Author: Everly Dawn
Feedback: Most Definitely!
Status: Stand alone Vignette
Summary: Frohike witnesses a scene that inspires some profound thoughts in his mind.
Archive: Ask Me
Disclaimer: Iíve used the characters without the knowledge of their owners. Iím not doing this for profit, just the enjoyment.
Notes: Frederic Chopin (1810-1849) Suggested listening while reading:
Nocturnes- Op. 48/1 in C minor, Op. 48/2 in F sharp minor
No. 6 in B minor, No. 15 in D Flat Major
Op. 55/1 in F minor by Chopin--A truly inspiring piece. It took John almost two years to perfect it. The melody has a haunting tone to it that you can only reproduce if you can feel it--through your fingers, your body, your heart and your soul. Anything less and you miss the entire message of it. The absolute loneliness the music exudes is interrupted only a few times by a gay chord here or there. Itís almost as if Chopin was writing about his lifeÖor lack there of. Of being so totally alone, ironically, while residing amidst dozens of people. I understand that kind of loneliness--all too well.
Nearing the middle of the piece the chords become harder and faster, giving a feeling of need and anger. And just as you think the overwhelming emotions are going to overflow into a rage of notes it backs off, until the next time, and then the time after that--each crescendo and decrescendo adding more and more flame to the fire--more and more longing for the inevitable release. But the notes endlessly cascade over to the slow melancholy pace they began with. The progression starts again. Until finally, the build up is too much to hold back and the notes speed up again into a flurry of sounds and rhythms. The audience is left with a sated bliss that is clouded with desire--for the moment just before the aching tension of emotion, and urgent need, is given over to oblivion. Itís over it seems, before it really began.
Iím sitting in an empty concert hall, empty except for Byers, Carol, and myself. They donít know Iím here though, Iíve made certain of that. Itís just so uncommon to see Byers as open and uninhibited as he has been today that my curiosity gets the better of me when I have the chance to spy on him like this.
I never knew he was such an accomplished pianist.
He definitely has the feel and passion for it.
Playing a musical instrument like the piano takes a level of patience and
the capacity to hold in all the emotions that run through a piece, that I have
never been able to master.
As I watch him play I can see he is not just playing the
music, heís feeling it--in communion with the piano and the notes.
The relationship between a man and his piano is a mysterious one, and an
admirable one. Neither the man nor
the instrument can be lax in their responsibility to one another, or the result
is jarring and unmusical. The give
and take--one to the other-- must be succinctly measured and re-measured in
order to fine-tune the melody of heart and soul, which pours from the sound
board like tiny rivulets of emotion; only to be caught and carried on by the
Unbeknownst to John, I am the audience. The haunting melody pierces my body and reminds me how very lonely I am. And watching He and Carol together up there marks my loneliness even fresher in my mind.
John is such a compassionate soul. I donít know how he has lived in this hateful world for so long, surely not without some fallbacks and hard lessons, but mostly he is still pure of heart and ideal in mind. It even makes me mad that such a wonderful man has to live with the heartache this world brings to a person. No one so loving and caring should have to deal with pain. Pain should be the punishment for those of us that cause it, not the ones who try and stop it.
I close my eyes and focus on the music wafting through the empty hall. John plays with such elegance that I am transported to a place in my being that Iíve never been before, somewhere calm and at peace. Itís an eerie feeling to find a new place in your mind. Almost as strange as finding out some old hidden secret about your family that has eluded you your entire life.
While I am pondering this new bit of information, I almost donít realize the music has stopped. It seems to continue on in my head like a continuous playback of someone elseís life. Their memories and emotions--the thoughts of a stranger--trapped in my mind through the medium of sound. I open my eyes just in time to see John lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on Carolís knee. She has been perched atop the closed lid of the grand piano, sitting comfortably on the corner. Her slender legs are crossed beneath a short black evening dress. She looks absolutely heavenly tonight, and Iím certain it is not lost on John.
He lowers his head and another short piece by Chopin glides from his fingers, this one even more ominous than the last. Iím once again so lost in the music that I donít remember hearing it cease. This time when I look up I see John stand slowly and remove his suit jacket--draping it over the piano bench. His eyes never left hers, and I know Iím seeing a part of him that is not meant for my eyes. He shuts the lid over the piano keys and leans forward--becoming ever so close to her.
Her hand is on his neck, tracing small paths over his ear with the pad of her thumb. He swallows visibly, closing his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of her touch. When he opens his eyes he is stirred into action. He raises his hand to her chin, tilting it slightly as he leans up for a kiss. His other hand comes to rest on her right thigh, but does not move wayward. Even from this distance, in the back of the hall, I can see the white marks on his neck that creep around her fingers. The evidence of a passionate kiss, holding in it, much more than meets the eye. As they part she uncrosses her legs and pulls John closer. He lays his head on her shoulder and holds her close--both breathing a soft sigh that reveals much more than a need for physical comfort.
There is a bond here I obviously donít understand. Every moment I stay here Iím increasingly feeling like a peeping tom. I think Iíve outworn my welcome. As I stand and creep silently towards the door I glance one more time, somewhat longingly, at the pair on the lighted stage. If only I had had the insight I do now, twenty years ago. Maybe I wouldnít be so lonely. But age has not left me totally in the dark. I have the luxury of being able to say I have learned from my mistakes.
I slip out the door with a revelation slowly budding in my
mind. In this world, nothing is as
it seems, nothing looks as it should, and nothing turns out just how we planned
it. But who is to say we canít
change that inevitable truth with a simple change of focus?
Focus on the inside not the outside.
This world is full of ignorance and hatred and it must be stopped.
Ignorance only perpetuates its self and love only grows when properly
supplemented. Our job is not to stop
ignorance but to eradicate it with love.