by Jillian Marie

---

 
The first thing I realized was that there was a bright light shining in my eyes. I closed my eyes to block it out and tried to listen, hoping I’d be able to pick up some clue as to where I was. Unfortunately the effort involved proved to be too much and I was soon back out.

As I opened my eyes once more the light wasn’t as bright, but it still seemed strange and I couldn’t quite place where I was. I had all these disjointed images floating through my head and as hard as I tried to make sense of them, it just wasn’t going to happen. Again sleep overtook me.

The third time I came to, I still wasn’t sure where I was. All I knew was that I seemed to hurt all over. The pain helped me focus my energy and I once again tried to listen for clues as to my location.

When I heard the intercom voice page a doctor I knew I was in a hospital, but what for? That’s when the nagging ache in my stomach overwhelmed the unfocused pain and I started to finally remember what had happened. I replayed the events in my mind as a way of gaining some sense of control. As I reconnected with reality, I finally noticed all the tubes that were attached to me.

So it wasn’t a nightmare after all? It really happened? Details of the altercation started returning to my memory slowly, but there were some bits of information that I was still lacking.

Who was it that came in and saved me? I would assume it was the police, but who knows? Maybe it didn’t really matter.

I tried to move my hand and that’s when I realized someone was holding it. I had to try several times to raise my head so I could see, but when I did I saw that it was Sarah sitting there with her head laid down on the side of the bed, asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, I then turned my attention to my other side.

Much to my delight Cindy was there, sitting in a chair asleep while holding my other hand. A feeling of warmth surged through me and I couldn’t help but smile. I then allowed myself to drift back asleep, still holding hands with my best friend and my love.

When next I awoke, a nurse was doing something with a machine beside me. She noticed I was awake and said, “I won’t be a minute, then your friends can come back in.” She made some notes in a folder and walked out of the room.

I must have lost consciousness again, because the next thing I remember is lying there with Cindy beside me, stroking my hand. I turned my head toward her and smiled. She responded with, “You’re awake. Thank God.”

A million questions swirled inside my head, but all I could get to come out of my mouth was, “How?”

She smiled at me and replied, “Sarah called me as soon as she heard what had happened. You’re looking a bit worse for wear, I must say.”

I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much so I stopped. When I felt I was able to put together a few words at one time I asked, “So is this what it takes to get you to come back?”

A veil of sadness descended on her face as she said, “Save your strength. We can talk about things later.”

When she said that, what little bit of hope that had sprung to life in my heart upon knowing she was there began to wilt. I don’t know for sure whether she noticed, but just before I went back to sleep I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks.

“Mr. Bronson, how are you feeling this morning?” the question jolted me out of my sleep. When I opened my eyes I saw a man standing there in surgical scrubs, looking at my chart and making notes.

“Everything seems to be progressing nicely. We’ll start getting you up and walking a little bit later today, but take it slow. No marathons for at least a week,” he laughed at his own joke.

The dazed look on my face must have finally sunk in, because next he introduced himself, “Sorry, I’m Dr. Long. I was the surgeon on call when you came in. You were a lucky young man, Mr. Bronson. Not everyone who suffers this sort of injury lives to tell the tale.”

I had a little difficulty finding my voice as my throat was so dry, but I managed, “Thanks, doc. I guess I owe you one.”

He patted my hand, gave the chart to the nurse who was accompanying him and left the room. For the first time since arriving I was alone and awake. I took advantage of the time to do some serious thinking.

What really was important to me? Was it my burgeoning career as a concert artist or my relationship with Cindy? It occurred to me that a lot was riding on the answer to that one, not only for me but her as well.

Before all this happened, I couldn’t understand the question. I was so obsessively focused on my playing that I failed to show Cindy any attention whatsoever. But now, it seemed I was finally figuring out that maybe my priorities were a little out of whack. The remaining question was, if it was too late to make it up to her?

Just then Cindy walked back into the room looking about as tired as I felt. As she approached me I couldn’t help but smile. I think I saw a smile on her face as well.

She reclaimed her seat beside my bed and said, “You’re looking a little better this morning. How are you feeling?”

“Better thanks. How are you holding up? I know you must be exhausted after spending all this time sitting here.”

“I’ll survive. What’s important is getting you better.”

My heart melted when she said that as I’m pretty sure she noticed, since she then smiled at me. I’d forgotten how that smile made me feel.

Deciding to pursue the course of action I had thought about before she came in I said, “I know that maybe it’s too little too late, but I’m sorry.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know I’ve let myself kind of ignore you much of the time lately. I would love nothing more than to be able to make that up to you.”

She started to get a little misty-eyed, but looked away before it became full-fledged crying.

I wasn’t sure how to interpret her actions. At first I thought maybe she just didn’t want me to see her crying, but that couldn’t be it. We’d seen each other cry before and I couldn’t understand why she would try to hide it from me. That led to my mind running amok wondering what was going on.

The more I thought about it, the deeper I fell. I came to the realization that if a heart made a sound when sinking, mine would have made it hard to hear anything else at that moment. Cindy noticed this and started to cry more openly.

As I watched her I too started to cry. Through my tears I asked, “So is it too late?”

She looked at me with her eyes glistening and by way of response took my hand in hers and leaned over to kiss it. My heart, which mere moments before had fallen into the depths of despair, soared above the clouds as the joy exploded within me.

“There are still a couple of issues that need to be addressed,” I said trying to sound as serious as I could.

Her face clouded as she wracked her brain trying to figure out what I might be meaning. Seeing that I had her confused, which was my intent, I asked, “So will you be moving back in with me?”

The clouds parted and her face shone bright as she said, “Yes!”

“Good. Now, I guess I need to make this official. Will you marry me?”

She smiled so widely it nearly blinded me, then she raised her left hand to show me that the engagement ring was already back on her finger. Silently she stood up, moved in close, and bent over me. She kissed me gently, which set off fireworks inside my heart.

We were interrupted by the entrance of two gentlemen in suits who, as they walked toward us, held up badges indicating they were with the police department. The first one said, “Kyle Bronson? I’m Detective Sanders,” then indicating his associate, “and this is Detective Frost. Might we have a moment of your time?”

Cindy spoke before I had the chance, “He’s awfully tired. He’s been through a horrible ordeal. Can’t you give him a little peace?”

“Ma’am, we really only need a moment of his time and we promise we’ll be gentle.”

I found my voice and said, “It’s okay, Cin. Let them ask their questions.”

“Thank you sir. Now, how much do you remember of the attack?”

“More than I’d like, I can tell you that for sure.”

“Then I assume you’d have no trouble identifying your assailant?”

“I will never forget Dr. Wyler’s face, no matter how much I may wish I could.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bronson. That’s really all I needed for now.”

Cindy jumped in, “Wait a minute! What do you mean ‘all you needed for now’?”

Detective Frost, who up to that point had remained silent said, “The fact is, we have a signed confession from Dr. Wyler. However, our District Attorney likes to have all his ducks in a row so to speak, so he wanted to make sure if necessary we could count of you for testimony.”

I looked at each of them before responding, “I remember every second, up until he stabbed me and if it means putting him away I will repeat every detail for whoever needs to hear it.”

Detective Sanders then said, “Thank you for your time. If necessary, we’ll be in touch concerning any possible court appearances.” Then both gentlemen turned and left us once again alone.

Following the detectives’ departure we continued hashing things out. There were still a lot of things left to work out, but at least we knew we would continue to work on them.

When Sarah arrived later that day, she took one look at Cindy and myself and said, “I see the two of you have made up?”

“Looks that way,” Cindy said as she cracked another one of those blinding smiles.

“Thanks,” I said to Sarah.

“For what?” she asked, confused.

“For being such a good friend.”

She too smiled radiantly, leaving me wishing I had a good pair of sunglasses. We spent the remainder of the day talking about nothing in particular. It was possibly the best day we’d had in a long time.

Over the next couple of days I had a myriad of visitors, ranging from Dr. Caroll, who actually came by every evening on her way home from the school, to a few members of the orchestra who just wanted to let me know that they were all looking forward to my return. It all had a very warm and fuzzy feeling, making me feel more liked and appreciated than I had ever felt in my life.

The doctors eventually got me up and walking, saying that I needed to do it in order to regain my strength. On one of my first therapeutic strolls, Sarah was keeping me company, “So have you and Cindy talked about your dressing?”

“Not really. I know we need to, but the opportunity hasn’t really arisen yet.”

“Don’t put it off too long. This is an important factor in your relationship, like it or not.”

“I know. I’ve reached a point where whether or not I want to admit it, I need to dress more than just when I’m playing. I’m hoping we can figure out a way for it all to work out,” I said as I sighed.

I was really starting to slow down and Sarah noticed, “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?”

I took as deep a breath as I could without causing pain and said, “Yeah. Can we head back to the room?”

When we arrived at my hospital room, I had an unexpected visitor. “Kyle, it’s so good to see you up and about,” said Dr. Parkinson as he rushed over to help me back into bed.

“Thank you sir, you have no idea how good it feels to hear that. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“When my star soloist suffers injuries that threaten to postpone his much anticipated appearances, I take it upon myself to check up on him. So how are you feeling?”

“Still weak, but getting better, sir.”

“Have they told you anything about when you might be getting out of here? What about restrictions to activities?”

“Not really, though I’m starting to get a little antsy not having a piano to practice on,” I joked prompting a round of laughter from everyone in the room.

Before leaving, Dr. Parkinson assured me that should I not be out of the hospital in time my upcoming appearances could and would be rescheduled. I wasn’t really worried about that at the time, but it was good to know all the same.

Later that day I was again walking the halls, this time with Cindy in tow. “There is still something we need to talk about,” I said in as low a voice as could be audible.

“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?” she quipped.

“I’m serious.”

“Sirius died in the fifth book.”

I started to laugh but had to stop because of the pain it brought on. Once I had myself back under control I said, “No kidding around this time. We really do need to talk about this.”

“I know,” she replied.

“When we first met things were different. The clothes were just something to help me focus my thoughts away from the minutiae of playing so the music could flow better. But as time has passed I’ve reached a point where not only do I really like wearing them, I feel like I need to.”

“I won’t lie. This doesn’t thrill me, but I’ve done a lot of thinking the last few days. I’ve realized that what I’ve had a problem with in our relationship hasn’t been the dressing as much as it’s been the fact that you have been so self absorbed.”

“I know,” I said as I started to slow down due to exhaustion. “All I can do is promise to try not to let it happen. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try.”

She came around in front of me and stopped, causing me to stop as well. “I guess that’s all I can ask,” she said as she stepped closer to me and kissed me there in the corridor.

As she stepped back from the kiss she added, “Now, you are looking like you need to lay back down. Let’s get you to your room so you can rest.”

I must have been even more tired than I thought, because the next thing I knew my parents were sitting beside my bed patiently waiting for me to wake up. As I slowly achieved consciousness and recognized them I asked, “What are you guys doing here? Weren’t you on that trip you had talked about taking since I was like two?”

My mom was the first to respond, “I’m sorry we weren’t here sooner. We never should have decided to go to Australia. We got here as fast as we could. Are you okay?”

“A little tender still, but yeah.”

My dad then said, “You gave us quite a scare, young man.”

I looked at them and realized that they both appeared extremely tired. When I thought about it I could understand why, however that knowledge did nothing to dissuade my guilt at being the reason. As I was thinking about all of that, the only response I could come up with was, “I’m sorry.”

That did it. My mother burst into tears, quickly followed by Dad and myself. I don’t know how long we cried, but we didn’t stop until after we had run out of tissues.

Mom and Dad, joined by Cindy for much of the time, stayed with me all evening, right up until the nurses were physically threatening to have them all removed from my bedside. Suffice it to say by then I was completely exhausted and was probably asleep before they reached the parking garage.

Everyone was present at 8am the next morning when my doctor came in and started giving us all instructions about what to do in terms of wound care. I must have been the last to get the memo, because I was the only person even tempted to ask, “Does this mean I get to go home?”

The doctor looked at me as if I should already know the answer before with a twinkle in his eye he said, “Well, duh!” That prompted a peel of laughter all around the room, which momentarily stopped the home care instructions.

After covering everything from limitations to my activity to changing my wound dressings, I was released from my doctor’s care and sent on my merry way. On the way home it suddenly occurred to me that when last I saw it, our apartment was in a fairly severe state of disrepair. Understanding what I was thinking from the look on my face, Cindy tried to reassure me that all had been tended to. I hoped she was right.

As promised, everything was back in order around casa Bronson. Even, to my surprise and delight, my digital piano…or a reasonable facsimile. I made for the keyboard a bit like a junkie for his dealer, and much like that junkie I visibly relaxed as my fingers stroked the keys.

Once we were settled back in Mom and Dad decided to leave us alone for a while, much to my delight. Cindy and I retired to the bedroom so we could properly be reacquainted.

Later as I was practicing, sans headphones, Cindy interrupted me saying, “Kyle, there are still a couple of things we need to cover.”

Taking my cue, I lifted my hands from the keyboard and switched it off before joining her on the couch. Once settled in together I asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“If we’re going to make it, I need to know that I’m not second or third in your life. I’m not going to delude myself into thinking I can expect to be the clear number one in your life. I know your music is incredibly important to you. That’s your career after all. But if I’m going to have to always take a back seat to that and your dressing, then we’re not going to make it.”

I swallowed hard. I suspected this was coming, but that didn’t make it any less stressful being confronted. I looked meaningfully into her eyes before responding, “I didn’t realize I was forcing you to take a back seat before. I’m sorry. I promise you that won’t happen again and it won’t.”

She smiled and moved closer to give me a kiss. At that moment I couldn’t even remember what a piano was, let alone know how to play it. In other words, life was good.
 

*          *          *
 
Backstage was becoming a familiar place for me, but that didn’t mean I was immune to the nerves that played havoc with me just before I performed. Luckily, this time I had my secret weapon against nerves…Cindy. As we waited for my time to walk out on stage to perform the first of two concerti that evening, she held my hand and through that connection passed to me a sense of peace that I doubt I would have had on my own.

We listened as the Civic Orchestra was taken through it’s paces on first the Wagnerian concert staple “The Ride of the Valkyrie” and then the “Bolero” by Maurice Ravel. As we sat there listening I found it easier to ignore the butterflies, so I made a point of not thinking about what was to come.

Cindy seemed to understand what I was doing and simply sat there with me, holding my hand and looking at me. She did reach over every once in a while and act like she was straightening the ruffles on the front of my blouse, or checking to make sure the cuffs were just so. Mostly however she looked into my face and tried to send me all the love she could.

I found myself overcome by the moment during the Bolero and by it’s end had kissed each of her hands, her cheek, nose, and especially her lips enough times for it to seem almost indecent. I don’t think I had ever felt as close to her as I did at that moment. If I had ever had any questions about our love they were long gone.

As I walked out on stage I was overcome by the sheer intensity of the audience’s welcome. Many of them may have heard me play before, but I was sure they had all heard about what had happened between Dr. Wyler and myself. It almost felt like they wanted me to know that what he did would never be allowed again. There was a love in that concert hall that filled me with such warmth as I had never before experienced. I felt truly lucky.

Sitting at the piano, I allowed all the swirling emotions to flood my senses and, once I began playing, channel them into a performance that I hoped would be memorable enough to overshadow all the problems in everyone’s memories.

I knew right away that this rendition would bear little resemblance to my first performance of the work. That one was so full of pain and broken heartedness, but this one was filled with joy and love and peace. Perhaps not everyone would notice the difference, but for those that did I hoped this version would be the one they preferred. Even as I played it, I knew it would be for me.

Where before, being conscious of the bra straps and the silk and lace served as a distraction preventing me from derailing my performance, starting with that night it simply served as a comfort that allowed me to control my nerves. Where before, if I caught sight of the light glinting off of my manicured and polished fingernails it would have kept me from worrying about some minute detail of the performance, that night it simply looked right to me. That’s how I knew I truly was maturing as a musician.

As my thoughts wandered through the performance, it wasn’t all joy and light. The memory of my confrontations with Dr. Wyler forced their way to the surface letting their darkness color my playing with some of the pain I’d infused the piece with before. But even with that, there was still so much love pouring out of my heart as I played that it couldn’t be overshadowed by something as weak as bad memories.

I concluded the Mozart and was treated to an outpouring of appreciation that brought a tear to my eye. I’d heard audiences applaud my work before, but this was different. Before, I had always appeared as a student and had been treated as such. The crowds were appreciative, but this was different. Most of them were here specifically to hear me play. Not like at recitals at school, but simply because they wanted to hear what I could do.

It wouldn’t be right to say I felt obligated to acknowledge the audience, but I definitely felt as appreciative of them as they seemed to be of me. I had wanted to play my best regardless, but on that night in front of that audience, my desire to communicate through my music pushed me beyond anything I’d ever before accomplished. On that night, I began to understand the true power and nature of music.

When I rejoined Cindy backstage for intermission it was clear to see she’d been crying. “Why the tears?” I asked as I gave her a huge hug.

She returned the hug and replied, “It was just so beautiful.”

I gave her an additional squeeze, then eased the strength of the hug so I could kiss her. Maybe I wasn’t as discreet as I could have been, but the truth was I didn’t care who saw us. I was in love and I was enjoying the moment with the one I loved.

Following intermission, the orchestra reclaimed their positions on stage and once they were ready, I joined them to the sounds of an ovation that threatened to knock me over as I made my way to the piano once again.

As I took my seat, I couldn’t help but feel I was the luckiest guy in the world. I had a girl who loved me, plus the ability to touch other peoples’ souls merely by playing the piano. Put simply, life was good.

Dr. Parkinson mounted the podium and raised his baton, which brought the entire hall to silence. He looked at me and I at him in a way that communicated more than words ever could. Where Dr. Wyler had always had an undercurrent of lust in his gaze when he looked at me, Dr. Parkinson’s felt more like a parent watching his child. That look was not only one way, as I too felt like our relationship had taken on a parent/child dynamic.

With a subtle nod I signaled my readiness and watched as he raised his hands signaling to the ensemble that we were ready to begin. From the very first note, I felt a surge of emotions cascading from the orchestra. When I began playing I rode the wave, adding my own emotions to the surge. It washed over the audience as well and by the end of the concerto, everyone in the hall was emotionally exhausted.

I could barely stand up from the piano when the time came, from physical fatigue yes, but also from emotional exhaustion. The audience, the orchestra, and Dr. Parkinson felt the same thing as we all rose to our feet together in acknowledgement of the artistic moment we had all just participated in.

When I had once again made it backstage, Cindy was waiting for me with open arms. As the orchestra played the opening phrase of “Don Juan”, we quietly made our way to the stage door in search of a few moments alone.

That night as I drifted off to sleep I recalled the words of my theory professor, “There are no wrong notes, only passing tones.” I came to realize he was speaking as much about life as music. At that moment I vowed to live my life by that tidbit of wisdom.
 
 
There are no mistakes,
 
                                                            only passing tones.
 
 

 
 
Richard Wagner, The Ride of The Valkyrie
http://www.archive.org/audio/audio-details-db.php?collection...

Maurice Ravel, Bolero
http://www.amazon.com/gp/recsradio/radio/B00002MXMX/ref=pd_k...

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...

Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...

Richard Strauss, Don Juan
http://www.amazon.com/gp/recsradio/radio/B00000J7BR/ref=pd_k...
 
 
Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

---