Music

Part 1

Wolfgang sat motionlessly in front of his piano.  A barely discernible draft of air tickled the single dancing flame of a small oil lantern nearby, causing the shadows to slip across the worn hardwood floors and dance across the walls and high ceiling of his home in silent pendulum against the light.  Outside, the darkness permeated everything but the small globes of light from the lamp posts which kept their quiet vigil over the empty streets of Vienna.  Even more invasive than the darkness was the absolute silence which crept into even the tiniest corners of the city and took hold, daring anything to disturb it.  Nothing moved. 

At last, the hunched figure began to show signs of life.  His eyes opened, and he flexed his hand before lifting a brimming wine glass to his lips and taking a long draught.  Turning, he reached to a small table and set the glass down.  It made a small thump as it touched the table and he cringed ever so slightly at the sound.  He turned back to the piano and ran his hands carefully and slowly over the keys.  He felt the familiar touch of ivory beneath his fingertips, felt them welcome his caress.  For a long moment he sat in silence.  Then he began to play. 

The music rippled gently through the night air, making its way casually through the room, parting the awed silence as a returning hero through an adoring throng, slipping easily through thin panes of window glass and poorly insulated walls and out into the world.  Sleeping creatures in dark alleys lifted their heads and perked their ears to better witness the unexpected parade, as each note made its grand arrival, then stepped delicately back into its carriage and rolled away into the darkness. 

Two walls away, Emma Bardeau stirred in her bed.  She had been trying to fall asleep for nearly an hour but had been unable to slow the endless flow of thoughts in her head enough to do it.  The whirlwind of images had just begun to dissolve themselves into the surreal experiences of dreams when a small part of her suddenly realized that the music she heard wasn’t coming from inside her head.  The gently rising and falling melody that embraced her dreams and massaged away her worries was coming from outside the confines of her small but tidy room.  So rare and so welcome was the occasion to hear it, it was all she could do to bring herself back to the waking world, determined not to let so much as a moment of the music go unheard. 

Emma nudged the sleeping figure at her side. 

“George!” 

George, already invested in his own adventures, stirred noncommittally in his sleep. 

“Wake up George, he’s playing again!” 

“Hmm?”  George turned his head was suddenly awake. 
“Oh....” 

The pair lay quietly together in the bed, letting the gentle waves of music lap at the shores of their consciousness long into the night, until at last they allowed themselves to slip beneath it, into the most deep and restful sleep either of them had enjoyed in a long, long time. 

Part 2

Two hundred and twenty years or so later, on the other side of the Earth, I make my way carefully up the lightly creaking stairs to my room.  A fresh cup of coffee (made with a little Irish cream) threatens to overflow with each step and I keep careful control of it as I make my way to the chair and sit down.  I press a key on the keyboard and a screen flares to life, casting a steady white glow into the room.  For a while, I sit motionlessly at my desk, staring vacantly at it.  The constant hum from the fans inside my computer tower has become a part of my night, and I barely notice it.  The carpeted floors and textured paint in my small apartment are excellent noise dampeners; I can’t even make out the sound of the humidifier in the next room, humming its own hum in the dull red rhythmic pulse of the two blinking dots on the alarm clock.   Another clock in the corner of my screen reads 3:12 AM. 

With one hand, I bring the coffee cup to my lips and take a long pull.  With my other, I manipulate the small wireless optical mouse smoothly across the frayed blue mouse pad until the arrow on the screen hovers expectantly over the appropriate place.  Click click.  With a few more barely perceptible motions of my wrist, I highlight a selection on the screen.  This I drag and drop into a waiting playlist portion of my media player program.  I check the volume of my speakers, ensure I haven’t left the sound muted, double check that the green plug is in the green receptacle and put on a set of headphones.  For a second I wonder what I want to listen to. 

“Today,” I think to myself, “I’ll let fate decide.” 

I click the mouse again, this time instructing the program to play all 6000 or so songs in random order.  I never know what I’m going to get next, so each time I go through this ritual I have the opportunity to be surprised.  But I’m not surprised tonight.  Tonight a familiar beat and a familiar voice pumps its familiar melody into my ears, drowning out even the hum of the fans.  I’ve heard it before. 

I’ve heard them all before.  Music is a constant presence in my life.  The alarm clock played music to wake me up this morning.  I listened to reedy sounding music coming from the bathroom, squeaking from the waterproof shower radio and tickling my eardrums as I lay stubbornly in bed while my fiancée Jen took her morning shower.  I heard it coming up the stairs from the TV as she made her breakfast, tuned to one of the hundreds of music channels available through the cable box.  I listened to it in my jeep as I went to class.  Everywhere portable media players and stereos blast music into my head until I know all of the words to every song. 

Fast forward.  Fast forward.  No... Click... heard it... click... heard it... click... oh what’s this?  I pause, and close my eyes.  A smile creeps onto my face as I let my consciousness become flooded with the music.  I sit back in my chair with my coffee and glance at the name of the artist whose music had softly struck my mind into peaceful contemplation and tucked the rest of the night firmly out of sight.  The name scrolls across the screen and I nod my head unconsciously when I see it.  Wolfgang... Amadeus... Mozart.  I can almost see him.