A Thousand Boy Kisses(54)

Rune pressed his finger over my lips, signaling for me to be quiet. I wondered why, but then he led me to a door … the door that led to the dress circle of the theater.

Rune opened the door, and music washed over me like a wave. Gasping at the sheer volume of the sound, I followed Rune to the front row of seats. Down below was an orchestra, their conductor leading them. I recognized them instantly: The Savannah Chamber Orchestra.

I was transfixed, staring at the musicians focusing so intently on their instruments, swaying in time to the beat. Whipping my head to Rune, I asked, “How did you do this?”

Rune shrugged. “I was looking to take you to see them perform properly, but they’re traveling overseas tomorrow. When I explained to the conductor how much you loved them, he said we could drop in on their rehearsal.”

No words passed through my lips.

I was speechless. Completely and utterly speechless.

Failing to adequately express my feelings, my sheer gratitude for this surprise, I laid my head on his shoulder and cuddled into his arm. The smell of leather filled my nose as my eyes focused on the orchestra below.

I watched in fascination. I watched as the conductor expertly guided the musicians through their rehearsal: the solos, the decorative passages, the intricate harmonies.

Rune held me close, as I sat, mesmerized. Occasionally, I felt his eyes on me: him watching me, me watching them.

But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Especially from the cello section. When the deep tones rang clear and true, I let my eyes drift to a close.

It was beautiful.

I could picture myself, so clearly, sitting amongst fellow musicians, my friends, staring into this theater, full of the people I knew and loved. Rune sitting, watching with his camera around his neck.

It was the most perfect of dreams.

It had been my biggest dream for as long as I could remember.

The conductor called for the musicians to quiet. I watched the stage. I watched as all but the principal cellist lowered their instruments. The woman, who looked to be in her thirties, pulled her chair to center stage. No audience bar us.

She positioned herself, her bow poised on the string, to start. She concentrated on the conductor. As he raised his baton, instructing her to begin, I heard the first note play. And as I did, I became completely still. I didn’t dare breathe. I didn’t want to hear anything but the most perfect melody ever in existence.

The sound of “The Swan” from Carnival of the Animals drifted up to our seats. I watched the cellist become lost in the music, her facial expressions betraying her emotions with each new note.

I wanted to be her.

In that moment, I wanted to be the cellist playing this piece so perfectly. I wanted to be gifted that trust, the trust of giving this performance.

Everything faded away as I watched her. Then I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes and let the music take hold of my senses. I let it take me on its journey. As the tempo picked up, the vibrato echoing beautifully off the theater’s walls, I opened my eyes.

And the tears came.

The tears came, as the music demanded.

Rune’s hand tightened in mine and I felt his gaze on me. I could sense he was worried that I was upset. But I wasn’t upset. I was soaring. Heart-soaring in the blissful melody.

My cheeks grew wet, but I let the tears flow. This was why music was my passion. From wood and string and bow, this magical melody could be created, stirring life into a soul.

And I stayed that way. I stayed that way until the last note drifted to the ceiling. The cellist raised her bow. Only then did she open her eyes, guiding her spirit to its resting place inside her. Because that’s what she was feeling, I knew. The music had transported her to a distant place, somewhere only she knew. It had moved her.

For a time, the music had graced her with its power.

The conductor nodded and the orchestra walked backstage, leaving silence to occupy the now-empty stage.

But I didn’t turn my head. Not until Rune sat forward, with a hand placed gently upon my back. “Poppymin?” he whispered, his voice guarded and unsure. “I’m sorry,” he said under his breath, “I thought this would make you happ—”

I faced him, clasping both his hands between mine. “No,” I said, interrupting his apology. “No,” I reiterated. “These are tears of joy, Rune. Absolute joy.”

He exhaled, releasing one of his hands to wipe at my cheeks. I laughed, my voice echoing around us. I cleared my throat, chasing away an excess of emotion, and explained, “That’s my favorite piece, Rune. ‘The Swan’”, from the Carnival of the Animals. The principal cellist, she just played my favorite piece. Beautifully. Perfectly.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s the piece I was planning to play when I auditioned for Julliard. It’s always been the piece I pictured myself playing at Carnegie Hall. I know it inside out. I know every note, every shift in tempo, every crescendo … everything.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Hearing it tonight,” I said, squeezing his hand, “sitting next to you … it was a dream come true.”

Rune, too lost for words, placed his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I felt his kiss on my head. “Promise, Rune,” I said. “Promise me that when you’re in New York, when you’re studying at Tisch, you’ll go and see the New York Philharmonic play. Promise me you’ll watch the principal cellist play this piece. And promise me that when you do, you’ll think of me. Imagine me playing up on that stage, fulfilling my dream.” I breathed deeply, content with that picture. “Because that would be enough for me now,” I explained. “Simply knowing that I’d at least get to live out that dream, even if it is only in your mind’s eye.”