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” fromCarnival of the Animalsdrifted 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 theCarnival 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.”
“Poppy,” Rune said, painfully. “Please, baby…” My heart leapt as he called me ‘baby’. It sounded as perfect as the music to my ears.
Raising my head, I lifted his chin with my finger and insisted, “Promise me, Rune.”
He turned his gaze away from me. “Poppy, if you’re not going to be in New York with me, why the hell would I ever go?”
“Because of your photography. Because like this dream was mine, yours was to study photography at NYU.”
Concern cut through me when Rune’s jaw clenched. “Rune?” I questioned. After a long moment, he turned slowly back to face me. I searched his beautiful face. I slumped back in my seat at what I saw in his expression.