So They Say
Clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and smacking pool balls are all covered by a thin haze of smoke. The barista and waitresses are dressed in translucent tops and six inch skirts, flaunting what they have with every step of their three-inch stilettos. A lone, nearly melted candle rests at the center of each table.
“Five minutes, Ms. Milani.”
“Thank you, five.”
My voice feels raspy, so I sip my lemon water. Staring at my image in the mirror, I see my eyes staring back at me from the face of a woman who could be a senior citizen. We wear the same forlorn expression, but she cannot possibly be me. Wrinkles crease her forehead and the corners of her eyes as if she has thought too hard about something for too long. The skin around her cheeks sags slightly as if it is too heavy for her slender frame, but the laugh lines suggest a better place, a happier time-
The compact in my hand slips and clatters to the floor, cracking the powder inside. Wearily, I retrieve it and finish the hasty application of my makeup. As I complete my lips, my eyes involuntarily close as a memory envelops me-
-His eyes on mine, the feeling of being the only two people in the world, his scent: subtle and inviting but not overwhelming, his hand on my chin as he lifts my lips to his-
“Thirty seconds, Ms. Milani.”
The memory vanishes like a puff of smoke. Another sip of water and I’m in the wings of the rundown stage. The seedy manager introduces me, and I’m on.
Usually, they don’t listen; I’m just another voice in the room, but tonight, tonight something is different. Their eyes are on me in a way I have not felt in years, as if I am something to be desired. The piano ambles through the intro, and I begin to sing.
“They say that falling in love is wonderful
It’s wonderful, so they say.”
Conversations grind to a halt, pool sticks are held still, drinks are placed on the tables, every face gazes my way with rapt attention.
“And with the moon up above it’s wonderful
It’s wonderful, so they tell me.”
And suddenly, I’m not breathing in the secondhand smoke or squinting in the dim light of the hole-in-the-wall joint. My dress no longer scratches my skin, and my ears can’t hear the slightly flat piano.
I’m a sapphire gem in the spotlight.
The deep blue fabric feels like cool silk on my skin, and the blinding light that bathes the spot where I stand gives it an otherworldly glow. The heels give me two fairly unsteady inches, and my jewelry glistens and refracts a thousand colors, looking like so many stars resting on my collarbone.
The auditorium is full to bursting, and yet there is not a sound from the people in attendance: not a rustle, cough, or sneeze to break the music’s spell; all are enthralled, hanging onto my every note.
My voice feels like liquid silver, smooth and perfect, gliding through the song with ease. A slight smile tugs the corners of my lips as I finish:
“In every way, so they say.”
The applause is thunderous; two curtain calls and one standing ovation later, I’m backstage in a crowd of admirers.
“You were WONDERFUL!”
“That was fantastic!”
“I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“Do you ever sing for an audience of one?”
My eyebrows betray my utter delight, and I struggle to compose my face as I turn.
His smile could power the spotlight. He wraps me in a warm, tight hug that I gladly return. I ask him to wait while I finish greeting everyone, and half-an-hour later, we are alone.
“You really were amazing,” he says as we walk to my car. Blushing, I reply, “Thanks,” glad that the darkness is hiding my face. I’m very aware of where he is, how our fingers almost meet with every step, how he shortens his stride to match my own.
“I wasn’t kidding before when I asked if you ever sing for a solo audience,” he remarks. “I could listen to you sing forever.”
Flattered, I nearly lose my nerve, but I manage to reply, “You’re sweet, and I can sing for a single person. I’m told it’s the same as singing for a host of thousands, except you don’t need an auditorium.”
“So they say,” he grins.
I stop at my car, desperate for more time with him, but knowing I have to go.
“Well, so long,” I begin, but before I can finish, I’m in his arms again, the hug even tighter than before. I relax into him, basking in his warmth and strength. I don’t miss the kiss he places on the crown of my head.
“I’ll see you in rehearsal tomorrow,” he says. Softer, almost in a whisper, he adds, “Goodnight, Nathalie.”
“Goodnight, Aaron.”
* * *
I feel like a crazed fan girl. Still in school and without a moment to myself, I manage to make time to watch him out of the corner of my eye in rehearsals. Every word he says makes my heart pound and my palms sweat; it is a wonder that I can even speak around him.
Two weeks after my recital, our choir performs. The intricate melodies mingle and twist together, forming a cocoon of music that settles over the room. In the middle of the piece, I feel my soul rise in my body; the piece crescendos to a climax, and tears prick my eyes. Safe in the music, I allow a single tear of pure joy to fall. I am never happier than when I am singing, a passion we both share.
We hug after the concert, both smiling and happy. I allow myself a few seconds to memorize his face and the smile meant for only me.
* * *
Bonded by a love of music and a love of each other’s voices, we continue singing together. I always wonder how he feels but never ask; I’ve been hurt too many times to want to let someone else in, but he finds a way in anyway. He slips in, stealthily weaving his way through all of my defenses and precautions, but I do not realize it until we get talking on our way to a rehearsal.
“How’s school?”
“Busy, insane, great. The usual. How’s work?”
“About the same.” Silence, then, “You know, I never did have you sing after that recital, did I?”
“Wha-oh! Right. I’d forgotten about that,” I lie as we drive into the parking lot. “Do you want me to sing now?”
“Well, we are early.” He pulls into the closest space to the building and parks the car. Turning to look at me, he adds, “Besides, it will be a good warm up for you.” His look is teasing and playful, but his eyes say something else, something deeper.
I can feel my cheeks flushing as I remove my seatbelt and turn to him. Thinking my first note I clear my throat, look into his eyes, and begin to sing:
“They say that falling in love is wonderful
It’s wonderful, so they say.
And with the moon up above it’s wonderful
It’s wonderful, so they tell me.
I can’t recall who said it
I know I never read it
I only know that falling in love is grand
And the thing that’s known as romance
Is wonderful, wonderful
In every way
So they say.”
And as I take a breath to go on, he begins to sing. Struck dumb, I listen, basking in his voice but never breaking eye contact. His voice is deep and rich, filling the car like a warm bubble bath:
“Rumors fly and they often leave without
But you’ve come to the right place to find out
Ev’rything that you’ve heard is really so
I’ve been there once or twice and I should know
You’ll find that falling in love is wonderful
It’s wonderful, so they say.”
He pauses; our faces are mere centimeters apart now. I can hear our breathing in the silent car. Staring into his eyes, emotions flood my body, stunning me. Joy, excitement, and passion that I never knew existed burst through all of my protective walls. I feel the urge to kiss him, to tell him how I truly feel, but at the last second, he breaks the spell.
“We should go inside.”
My face is completely blank as I gather my things and exit the car. I feel my mind reeling with the new discovery of my feelings for him. I spend all of rehearsal watching him, sneaking looks across the room, and trying to figure out how he feels about me. After rehearsal, he offers to drive me home again, and I accept. We sing to the radio and talk some more until we get back to my school.
“Thanks again for the ride. See you in a few days?” I turn to open the door when-
“Nathalie?” His voice stops me.
“Mhmm?”
“I’m sorry if things felt…awkward before.”
“It’s alright. I mean, I hadn’t expected you to sing and then I got caught up in your voice and then everything went quiet and I couldn’t breathe and-“
“Shhh.” He puts his finger to my lips, locking eye contact. “You chatter when you are nervous.”
Now I can’t speak. My whole body tingles as he leans in, and my eyes close as our lips meet. He is gentle and cautious, almost hesitant, and it doesn’t last long. When we part, he watches me carefully as if unsure how I will react. I feel my lips smile as I meet his gaze.
“You know,” I slowly begin, “Four days is an awfully long time before I see you again. I might meet someone else. I think I may need a stronger incentive to come to rehearsal.” I give him a sly grin as I say this.
His face lights up the way it did at my recital. Grinning, he kisses me again, this time wrapping his arms around me to pull me close in the small space. We stay there for a long time.
* * *
Each day I wake and sleep with a smile on my face, each day we talk and laugh, and each time we see each other, the kiss is like that first one: careful and hesitant but with something else underneath. His hugs are warmer, his smiles brighter, and his lips softer. We sing along to everything, inventing harmonies to familiar tunes or just letting our voices blend in a beautiful unison.
Our first fight is over something stupid, a simple misunderstanding. He calls to wish me luck on my exams, but I don’t answer; I am hanging out with my friends instead of studying. He scolds me for not “taking school seriously,” but I shoot back that I aced the exam anyway. I yell that he is trying to be my parent and that I have people to do that job already. We do not speak for two days, but we make up before graduation. I want him there to see me graduate top of my class. He promises me a graduation present and says it isn’t ready yet but that I’ll know when it is.
He gives me my present in July on our seven month anniversary. I spend the day with him. We walk in the park together, eat together, watch movies together, and we spend the night together. It is my first time; he knows this. He is the perfect gentleman, slowly guiding me and teaching me. Afterwards, he holds me in his arms until I fall asleep.
We spend the summer together, taking walks, seeing films, eating out. My parents approve, his have no qualms. Everything is beautiful.
* * *
My music is so much stronger now. I sing all the time, inspired by every little thing. Work conspires to keep us apart, but we find ways to stay close: phone calls on breaks, texts, notes left on each other’s respective Facebook pages. We greet each other with song every chance we get, especially with our song.
But there is one smudge on our perfect relationship, one constant fight that we cannot seem to resolve: my walking to work. Many times I leave for work and he is there in his car, waiting for me. I insist on walking for the fresh air and good exercise, but he insists it is dangerous and that I will get hurt.
I leave early for work today. There is not a cloud in the sky, and a gentle breeze brushes my cheek the same way his fingertips do. I hum while walking, soaking up every ray of sunlight, every ounce of beauty from the trees and flowers. As I draw near to my workplace, I see him on the other side of the road, waiting for me. I send a smile his way and begin to cross the street.
His expression changes to a look of horror. Screams, screeching tires, and honking horns assault my ears as I fly through the air and land back on the sidewalk. Ears ringing and palms stinging, it takes me a full minute to realize what has happened. An inhuman cry escapes my lips as I rush to his side.
“Aaron? Aaron!”
His head is in a small pool of blood. There are various scrapes and cuts on his arms. His right leg is bent at an odd angle. One eye is beginning to bruise, but his gaze is not glassy and unfocused yet. He turns toward my voice and smiles slightly.
“I-did-warn-you.”
Each word takes so much effort for him to say; he probably has some broken ribs. The tears start to flow, and I don’t even realize it.
“Please don’t! You can’t! The ambulance will be here soon. You’ll be fine. I can’t lose you!”
He reaches up and strokes my cheek with his fingertips.
“I love you.”
I sob and lean down, kissing him; he kisses me back.
* * *
“Is wonderful, wonderful
In every way
So they say.”
A single tear trickles down my face, leaving a track through my foundation and powder. I’m met with raucous, drunken applause and wolf-whistles. I manage a small smile and a curtsy before I leave the stage.
Back in my dressing room, I give myself over to the memories. Tears flow more freely as I slip off the heels that threaten to break my ankles. Slumping into the chair before my mirror, I feel the deadweight of his lifeless body in my arms after kissing me with his dying breath. I remember refusing to leave his side when the paramedics arrive. They say the cause of death is massive internal injuries compounded with a severe concussion. I’m in shock; I do not eat or sleep for a week, and every time I close my eyes, the scenario plays out again and again.
At the funeral, they ask me to sing; I barely make it through the piece. I have to leave and compose myself before the burial. Afterwards, I don’t sing again for twenty years. I close myself off from affection and human ties for fear of what awaits those who love me. Worry lines etch themselves into my forehead, and I am gray by forty-five.
One night the pain gets to be too much, and I end up in the ER in a coma. The doctors think I am gone.
It is bliss to no longer exist, but as the light appears for me, someone stands in the way.
His scent hits me first, and I am convinced that I am dead. I reach out for him, and he takes my hand in his; it is solid. We might as well be the only two people in the whole world. His hand gently strokes my jaw before tilting my chin up. When our lips meet, it is as if no time has passed. Five minutes or five years later, he breaks the kiss but continues to hold me close, whispering in my ear:
“I love you. I always have and always will, but you must stop dwelling on the past; it is not your time to go yet. I miss you terribly, but I would not have been able to bear you dying that day. I acted on impulse to save the woman I love, a woman who is worth dying for. You are not to blame. I knew what I was doing. And please go back to your music; the world is a much sadder place without it. I will see you again, but please, if not for you then for me, live your life.”
He kisses me once more and I’m falling back into my body. My eyes burn from the bright hospital lights overhead. The doctors say it is a miracle; the number of sleeping pills I took should have killed me. They keep me under observation for two weeks.
Two days before I’m due to be released, I find myself humming softly. It’s a simple tune, “Simple Gifts” in fact, but I can feel my strength and sanity slowly seep back into my body. My guilt over his death begins to lessen, and I feel more alive than I have the past twenty years.
After my discharge, I do not know where to go; my twenty years of isolation severed all the human ties I had before. I decide to return home, to see my parents again. They are so much older than I remember, but so am I. They fill me in on some of what has happened since I left home. As it happens, one of my old school friends manages a chain of nightclubs. He is more than happy to offer me a job.
I know Aaron is watching over me so that someday we can fall in love again. Because falling in love is wonderful.
So they say.
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