the book and the violin

I RAN AS FAST AS I COULD and yet every stride I took seemed like a step backward. I couldn’t escape from myself. It was foolish of course. And yet I persisted. Anywhere was better than where I was. I ran the miles against the wailing winds, bullets of raindrops and eternal shadows that swallowed that night. I took the roads that I thought I alone knew. I was alone. Exasperated. Almost hopeless.

Then I came into a halt. I caught my breath, my hands on my knees, struggling to gasp oxygen into my air-deprived heart and mind. I saw and sat on a wooden bench next to a dead lamp post, ominous in contrast to the trees beyond. I tried to think. But there was nothing that made sense that night; only noise invoked by the rain against the leaves of trees, my frozen skin, and everything else. There was nothing I could do but watch my feet. I was sitting along a narrow path of cobblestones, cold underneath me, leading towards a destination I didn’t know.

I was freezing. Rubbing my wet hands together was as pointless as lighting a cigarette in the middle of a storm. And in a heartbeat it stabbed me. It was loneliness darker than the night. I wept as camouflaged tears escaped my eyes. My sobs were muted by the storm that reflected what was deep inside my heart. The night and my heart was one.

I took out a small book from my pocket. It was my favorite book—a chronicles of poetry and stories I loved so much. I was about to open it when I heard something--sounds of disturbed puddles of water. Someone was coming and by the sound of it, was approaching in haste. I looked up and saw a young lady wearing a tarnished black dress. She looked at me with those eyes I knew so well. She was the last person I expected to see, but her presence was comforting nonetheless. It dawned to me that I was no longer alone. I was no longer the only person dripping wet in the rain. Barefoot. Crazy.

She sat beside me, a violin resting on her lap. She looked up to the heavens her long wet hair emphasized every inch of beauty the scarce light could touch on her face. And yet sadness was etched on it reflecting on mine with a shade of awe.

“Will you play something for me?” I asked. The rain dramatically toned down and turned into a shy drizzle. The clouds retreated revealing the stars. It was like the night wanted to listen.

She looked deep into my eyes into which I got lost. The next moment she was gracefully moving the bow back and forth against the strings of her violin. The saddest song echoed though the night in a melody that reverberated in the chambers of my heart. Tears fell from her eyes like rain water dripping from her violin. I felt the urge to heal her pain. I wished I could.

“Read me your favorite line.” She said after playing the last note of her song, her eyes fixed on the book I was holding then on me.

I opened it and read, “The moment we begin to seek love; love begins to seek us. And to save us.”

And then suddenly the lamp post came to life showering our path with a warm golden glow of light. She smiled and I returned it. Once there was darkness and then came hope.

“Will you come with me?” I asked offering my hand and beckoning her towards the path unknown. “I do not know where it leads, but I would like to take it with you.”

She willingly gave her hand and said, “I know the end of this road. It just depends on what you want it to be.”

“Then I am not lost anymore.” I decided.

She and I set out to take that road as I read my book while she played the violin, hoping we would end up on the same end as the soft rain fell like fireflies from the sky.

. . . . .

This scene burned in my head for quite some time now. I am glad I was able to immortalize it through words at last.