“Ma’am, sir?” I looked over Rune’s shoulder to see the server holding our check. “We’re closing up,” he explained.
“You okay?” I asked Rune, signaling to the server that we were coming.
Rune nodded, his heavy brows pushing his face back into his familiar scowl. I imitated how he looked by scrunching my face. Rune, unable to resist, gave me his good-humored smirk. “Only you,” he said, more to himself than to me, “Poppymin.” Slipping his hand back into mine, he slowly guided me to the front of the shack.
When we were back in the car, Rune turned on the engine and said, “We have one more place to go.”
“Another memorable moment?”
As we pulled out onto the road, Rune took my hand in his across the console and replied, “I hope so,
Poppymin. I hope so.”
* * *
It took us a while to drive back to town. We didn’t talk much. I had come to understand that Rune was quieter than he used to be. Not that he was exactly an extrovert before. He was always introverted and quiet. He fit nicely the image of the brooding artist, head always juggling places and landscapes he wanted to capture on film.
Moments.
We had traveled only a mile or so down the road when Rune turned the radio on. He told me to pick any station I wanted. And when I quietly sang, his fingers tightened just that bit more in mine.
A yawn escaped my mouth as we approached the edge of town, but I fought to keep my eyes open. I wanted to know where he was taking me.
When we stopped outside the Dixon Theater, my pulse took flight. This was the theater I had always dreamed of performing at. It was the theater I had always wanted to return to when I was older, as part of a professional orchestra. To my home town.
Rune cut the engine, and I stared up at the impressive stone theater. “Rune, what are we doing here?”
Rune released my hand and opened his door. “Come with me.”
Frowning, but my heart racing so impossibly hard, I opened my door to follow him. Rune took my hand and led me to the front entrance.
It was late on a Sunday night, but he led us straight through the front doors. As soon as we entered the dim foyer, I heard the faint sounds of Puccini playing in the background.
My hand tightened in Rune’s. He glanced down at me, a smirk on his lips. “Rune,” I whispered, as he led me up the opulent staircase. “Where are we going?”
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.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.