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To You, From Me
Vignettes and Sketches
helium lost
. 01 .
The Violinist
9/21/2006
The band room is utter chaos: chairs are stacked up haphazardly in every corner; music stands are scattered throughout the room and papers are strewn about. The cabinets are open, and instruments and cases are piled on top of each other, crammed into every nook and cranny. Binders and backpack litter the carpeted floor, forming a winding maze, impossible to get through. There is a constant, heavy buzz in the air, the rumble and murmur of people talking and laughing.
He sits in the middle of the chaos, his back straight and violin tucked under his chin, bow held delicately in his right hand. He strokes the violin’s strings once, softly, and a note wafts into the air and mingles with the millions of other sounds.
In a second, it’s gone.
Closing his eyes, he plays one more note, then another; the sheer hairs of the bow glide over the taut strings as the rich notes blend and dance, whimper and sing, twirl into the air like a soft, gentle hurricane.
The hurricane whips through the noise, and he sits in its eye, submerged and lost in concentration. Vigorously the bow caresses the strings and stabs at the air; the sweetly harsh melody rings clear and true above the mingle of voices. He touches the neck of the violin and it sings for him, the vibrato of its voice murmuring angelic poetry that disappears as soon as it’s told.
And, with one last stroke of the bow, it ends as quickly as it began. He lets out his breath and opens his eyes, his eyelashes hiding those opalescent drops returning to the surface, returning from that magical wonderland of beautiful notes and sounds, of wondrous melodies and songs.
And when he smiles and speaks, blending into the band room’s chaos, the silken dewdrops of his sweet melody linger for a moment, shimmering—then disappear.
Concrit and other feedback are greatly appreciated. :)