Stumbling to Music


Stumbling to Music

The cold hits him in the face. A wintery whistle in his ears to wake him from his tipsy state. Hunching his shoulders against the wind and burying his face into his collar, he walks down the street towards the marquee of the theatre.

Checking his watch, the time cheerfully informs that he is late. Picking up his pace, he soon arrives in front of the double doors and rushes in, looking for the will call sign. The hallway is empty besides a few ushers and quickly he is brought into the auditorium and placed on a bench in the back; waiting for the piece to be over before taking his seat.

After shuffling between the tight space between the couples and the chairs in front of him, the peace of the room comes over him like a wave. The strings of the violin concerto filling the air and drawing him away from his troubles. The world is much simpler when painted through music he thinks. Sitting and listening, the plucking of the cello's deep strings is pierced by the soloist beginning her dance.

The fingers of her hand a blur as she runs the neck of her instrument up and down, her entire body lurching into the sailing winds of her aria. The man watches her dress, black and a deep blue, feather around her in time with the beat. Like a swaying pulse, her body and violin beats as if she were the heart of the orchestra around her. The conductors baton commanding each beat, directing the downbeats and showing his mastery as the brains of the symphony.

Together they are a unit. While the soloist strikes the melody and remains focal, the ochestra lifts and allows her to stand, allowing the harmonies and counter melody to rise from the ashes left behind her burning finesse. Absorbing all this is the man in the chair. Interpretting the melodies of the music in front of him. His heart strings pulled by the echos of a b minor. While the man and woman to his right and left stare steadily, seeming to examine the efficacy of the performance, he is lost within.

A maelstrom of emotion is playing out in his mind and the tears are rolling down his face. Despite the public space, there is no shame; he is beyond that now. His hands clench and unclench as his mind wrestles itself. Combing the tangled fabrics of his reality over and over, smoothing the feelings whirling inside. Though chaotic, and jumping, his mind pulling itself between past, present, and what could be is weaving a thread. Left, right, in, out, this string is drawn between the man's heart. Broken pieces pulled together again, loosened, then tightened. The music influencing and dragging his mind along between memories.

Caught in the stream of consciousness, he drifts along, keeping his head afloat only by accepting and acknowledging each muse. Former lovers flicker through his mind, some staying longer than others, he dwells on one yet the music changes pace and she is gone. Replaced now with an echo, the soloist's part fading away as the entire orchestra carries on. Their rythm never ceasing and marching on as time. A fragmented counter melody begins building, his thoughts turning inward and introspective.

Life, future, and purpose. All this explodes as the violin rushes into a run up the staff, and the orchestra swells upward. Their pivotal dissonance in match with the conflict within the man's heart. More tears are flowing down his cheeks, and his vision is blurred, the lights hovering over the musicians blending together even as the melody harmonizes once more. And his thoughts drift again towards his loved ones. A noble tone bellows from the brass and heralds a change in thought again, his mind is swept along at the music's whim.

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