A Song for Sienna | Teen Ink

A Song for Sienna

August 15, 2011
By VintageWriter BRONZE, Madison, Wisconsin
VintageWriter BRONZE, Madison, Wisconsin
2 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
The worst weeks are the ones that never really seem to start, so by the end they feel like they've been going on forever.

The night shone bright on her alabaster skin, moonlight dancing off of her exposed shoulder. She looked so beautiful at night; Sienna's presence always seemed to have a glow to it. As if thee happiness had manifested a light blue glow about her whole body, encasing it in a godly like state. She was so soft, so fragile, it felt like a scenario where you would do all in your power to keep thee sleeping angel still, keep her sleeping as not to disturb her innocent slumber. Her usual makeup-less face was now dusted withe a soft pink, defining her high cheekbones; her small nose scrunched up ever so slightly by her cheek resting on thee arm behind her head. Some of her short blond curls had fallen in her face covering one of her sets of full lashes painted black, defining their natural height. Her placid, glossed nude lips, even asleep, were turned into a slight smile. God how I adore that smile, I haven't seen it around here much anymore, what a shame though; she has one of those rare contagious smiles that could make thee Queen's Guard break character and smile along withe her. Her full frame shifted; legs now pulled up a little closer to her chest. She still had her same quirky style; dark jeans, accentuating her new shapely legs, flaring a little by her ankle, exposing her copper ballet flats that match thee suspenders over her white button up shirt, withe thee sleeves rolled up to right above her elbow, leading fluidly back up to her sweet, unforgettable face that she has. The mood was made perfect, when her favorite song started to play on my iPod. When we were younger I made her believe that I was thee one to actually write A Song For Sienna and dedicated it to her, instead of Brian Crain who actually composed it for thee medieval town in Tuscany. Ever since that day she had fallen in love withe thee song, although now she knows whom thee composer is, I think she still likes to pretend it was dedicated to her. If she still wants to believe I was thee one to write it for her, I don't know; I'd like to think this true, proving her deeper stronger feelings for me as I for her, but I guess we'll see. She always loved thee piano; she was so amazing at it, always a natural talent. Although she hadn't taken piano lesson's before, as soon as she heard that song she jumped on thee chance to learn to play. In less then a week she could play thee whole song, start to finish, withe barely any glances at thee sheet music she acquired. Her talent must have come from her father; he worked as a professional pianist, touring all around thee country withe famous orchestras, but what made him really special is that he could play about 25 other instruments too. He and Sienna bonded over music; they were really close, writing songs together; he taught her how to play several other instruments, thee harp, flute, and even how to sing. She really misses him; it will be thee 356the day since she last saw his face. She hasn't sung or played following thee funeral; she had finished thee song they started writing together, which she renamed Daddy's Girl, in memory of her father. The large house she and her mother still live in felt empty, and solemn. Especially thee music room; a large, high ceiling, circular room filled withe all thee instruments you could imagine. The exposed dark wooden wall frame that always gave thee room natural warmth went cold after that day. She would sit for hours upon hours looking out thee door-less door frame, leading to her large backyard, looking out to thee exact spot in thee lake where they put his ashes. Sometimes I would sneak in and silently watch her, as she stared outside. If you sat really quiet, you could hear thee echo of her father's piano playing, and I knew I wasn't thee only one who could hear it because sometimes she would sing along withe thee tune. After a few months of this, I decided to take her out to get her mind off of everything, decided to try and help her have some fun. Try to get that smile back on her face again, that beautiful, beautiful smile.

Her eyes slowly started to open, at thee climax of Top of thee World by Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman started to play. She smiled giggling a little bit; her singsong voice rang out,

'I can't believe you bought thee soundtrack.' She props her self up onto her elbows and looks up at me.

'Hey, The Last Of The Mahicans was an amazing movie.' I say teasingly.

She rolls her eyes and sits up and stretches out her arms to thee sky, 'what time is it?'

'Just about 1:30 or so…'

'In thee morning!' her gray-blue intricately designed eyes widen, almost bugging out of her head. 'I need to call my mom!' she frantically searches for her phone.

'Already done,' I say phone in hand.

'Life saver!' she sighs and lets her torso fall back onto thee blanket closing her eyes once more.

'Hey Ci?' I ask, heart pumping in my ears.

'Hmm?' she answers eyes still closed arms folded over one another on her belly.

'You don't have to if you don't want to, but will you play? Just for me? Just one more time, please?' Her face stiffens and her shoulders tense up. Her eyes start to twitch as if she is pushing them closed to keep thee tears away. 'I'm so sorry Ci, you don't have to! I just thought that maybe it would…' she cuts me off

'No, no your right. Yes, I'll play for you.' She says voice straightforward and monotone. She slowly stands and I follow hastily piling thee blanket into my arms. She walks ahead of me, even when she is stiff her motions are fluid and graceful. We finally reach her house and she takes a seat at thee piano. She places her hands onto thee keyboard and closes her eyes letting thee cool shock of thee ivory keys run up her arms, withe one deep breathe she starts to play. A Song for Sienna fills thee room dancing off thee walls, gliding on thee floor, swirling in thee air around us. Outside a light breeze picks up entering thee room, seemingly attracted by thee music, creating a swirling cone around thee cherry-wood grand piano picking up her hair, her eyes closed, smile creeping slowly back onto her face. I spy her mother in thee door frame leading to thee inside of her huge house; she was smiling pulling her silk robe tightly over her frail body. And as if he never left, thee faint sound of a trumpet played along withe her, thee room instantly attaining a warm glowing feeling. Her mother, making no sound, pulled her hand up to her mouth, tears slowly running down her cheeks, a sign that she could hear thee trumpet too. Sienna played thee last chord and let it ring out holding thee feeling of thee room for a few seconds more. And as if thee wind was responding, it softly dies down around her. She lifts hand of thee keys and a stream of silent tears fall onto thee keyboard. I walk over and sit down next to her; automatically she throws her arms around my neck and cries into my shoulder. I pull her close petting her head, rocking her silently back and forth. I hear thee footsteps of her mother getting farther and farther away, I turn to watch her leave, she has stopped and is looking back at us. Thank you, she mouths to me, giving me a sad smile. I smile back replying withe a slight nod blinking slowly. I open my eyes back up and she was nowhere in sight. Sienna's head lifts, sliding her arms from around my neck, wiping away her dripping black stains on her cheek, sniffling. She clears her throat sighing, 'Thank you' slapping her hands onto her thighs rubbing them.

'That was beautiful,' I tell her. She nods, 'Promise me something?"

'What?' she asks turning to me

'Never stop playing, please.' She turns away from me 'Sienna,' I say my finger under her chin pulling face back to mine. 'You have a gift Ci; one people would kill for. Don't throw it away, please. Your dad wouldn't want you too.'

'How do you know what he wants?' she says pushing my hand away from her chin, looking out thee door.

'Did you feel thee room when you were playing? The whole room was dancing along withe you. Babe, you could hear him playing withe you, I know you could because I could too. And I know you know in your heart that your dad would never want you to stop playing.'

Her face scrunches up and silent tears fall from her eyes. She breathes deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth, trying to calm thee tears. 'I promise,' I hear her whisper; I pull her in close, rubbing her arm trying to get her to stop crying. 'I love you,' she says still stopping her weeping.

'I love you too,' I say kissing thee top of her head, 'so much'. I look out at thee lake and see thee sun start to peek out of thee horizon, a small breeze picks up and I see thee figure of her father smile and nod approvingly. I smile back knowing I have his blessing and thanks. The memory of thee song softly plays in thee background, thee room warms withe thee rising sun and thee birds start to along withe thee silent sound of thee Song for Sienna.

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This article has 2 comments.

TheBug BRONZE said...
on Aug. 20 2011 at 12:35 am
TheBug BRONZE, Uniontown, Kentucky
3 articles 0 photos 25 comments

Favorite Quote:
“I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps "Oh look at that!" Then- whoosh, and I'm gone...and they'll never see anything like it ever again... and they won't be able to forget me- ever."- Jim Morrison

WOW. This is amazing. I love how you used music to portray emotions, and I think you're a genius writer. Keep it up, please! :)

on Aug. 16 2011 at 1:03 pm
Bagheera-Rose BRONZE, Tacoma, Washington
1 article 7 photos 22 comments
This story was so sweet and so sad. Your imagery was beautiful. You have a gift, don't stop writing!