Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Prelude in C# Minor, by Sergei Rachmaninov

When the first note came to him, he was on the couch, just sitting down with his tea. The first cloud of the storm. Three unmistakable chords, dum-dum-dum – the first measure, always separate in his mind – and he was already lost. His empty left hand drifted in space, conducting – dum, dum… dum… dum…. A pause, not silent for the ringing note, but a breathtaking pause.

Dum…. And on it came.

It took him everywhere. Partly, he sat on the couch with a smile and a sigh, holding a mug of orange pekoe. Mostly, he was in distant castles, outside in the rain, and next to her on the piano bench. Behind her, his gaze warm on her back. All at once, the music was a dark shade, warm, and imposing.

It was a song that could bring cloaks and capes back into style.

He stood as she played on. Outside, the gray rained quietly, listening. Setting down his mug on the counter, he crossed through the kitchen, slowing his step to an almost ceremonial march as he met the threshold to the living room. He could see the oil painting on the opposite wall, the humorously low chandelier in the middle of the room, and the last few keys of the piano.

Her hand flickered into view, plucking a note from the top of the scale before descending back out of sight, to deeper chords.

It took him a full chorus to step into the room. It was the last. Her hands lingered, fingers poised over the keys as if drawing out the notes through her very sinews. In a wave, her arms and shoulders relaxed, and she smirked up at him.

“You like that one?”


Blogger the Razorclown said...

a quick attempt, inspired by a conversation with Amanda. essentially, it's nonfiction.

12:09 AM  

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