The Empty Chair

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The music came to a halt.
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PassionStJohn
PassionStJohn
1,057 Followers

Allan stared at the brightly lit mirror as he adjusted his bow tie. It seemed as if the face of a stranger stared back at him.

The door opened as his manager strode in. A brief wisp of discordant music came in and abruptly ceased as the door snapped shut.

“Did you see the review? Here .. ‘Flawless technique.” And this one, “Unsurpassed precision, yet lacking.’ Another referred to you as a music machine. ‘Perfection without emotion.’ Do you think you could at least try to smile tonight?” Anger, sarcasm and pity laced each word.

“Why? You still get your percent. They’re coming to hear me play, so I’ll play. Don’t expect a whole lot more,” His voice was as cold and lifeless as his eyes.

The manager sighed, “I tried, but seriously, Allan, I’ve arranged a publicity thing for tonight—“

“Great time to tell me,” Allan jerked his wheelchair away from the mirror and glared up at his manager.

“There’s this little girl, her mother played for the Symphony of something. Her father does janitor work, I think. Anyway, it’s her birthday – the girl, and you are her hero. God only knows why.”

“Enough commentary,” he snapped back, “What is it? Pictures? Dedicating a piece to her? Autograph or something? What?”

The manager unconsciously took a step back, “She’s asked if you’ll play one piece tonight on her mother’s violin.”

Allan considered the request, “That’s it? Is the violin any good?”

The manager nodded.

“This time I’ll do it. The publicity won’t hurt. But don’t try this again. I can replace you if need be. So where is the birthday brat?”

“Waiting down the hall. I’ll bring them in.

The manager escaped out the door. He returned seconds later with a stooped graying man and a girl about ten years old.

Allan made an effort to remember to smile as they shook hands and were introduced. Small talk passed back and forth for a few minutes and he could feel the smile slipping away. He didn’t really want to hurt the little girl. It wasn’t her fault.

“Is that your violin?” he asked, eyeing the battered case that the father held.

The girl nodded as her father handed it over to Allan, “It was my mothers. She gave it to me before she died.”

His eyes flickered over to where his case lay waiting and pushed the memories away. He quickly opened it and was grateful to see it was a decent quality instrument. “And where will you be sitting tonight?”

The father spoke up, “We have seats in the front row.”

Allan nodded and gave a meaningful look to his manager. The meeting was over. He wanted to be alone. The father and daughter murmured their thanks and left with the manager.

Allan took out the violin and inspected it closer. It was made of warm-colored wood and in good condition. Quickly tuning it, he ran up and down a few scales to judge the sound and then launched into some music. Suddenly, he stopped. Had someone come into the dressing room? He could smell the faint lingering of a woman’s perfume. It was the same scent that Rosa had worn.

He looked at the picture on the dressing table. The only tangible proof he had that just over a year ago she had lived. He closed his eyes and once more started to play, letting his fingers find the familiar notes. Again, he could smell the fain odor of perfume and heard a familiar laugh. He put down the instrument and wondered if he was losing his mind.

The door opened, interrupting his thoughts, “It’s time, Mr. Vincent.”

Without speaking, Allan handed the borrowed violin to the waiting man and wheeled himself from the room. They all waited in the wings as the orchestra tuned. The applause for the concert master passed. He and the conductor went on stage.

The applause swelled around him as the lights reflected harshly off the metal of the chair. Allan could see the first row, but he did not look for the little girl. His mind was too much on Rosa.

There was a breathless moment of silence and then the orchestra began to play. He waited. This was the part he hated – the waiting – especially now that Rosa was no longer there to look at him and mouth words of love. There was only emptiness, a deadness that reached father than his legs. The time was closer. He raised the violin, tucked it under his chin and joined the orchestra. With an ease that came from hours of practice, each note came—perfect in time, perfect in tone and empty of life. Faint at first, the scent that he had smelled earlier drifted around him. Trying to drive the memories away from him, he played with an intensity not heard before the accident.

“Allan!”

He heard the soft whisper and looked. Rosa stood before him, smiling.

“Allan!”

He could feel the cool gentle touch of her fingers on him as she pulled him to his feet, “Play for me, Dear.”

His eyes never leaving Rosa, Allan played. He let all the lonely months of pain flow into the music. Notes mingled with tears as Rosa sang once again with his music. Together they walked and they danced. He had found her again.

The last note hung in the darkened hall for a breathless moment and then faded. At first, there was astonished silence, quickly followed by thunderous applause. The orchestra stood in honor and the audience followed suit.

Allan did not care. He could still smell her lingering scent. She would come to him again. She had promised. His eyes searched out the little girl. He smiled her thank at her gift to him.

After the concert was over, after the pictures were taken, they were alone. Allan handed the battered case back to the child. “I played for you tonight,” His voice was kind, “Would you now play for me?”

She took out the instrument and hesitantly began to play. With a patience that surprised his manager, Allan listened to the entire piece.

“Who is your teacher?”

“No one since Mother died.”

“I will teach you then. Come tomorrow. We will start then.”

Her eyes widened with excitement.

When everyone was finally gone, Allan wheeled himself out to the empty stage. A single light created deep shadows that wrapped around the hall, creating a private world. Raising his violin, Allan closed his eyes and began to play.

PassionStJohn
PassionStJohn
1,057 Followers
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MrCharonSrMrCharonSrabout 3 years ago

You did a good job

Ravey19Ravey19over 3 years ago
Brilliant, Short But So Moving

So much emotion packed into one page, for that alone I'd like to score a 10!! Has to be one of the best short stories here.

AnonymousAnonymousover 7 years ago
Excellent

What a wonderful story. I really enjoyed it. Keep writing.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 8 years ago
My heart is broken and yet whole

This was a wonderful read. I don't normally wander into this section but I'm so glad I did. I cried as I read this and I will probably cry again as I think about it. Thank you for gracing my screen with the masterful work.

Absinth3Absinth3about 8 years ago
Music is life

Wonderful story.

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