Page 14 of Serenade Me

Chapter Five

Anca

3 years ago

“Stop.”

“But…”

“I said, stop.” His voice is quiet but firm. There’s no room for argument. I drop my hands and lower my eyes, not wanting to see his disappointment. I focus on the vase of dahlias on the coffee table instead.

“Anca, where is the soul?” He asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Where is it?” He gestures his hands in front of him, seemingly to nothing.

“The soul?” I repeat, trying to make sense of what he’s asking me.

“Your soul, my soul, the world’s soul?”

I bite my tongue. I never have an answer for his questions. His questions that make no sense to me, until he gives the answer. Then they mean everything.

“Is it in your head?” He waves his hand, as if pulling the words from the air.

“I, er-…”

“Is it in your chest? Or, in your stomach, floating around with the chicken sandwich you had for lunch?”

“Um…No.” That’s as much of an answer as I can commit to.

“No, that’s right, it’s in none of those place. Soul is in the breath. In the living. It’s like smoke, like clouds on a windy day. You can’t… touch it, can’t see it.”

I lift my eyes to his, knowing the point is coming.

“So…stop looking for it! I can SEE the thought, the effort in your eyes when you play. You must STOP!”

I jump, more from the force of his words, than the volume.

“Now,” he continues, his voice returning to its usual soft timbre, “play.”

“I’m trying…” I argue.

“Shhh,” he says, bringing a finger to his lips to quiet me, “…just play. Forget everything but encapsulating the soul of music. You’re killing it with your ‘trying.’”

I lift my fingers to the strings.

His breath is suddenly hot against the back of my neck.

“Play, my angel, let it sing through you.”

I close my eyes and pluck the strings, tentative at first, then start to grow stronger. I forget what notes are coming up next and which ones have passed. I let myself get lost in it. I’m almost deaf to the music itself, lost in the absolute thrill of creating these sounds from my instrument.

I feel him lay his fingertips on top of mine, featherlight. As if he’s hearing the music through touch alone.

“Yes, Anca. Yes! No more thinking, sì? Your music will transcend the moment, do you understand?”

I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and soar.