case and pulled it
out.
Her old friend hadn't felt her touch in a
long time, and she felt guilty. Jazzie thought she might gift it to
one of the kids she was going to teach next week. The one she
thought had the most promise and seriousness of purpose. She'd set
up a two-month session of weekly lessons with the music teacher at
an inner city school, so her students could get the basics of
playing and see if they had an aptitude and passion for it. She'd
arranged to rent twenty violins for the students from a local music
store, that had cut her a great deal. With all the drama going on
the last few days, she'd all but forgotten about her promise to
them.
After a few tries, she managed to unwedge
the case from behind the boxes, then took it and sat on the bed,
then reverently opened the case. She took the small soft cloth
inside and pulled out the rich cherry-colored violin and shined it
up, then set it on the bed and removed the bow from the lid and
picked up a square cake of rosin and coated the bowstrings with
it.
Propping the pillows up against the
headboard behind her, she scooted up there and put the violin
beneath her chin. For some reason the haunting strains of the
second movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto played in her
head, and she brought it to life across the strings of her
instrument.
Slowly, her shoulders relaxed some, as the
music soothed her shattered nerves and carried her worries away
with each note she played. Jazzie sighed and closed her eyes. This
was exactly the therapy she needed right now. The music had her
enraptured, she could have been anywhere playing, it didn't matter,
as long as she had the music inside of her. Jazzie imagined herself
sitting in a wide open meadow playing to the birds and animals
hiding in the woods, then she was sitting on a dock by a lake
enjoying a gentle breeze blowing across her cheeks.
Lifting her chin she inhaled deeply and
imagined she could smell the sunshine that was painting everything
around her in a golden glow. Of its own volition, the music inside
her head transitioned into Meditation by Thais and the slow
fanciful notes lifted her heart as she played.
Jazzie smiled, as she sat down on a
butterfly's wings to play in her mind. The beautiful multi-colored
creature floated on thermals in the air over the meadow and she
looked down on all the vibrant bluebonnets dotting the green field
below, then looked at the sky, which was such an intense blue it
hurt her eyes to look at it. Deep inside, Jazzie felt every note
she played, and they twined around her wounded spirit and healed
it, lifted it. Finally, when she got to the last stanza, she
caressed the notes, emphasized them, poured feeling into it, until
the last sound had faded to nothing.
After a deep breath and a slow exhale,
Jazzie opened her eyes and saw that Beau was standing in the
doorway of her bedroom staring at her, his face a conflict of
emotions, but mainly it held something akin to awe. Slowly, he
eased the door shut, then walked over to the bed and sat down, not
breaking eye contact with her at all. "My, god that was
magnificent," he told her in a choked whisper, then ran his hand
along her jaw, "You are magnificent..."
"Just doing my job," she told him coldly
then looked away. Protecting her had been his job, that's what he'd
said to her, and playing music was hers. He hadn't done it because
he cared one way or another whether she lived or died, he just
wanted to catch the criminal...mitigate the threat...because that
was his job. Playing music was hers, and she could be just as
nonchalant about it. After all, she'd been playing for herself, not
him.
"What do you want? I kind of want to be
alone..." she said sullenly then laid her violin and bow down
beside her, before folding her arms under her breasts.
"I came to check on you, make sure you
weren't hurt...and I heard the music," he told her then flattened
his palm against the side of her
out.
Her old friend hadn't felt her touch in a
long time, and she felt guilty. Jazzie thought she might gift it to
one of the kids she was going to teach next week. The one she
thought had the most promise and seriousness of purpose. She'd set
up a two-month session of weekly lessons with the music teacher at
an inner city school, so her students could get the basics of
playing and see if they had an aptitude and passion for it. She'd
arranged to rent twenty violins for the students from a local music
store, that had cut her a great deal. With all the drama going on
the last few days, she'd all but forgotten about her promise to
them.
After a few tries, she managed to unwedge
the case from behind the boxes, then took it and sat on the bed,
then reverently opened the case. She took the small soft cloth
inside and pulled out the rich cherry-colored violin and shined it
up, then set it on the bed and removed the bow from the lid and
picked up a square cake of rosin and coated the bowstrings with
it.
Propping the pillows up against the
headboard behind her, she scooted up there and put the violin
beneath her chin. For some reason the haunting strains of the
second movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto played in her
head, and she brought it to life across the strings of her
instrument.
Slowly, her shoulders relaxed some, as the
music soothed her shattered nerves and carried her worries away
with each note she played. Jazzie sighed and closed her eyes. This
was exactly the therapy she needed right now. The music had her
enraptured, she could have been anywhere playing, it didn't matter,
as long as she had the music inside of her. Jazzie imagined herself
sitting in a wide open meadow playing to the birds and animals
hiding in the woods, then she was sitting on a dock by a lake
enjoying a gentle breeze blowing across her cheeks.
Lifting her chin she inhaled deeply and
imagined she could smell the sunshine that was painting everything
around her in a golden glow. Of its own volition, the music inside
her head transitioned into Meditation by Thais and the slow
fanciful notes lifted her heart as she played.
Jazzie smiled, as she sat down on a
butterfly's wings to play in her mind. The beautiful multi-colored
creature floated on thermals in the air over the meadow and she
looked down on all the vibrant bluebonnets dotting the green field
below, then looked at the sky, which was such an intense blue it
hurt her eyes to look at it. Deep inside, Jazzie felt every note
she played, and they twined around her wounded spirit and healed
it, lifted it. Finally, when she got to the last stanza, she
caressed the notes, emphasized them, poured feeling into it, until
the last sound had faded to nothing.
After a deep breath and a slow exhale,
Jazzie opened her eyes and saw that Beau was standing in the
doorway of her bedroom staring at her, his face a conflict of
emotions, but mainly it held something akin to awe. Slowly, he
eased the door shut, then walked over to the bed and sat down, not
breaking eye contact with her at all. "My, god that was
magnificent," he told her in a choked whisper, then ran his hand
along her jaw, "You are magnificent..."
"Just doing my job," she told him coldly
then looked away. Protecting her had been his job, that's what he'd
said to her, and playing music was hers. He hadn't done it because
he cared one way or another whether she lived or died, he just
wanted to catch the criminal...mitigate the threat...because that
was his job. Playing music was hers, and she could be just as
nonchalant about it. After all, she'd been playing for herself, not
him.
"What do you want? I kind of want to be
alone..." she said sullenly then laid her violin and bow down
beside her, before folding her arms under her breasts.
"I came to check on you, make sure you
weren't hurt...and I heard the music," he told her then flattened
his palm against the side of her
Similar Books
