Piano Aficionado

Verny was good at, well, everything she did. She was so good, in fact, that on occasion I'd be rendered speechless--dumbfounded at her natural grace.

One of Verny's talents that always caught me up was how she could play piano. Verny's mum said that her piano teacher was amazed at her ability to sightread from such a young age. Me and Verny watched some of her childhood home videos last summer. One of them was a piano recital, and it was jaw-dropping to see a tiny Verny, maybe seven at the time, take her little steps up to the piano and play a piece that demanded wide-eyed glances, and maybe the occasional moistened cheek, from the audience. We watched it a few times. Sometimes I laughed at her demeanor in the video, that even as a child she had this "it's no big deal" attitude. But sometimes all I could think was "wow." It was surreal to me.

When Verny sat down in front of a piano or keyboard, it was clear that she owned it, no matter whose it was or what the location. Any time I saw the opportunity, I would ask if Verny could play something for me--I didn't care what it was, I just wanted to watch. When I got the chance to see Verny play (lucky me), it was mesmerizing. Her fingers delicately yet powerfully probing the keys with intention and precision, leaving not one meaningless moment. It was as if time had stopped--reality was outside, and inside was the life and song of the captivating Veronica.

I think it is fitting, then, kind of like a book-end, that my last moments with Veronica, in person, was on a quiet summer night, playing a keyboard in her parents den. I had been working all evening and didn't get back 'til late. She hadn't given any notice that she was going to be in town, but when she texted and said "Where are you? I'm here" I dropped what I was doing with a pal and got in pretty late. It was always exciting to see my best friend's car in the driveway, and when I opened the downstairs door I could hear my keyboard faintly being played by who else but she. We didn't say too much as I came into the den, walked around the coffee table, and sat next to her. We fiddled with the settings. She played remarkably, as usual, and I joined in, clearly without motive, haha, but just to be playing along. Our hands met a couple times, and we laughed, or she'd push mine out of her way. We tried some different tones. Some were really funny, and when I tried to change from some space alienesque setting she demanded, "put it back!" I obliged. She was playing My Heart Will Go On...again, in reflection, it seems fitting. But I had worked all day, had to wake up early the next morning, and at this wee hour of night I was tired.

I got up, telling her I had to go to bed. We had hoped that I would get out of work early enough the next day to go spend a little time with her in Knoxville, but she left just before I was able to get out. But our last moments, there on the couch together, were bursting with significance beyond what we were then able to recognize. As I left the room, only partially closing the sliding door, I could hear Vern faintly continuing to play My Heart Will Go On until I dozed off to sleep.

Veronica & Cigarettes

It was the summer after her freshman year of college that Verny become curious about the habit of smoking cigarettes. She had several friends at the time who partook in the activity--it was mostly a communal endeavor between close friends, and Verny caring so much about those who she's close to, wanted to know what it was like.

I don't know if this was the first time Verny put a cigarette to her mouth, but that summer at my friend Nickie's house was the first time she did it in my presence. At the time, I might have been under the heavy influence of the Truth campaign against cigarettes, not to mention a drink or two, but as I walked around Nickie's house, alas, I could not find Verny. I tried the backyard, and viola, there she was amongst the smokers. She smiled at me, and I tried telling her to come back inside but she just shook her head. I turned to go, and turned back to see her quickly put an arm back behind her. Verny was holding a cigarette! "Is that what I think it is?" I asked her in an almost punishing tone. Verny relaxed her arm and sure enough, a burning cigarette lay between her middle and index fingers. "Verny," I said, slowly bringing my eyes to hers with a face nearly as red as a firetruck, "if you take a puff of that. I'm going to smack your face right off."

We stood there for a while, daring each other with our eyes amid several friends who had gathered around. I'd have never intended serious harm on Verny, but I figured (at least at that time in the night) a good smack would render a lot less damage than the flem, tar, smell, and pocket pinching that such a nasty habit would tug along. Verny smirked, slowing brought the cigarette to her lips, and puffed.

Naturally, being a person of my word, I sent her horizontal with a smack that knocked the cigarette out of her mouth. And then the Verny siren went off. For the first time in my life a was terrified of my best friend, and she was chasing me like a madwoman around the backyard as I half laughed and half screamed at our predicament. One couldn't deny the sheer comedy of the situation, yet if Verny had got her hands on me I'd have surely been toast.

I don't know how I managed to not get beat up, but Verny got tired of chasing me, assuming she'd get me back later I suppose, and as the night progressed the incident was forgotten. Well, for the most part, considering that I still remember it pretty clearly!

After that evening, I'd see Verny having an occasional cigarette. She liked menthol, then switched to green apple. She liked the taste, and said they gave her the feeling of being light, as any ballerina is I guess. Verny knew I didn't particularly enjoy being around smoke, even if I wasn't so against it as I used to be, so for the most part she didn't smoke around me when at all feasible. On our last beach trip, in 2008, I got her and Jesse a souvenir: a pirate ashtray. Verny loved it, and told me she loved it for more than just what it was, but for the fact that I got it for her, even though I didn't condone to or like cigarettes. She said it showed that I had an open mind, loved her for who she was, and wanted her to be happy. That is the truth if I ever heard it!

The last cigarette smoking incident I encountered with the Vern was last year, on the 4th of July. My friend Cary came over to Veronica's parents, and brought his friend Adam, who is a smoker. Vern has (for the most part) tried to keep her smoking on the down low from her parents. But if you know Vern, you know what a thrill-junky she is in the department of risk, thus she decided to have a cigarette with Adam in the driveway. Low and behold, who but Verny's father comes out of the house, in clear view of the driveway! "Urrghh, it's my dad!" Verny cringes. She tries to inadvertently hide the cigarette by changing her angle, but as her father approaches he gets a curious, amused look on his face. So Vern, not knowing what to do, runs and hides on the other side of the SUV, as if that will mitigate the issue! Her dad laughs openly as they play cat and mouse around the SUV, even looking beneath to watch footsteps, and finally Vern gives up the post, and they finish their cigarettes together.

Words Defect

Words fall short of all of the odes I wish to dedicate to Veronica. I think that, like me, many of you have an endless bank of memories with Veronica that you cherish, and yet to demand them into the forms of words and sensible syntax suddenly renders them insignificant or fleeting. If only there was a way to relate into the air--outside of ourselves--the true essence of what these memories are: the emotional high, pull of muscles in a smile, the related inside jokes, and responses... but maybe that is what makes memories all the more precious. They are something that, no matter how hard you try to relate it to others, it is an intimate reality that belongs to only you and the individuals with which it was shared.

Every day I remember anew a memory I hadn't thought of in such a long while. The one and only time before I moved that I spent the night at Veronica's house. How she'd deliberately mess up any given Moulin Rouge song so that embarrassment of bad notes would not ensue. Fake-crying for a whole 20 minutes or so while amusing Verny and Lori with an improvised character. The countless times we walked along State Street and men tried to pick us up... hahaha.

It is humbling to know that of all people in the world, and decidedly awesome Veronica found me to be a special friend--one that she could confide in, laugh with, and just genuinely feel comfortable with when everything else seemed awry.

And I wonder about my life, the one that will never be the same because of the consciousness in knowing Veronica. I wonder if she is going to watch me grow, and what sort of impression that has on her. Will she grow with me? Will she be influenced by my situations? Or will she only go so far as she lived? I will always relate to her, but will I reach a point in my life in which she can no longer relate to me?

Whatever the case, I'm certain that no amount of growth will ever rule out the personality effects I've contracted in knowing Veronica. I'm afraid it's terminal...and I couldn't be happier about it.