Is this the one that starts with ‘shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’?" He saw Lucy turn to the table of contents, and then to another point of the book. She read in silence for a moment, and then glared at him through the reflection. He raised his eyebrows and didn't smile with his mouth, but with his eyes.

She raised her voice. "You think you're hilarious, don't you? If someone wrote that about me, I'd slug them." Despite her response, her cheeks were tinged just the lightest of pinks.

Schroeder looked back down at the keys, nearly missing a note, but recovering. He considered replying to her reply, but decided it was a bad idea.

The two of them were still trying to get back to feeling normal around each other after Lucy's recent relationship and subsequent breakup with a guy named Roger.

Roger was a hard person to describe, simply because there wasn't much to talk about. He was on the football team, and he was outstandingly good-looking. That was about all Schroeder knew. It was unclear what Lucy had seen in him to begin with.

They had dated for about two and a half months. It was the most normal Lucy had ever behaved. It was easy to tell that she held herself back around Roger at times; never completely, because she was Lucy van Pelt and that was physically impossible, but it was the first school year she hadn't gotten into a single physical altercation with another student.

It was also the first school year that hers and Schroeder's groove had been thrown off. Because she was dating someone, she didn't make any statements that started with 'one day, when we're married' anymore. She didn't sneak him cheek kisses for him to be (faux) disgusted about anymore. She didn't visit his house quite as often.

Schroeder didn't like Roger.

The rest of their friend group didn't like Roger, either. Linus hated him simply by virtue of the fact that he was dating his sister. Sally thought he was a meathead. Charlie Brown was fine with him at first, but developed a grudge after he witnessed Lucy pull the old football trick on the guy. To Charlie Brown, that was a sacred tradition with his best friend that had now been intruded upon and sullied.

The breakup was anticlimactic, to say the least. Lucy had sat down at the gang's shared lunch table one day, and announced the news the same way she would have announced getting a D+ on a test. The boys breathed a collective sigh of relief, and upon learning that all her closest friends had hated her now-ex boyfriend the entire time, she screamed at them in her usual Lucy way, asking 'why should I care what you blockheads think about who I date'. It was the first sign that things were going back to normal.

But things still weren't completely normal yet. Lucy had teased Schroeder the day after: "Now that the position for my future husband is vacant again, you're gonna have to step up your game! You've got heavy competition now that we're in high school!" And he had given her some dry, uninterested response that he couldn't remember now. But things were still weird.

He felt weird about bringing up Sonnet 130. He felt weird trying to do the fake-hostile-flirting thing with her. He missed how natural they used to be. She was his friend, and he'd never admit it to her face in any certain words, but he cared about her a lot. He didn't want to lose her completely because it got too weird.

Even worse, because of how unplaceably sick he had felt when she and Roger were together, he now had to consider the possibility that he really did have feelings for Lucy. Romantic ones. It was one of those things he had always kind of known about himself, but had avoided thinking about directly until the status quo was shaken up.

It had been two weeks since that lunch period, and they were slowly falling back into their rhythm, but Schroeder couldn't shake a certain odd feeling he had at the back of his mind.

He was well into the andante now. She had gone back to reading The Raven so she could get the homework sheet overwith and, most likely, focus on bugging him before she had to go home for dinner.

A few minutes later, he glanced at her again using the mirror. Her black waves curtained the sides of her face as she hunched over the book and sluggishly scribbled something on the worksheet. If he had to guess, she was probably either frowning or close to nodding off.

Schroeder played the next few notes a tad forcefully to wake her up. She slightly startled, and he quickly averted his eyes, lest they make eye contact.

Lucy harrumphed, apparently bored by the assignment. "Christmas is pretty soon. Beethoven's birthday is even sooner."

"That's right. Ten more days."

"We should make signs." She pushed the chair around, making it spin. "Not everyone will remember. Not everyone is as thoughtful as me."

"If they don't remember it on their own by now, they aren't invited to have cupcakes."

"Charlie Brown will come for sure, so we'll have to fix something for ol' Snoopy. I'll make Linus come, but I don't know if I can convince Rerun." Lucy stood and walked closer to him, checking her teeth in her reflection.

Schroeder pondered. "He probably wouldn't have much fun, anyway."

"Speaking of Christmas, you know what, Schroeder? I don't think I've ever seen a single sprig of mistletoe in your house the entire time we've known each other."

He moved his elbow slightly to make room for her as she sat on the edge of his piano bench.

She squinted at the sheet music. "Every house should have mistletoe hanging over the threshold. That's what I think."

"You already know why I don't like mistletoe."

"Because it might mean that you have to–" She gasped for dramatic effect. "Kiss someone! Oh, the horror!"

He kept playing. "No, it's because you've got a habit of using it to try and get in my personal space."

She ignored him. "Can you imagine how romantic it would be to move into a new house as newlyweds during the Christmas season? Not only would my future husband carry me over the threshold, he’d kiss me under the mistletoe while he did it.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, I should hope so.” She bumped his shoulder with hers and snickered. “For your future partner’s sake, I hope you’re not quite so thick-headed with them.”

A switch flipped in Schroeder's psyche.

He stopped playing, and the concerto ungracefully cut off with a disjointed note. His hands instead reached up to cup Lucy's face, and he kissed her.

It wasn't the first time his and Lucy's lips had made contact. She had snuck him one or two feather-light pecks before (usually after tricking him into standing under mistletoe, and she always sprinted away immediately after), but it was when they were kids, and it hadn't lasted even a fraction of a second each time.

It didn't last terribly long this time, either, but it was long enough. His heart started pounding. She was soft and warm and good grief, he liked her.

When they broke apart, their faces stayed close for a moment. Her blue eyes were as big as saucepans. He didn’t say anything; he waited for her to react. Kiss him again, make some corny comment, something like that.

What he didn’t expect was for her to start staring daggers at him.

She scooted away. “Is this a joke?”

His hands hovered uselessly in the air. “What?”

“Who put you up to this?” Her lower lip quivered, but her jaw stayed firm. “Because I’d expect something like this from those braindead losers at school, but you, Schroeder? That’s low .”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Lucy’s arms crossed protectively over her chest. “It’s so hilarious to get a reaction out of Lucy van Pelt, isn’t it? Crabby, bossy, bullheaded Lucy? Pretend to like her to see her face turn all red and watch her get so angry and humiliated she can’t get a word out for once in her life?” It was a good thing Schroeder’s parents wouldn’t be home for another hour; this was the worst she’d ever yelled at him. “Well, you’ll get no such satisfaction from me!”

“Lucy, I don’t–” He frowned and his stomach turned. “Lucy, has that happened before?”

Her eyes flashed. “It doesn’t matter! Since when have you liked me, anyway?”

“I don’t know! Since we were kids!”

“Oh, yeah? What about all those times you told me I was annoying, that you didn’t want me here? That I was a distraction?”

He yelled back now. “Well, what about the times you threatened to punch me? What about when you threw my first piano into that tree?”

“Okay, fine, we were assholes when we were kids, I’ll concede to that.”

“You’re an asshole now.” Schroeder winced at himself.

Lucy screamed in frustration. “See?! See what I mean? We’re old enough that this should be a mature, adult conversation! We’re in tenth grade! But you’re acting like we’re seven years old again!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just– it’s our thing, right?”

“What’s our thing?”

He sighed. “We have a routine, right? You talk about the future, how you see it in your head– you know, ‘when we’re married’, and I respond with something denying it, or I just roll my eyes, but it’s just– it’s how we show that we’re friends. We don’t mean any of it. At least, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I…” Her fists trembled. “You never told me anything otherwise. You never told me outright that you apparently like me back. So I just assume that we’re only friends, and I was finally okay with that. And now you’re kissing me in the middle of almost completing that stupid Brahms piece flawlessly for the first time. Just dropping everything to kiss me out of nowhere.”

Schroeder’s heart did a somersault. “Wait, you noticed what I was doing?”

Lucy ignored him. “And after showing me that awful poem, too! What else am I supposed to think, Schroeder? It’s obvious this whole thing is some sort of game to you!”

“Did you even read the entire thing?”

“I didn’t have to. I got the picture.” Her words were coated with venom.

“Lucy, you– hold on–” He stood up and strode over to the desk, picking up the poetry collection and looking for the sonnet in the table of contents.

Lucy approached him from behind, smacked him on the shoulder, and turned him around by pulling his arm. “Do you honestly think now is the best time to tell me my breath reeks?!”

Schroeder yanked his arm away. “That’s not what I was going to say! Just hold on a second, will you?!”

He found it fairly quickly (thank goodness). “Is that part as far as you got? Listen to the last few lines.”

Her face was red, and he could see tears on the brims of her eyes, but he continued.

“‘I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, that music hath a far more pleasing sound–’”

“You’re a real charmer, you know that,” she spat.

Deciding that skipping the next couplet was the best course of action, as he read the final two lines, he pointed at each of them with so much force that the book almost fell out of his hands. “‘And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare.’”

Schroeder threw the book aside onto his bed. “The point of the poem is that Shakespeare loves this woman so much that he finds her flaws beautiful. He loves to listen to her talk. He loves having her around. He felt sick to his stomach the entire time she was dating that football player and it took him a while to figure out why. You see? You get it?”

Lucy stood and stared at him, her jaw still set and her eyes intense. She didn’t say anything.

“What, you need more proof? Fine! I don’t see what I have to gain from kissing you as a prank if I didn’t really mean it, but fine!”

He opened the top drawer of his desk and rifled through his loose sheet music. The one he was looking for was notated himself on a sheet of lined notebook paper, so he found it easily.

“You remember that song I wrote last year? The one I never named?”

She nodded. How could she forget; the first time he played it for her, she spent that whole evening suggesting terrible names for it.

He waved it in the air. “I lied! It does have a name! Look here–” He stepped close enough to her for her to see the title at the top of the page, in bold, gothic letters he traced by hand. “Für Lucy! It’s called Für Lucy! And I didn’t tell you because I don’t know how to tell you that I like you without being an indirect jerk! I like you so much I can’t stand it!”

Schroeder stomped back over to his piano and sat back down, slapping Für Lucy over Piano Concerto No. 2. His fingers began to aggressively dance across the keys, making the ode much louder and intimidating than it was originally intended.

He didn’t even make it one staff through the melody before Lucy fell into the spot beside him, pulled his hands away from the keys, and kissed him so hard that their noses smashed together.

This kiss lasted longer than the last one. He felt her hand reach up and her fingers nestle themselves in his hair, and he subconsciously found himself embracing her closer to him. It was a little clumsy, but it was Lucy. Lucy was kissing him. It was like he was hearing a brand new Beethoven symphony for the very first time.

They pulled away for a moment, and she said, “You mean it? You really mean it?”

“For once, I do.” And I’m going to find out who pulled that nasty joke on you and clobber them, he privately added to himself.

“Oh, good.” She smiled and wiped the remnants of her tears away. Now, she looked happy enough for her heart to pop. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just didn't know how to handle it when things stopped being easy.”

“Are you still gonna say I’m insufferable?”

“Probably.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Schroeder took her hands. “I’m never going to admit that I’m being sarcastic ever again, but are you okay with me being sarcastic about it?”

“Of course. Like you said, it’s how we talk.” She kissed his nose. “I know now that when you call me repulsive, you’re really saying that you think I’m the most beautiful girl to ever walk this earth, and when you say I’m distracting you, you really mean that I’m so alluring that I’m an adorable, irresistible threat to your entire musical career.”

“I’m getting the urge to pull a metaphorical piano out from under you right now.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

She leaned in and kissed him again, but he cut it off after a few moments. “Lucy, will you be my girlfriend?”

A grin appeared on her face like a ray of sun after a storm, spanning ear to ear. “Of course, you blockhead. Now get back to that Brahms. You’ll have to start all over now. You know that, right?”

His smile matched hers now. “It’s your fault.”

“Oh, yeah, blame it on the cute girl.”

“I don’t know any cute girls, but here, I’ll play Brahms another day. Right now, I wanna play a song I wrote about the most exasperating person I know.”

Lucy laid her head on Schroeder’s shoulder and he began to play Für Lucy, properly this time.

Für Lucy was far from a lilty lullaby; he had written it specifically to be inaccessible to anyone without as much piano-playing experience as he had. It had an unpredictable, irregular structure, and it employed an odd time signature that was difficult for the ear to acclimate to if it wasn’t used to it. But the end result was a unique and sure-of-itself melody that was something special.

The only thing that made Schroeder happier than playing the song for its namesake was the fact that she now knew it was meant for her. He closed his eyes and let the music and his feelings overtake him.