2: Secret Smiles

“How many instruments do you play?”

Pulling out a guitar and tuning it, he replied, “Hmmm. Maybe ten? But that’s just enough to get by on my mother’s sphere. I can passably play a couple dozen. But guitar is really the best. Violin or fiddle too. And keyboards, but not as much.” He was already playing something lovely. A strumming melody that broke your heart open and set your soul free. I closed my eyes. I could feel it. The song was that feeling. The feeling of golden light. Warmth. The warmth that he was to me. The way that golden light made me feel. Peaceful. Content. All is right with the world. I saw a forest of golden ginkgo and maple. There were red maple leaves falling down, and down, and down. Was I dreaming? Was I awake? A single note from a guitar string faded. My eyes opened.

“What did you see?” he whispered.

“A memory of a dream. The best dream. What is it? What is that song?”

“The first song I wrote for a competition. I was fourteen. I knew I had to write it. I knew I’d enter it in the competition. I knew I wouldn’t win, but that I’d do it anyway. Have you heard this song?” He started playing something fast with a bouncing beat. I shook my head. He commanded his auto to play that same song over the speakers and started dancing. He grabbed me up by the hips and started through a series of dance steps. There was clapping and stomping like a line dance. Twirls and backwards and forwards.

When the song ended, he began again, “The guy who wrote that dance song won the contest, not me. Not with that song, though. There’s a lot of songs like that in mom’s world. People write songs and make up line dances that are super-easy for tourists to learn. Anyone can learn that dance in a minute and then walk out into the street for a festival and feel like they’re a part of the fun. Anyway, that’s not the song that won the contest. Here’s the winner:”

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The guitar became more than a guitar. It was a drum. It was ten guitars strumming. It was arpeggios and staccatos and fingers flying. It was every crescendo and all forte. It was furious. It was more sound than should have ever come out of one instrument. His eyes were closed, and his head was back. Music poured out of instrument and man. Man and sound and guitar were one being. I realized I was standing up with my left arm raised and my right hand patting my hip. The drum beats stopped and the music turned softer— coaxing and gentle. Then it was soft like a lullaby or a waltz or a breeze. His eyes opened and focused on the strings. It turned into something like a whisper against the ear. Like a sigh at the end of passion. Like a gasp just before a needle stick. Like a slow burn that left the room. A strum of a cord lingered. The sound died. I opened my eyes and saw his hooded eyes looking at mine.

“I never had a chance of winning that contest at fourteen. Took me 2 years to learn how to play this song. It’s called ‘Tempest’ by Miguel Lauton. Do you like it?”

“Ah? Ha?” It was kind of a chortle and a gasp at once. “That isn’t really a song, is it? It’s every hurricane of desire you’ve ever felt and the denouement without climax, isn’t it?”

“Hah!” he barked. “Well, I never really thought of it like that. I thought it was more about the heat of passion and the seduction of a dance. Dancing to this type of music? That’s the heart of Floreno, the dance of my mother’s people, though this piece is particulary complex.”

“Wait, but what about your song? It wasn’t “Tempest,” I know, but it’s so beautiful. It’s like it’s quintessentially you. It’s like I’ve been listening to it for years, even though I’ve never heard it before.”

He nodded. “And that’s how my whole life feels sometimes. That song is called ‘Before Dusk.’ It’s not really something anyone would dance to. Well, maybe you could just sort of slow dance and sway to it, but it’s more wistful. Like a lover just went out over the sea. Or you’re thinking of someone no longer here. Not really a lullaby, but something you’d want to hum if you missed someone. That’s more like my father’s home world, not mom’s wild, passionate world of dance. Hmm,” he chuckled softly. “It’s a song born of two worlds. So, I guess that is quintessentially me."