It was a quaint morning in the month of September when
Allan decided to go for a walk and take me with him. I loved when Allan came to
visit, he would always treat me like a smart kid, and he would always listen to
me. We would walk and talk about dreams and funny things to think at the park. Going
for a walk was always only a prologue to long days of adventures with my
older brother because the park led to a portentous forest, which contrastingly
led to a breath-taking promontory. There, the sea would softly dance
with the clouds in perfect synchrony at this time of the year, and Allan and I
would crawl up the ponderous rocks to watch the whole spectacle in
silence. However, this particular morning was different. Despite the portent
of a high percent of rain, he got me a strawberry home-made ice-cream and he
got some coffee for himself. Besides, this time, the promontory had to wait
because something had caught my ears. Not my eye, my ears. Right after we got
our ice-creams and left the shop, I heard the soft voice of an unknown instrument.
It was calling me from far away. My attention went from the conversation of a
pair of ladies, who loved to prate about the new mayor in town, to the
swift sound that ran through my eardrums. I sprint towards the main square,
ice-cream cone in hand, and Allan followed me, sipping his cup of coffee at
times. I ably followed my heart to the nucleus of this new mystery, and there
she was. A fair young woman was playing a prodigal cello in the center of the
square. The humming of the bow with the strings had a potent effect in
me. It made my smile, and feel sad, and feel angry, all at the same time. Allan
finally made it there. “Don’t ever do that again, Scarlet! I almost dropped my
coffee,” he said in a playful way, because he would never scold me for
anything. He had always said he loved my boldness. Then he stayed quiet, for a
new song had started. The cellist was so focused on the making of sound that
she didn’t seem to care about her bleeding fingers. She was so fair, so
delicate you’d ever imagine her being profane in any manner. I walked
around her with the music still humming in the air. I examined her every
movement, and that was when I found something interesting. She had hung a small
sign on her back that read, “Excuse if I interrupt your daily activities, all I
need is a little bit of money to pay for my music career. If you desire for me
to stop playing you may say so, but I won’t stop fighting for music until I
finish up school. Thank you for your attention. Enjoy.” Her dedication
captivated me. Fighting for what you loved seemed a great precept to
enjoy life by, and I asked Allan to help the young woman a little bit. When she
finally opened her eyes, Allan and I applauded her. My brother put a
fifty-dollar bill into her pocket with discretion, and I thanked her for being
beautiful and for showing me that beauty could exist in your ears as much as it
fits in your eyes. That is all I
remember. To this day I still don’t know what was of her, or if she ever
wondered what was of me, but all I know is that I am leading a concert with my
own cello, and I am playing for Allan and for her.
