Kat, get away from that piano. I know it's you. No one else plays "Für Elise" just that way. You start off all confidently for the first few bars and then you get to that tell-tale ba-da-bum and bang, there goes the wrong key. It's always half a note off and I want to say "Kat, here's the key, look, here it is, even I've found it and I don't even play the piano. Here's the fucking key, now hit it." And then I want to slam your finger down on it so hard you break a joint.
You never give up, do you? Everyone said that like it was something good. But for God's sake, Kat, it feels like we've been going on for an eternity; you in the drawing room and me in the kitchen and the first ten bars of Für Elise...Make it stop, Kat. Make it stop. You can do it! If you stop playing, I'll stop listening and we can both go home. Okay? You just have to stop.
No, please - not again.
Elise hates you, Kat! Choose something else. Choose that kids' song with the little ducks, that's easy. We used to play it together, you on the piano and me on the recorder. Mama and Papa loved it, remember? Then you went on to show off with Liszt and Schubert and all that shit. They kept telling me how great you are and how it shows that if you have the right attitude and work at it you can achieve anything. But that's not true. All you've achieved are those first ten bars of Für Elise and -
Kat. I beg you. I know you hate me, but we can't go on like that. Don't you understand? If you go on playing it'll just go on and on forever - you torturing Elise and me kneeling on the floor with my hands over my ears. Until I drift off and forget. Forget forget forget it won't be any use. Then I'll stand up and grab Papa's gun and walk in. And you'll be sitting there on that piano stool and laughing at me like you did when you laughed about Richard and how you stole him and then it'll happen all over again and suddenly there'll be the black stain on the green carpet that won't wash out.
Shit, I actually want to forget, Kat. I don't want to kneel there and know that no matter where I go, no matter that I'm pressing my hands over my ears until they hurt, I'll still hear every fucking
again and again and again. When I forget...then it's like the first time round. And I can believe it'll all be over, once I walk into that room with Papa's gun in my hand.
Kat, get away from that piano. I know it's you. No one else plays Für Elise just that way with that tell-tale ba-da-bum and that wrong half note. How many times today, Kat? Twenty times? Fifty? Hundred? It's like an eternity and I hope to God you'll move in with Richard soon and take the Bösendorfer with you. Maybe then he'll be just as sick of your Elise as I am.
Does he like the way you play? Huh? Does he tell you how great it is and what perseverance you're showing and how you can achieve anything you want? Does he fuck you on that piano when you're alone and make you come again and again and again? Ha! I bet he does it just to make you shut up and stop playing.
Because he didn't even like you at the beginning.