THE COMPOSER VALENTINA MISAS
AUSTRIA 1941 In his fury, the Composer shoved his music off the piano rest, notes clashing angrily as his body pushed against the piano. His heart beat rapidly; he couldn’t see straight; his vision clouded red. When would the music come back to him? Without noticing, he had managed to blow out all the candles he had lit previously, leaving him in total and complete darkness. Unable to resign himself to lighting them again, he left in a storm, huffing underneath his breath. He didn’t bother picking up the discarded music sheets from the floor. Footsteps echoing, he paced down the grandiose hallway of his home, his breathing leaving resounding notes. His mind in a whirlwind of thoughts, he had managed to subconsciously take himself to the place that he’d been avoiding for so many months now. Her smell was still tangible, almost as if she had left in a hurry and without thinking sprayed too much perfume as she sometimes did whenever she was rushed. Cecilia. Dust now danced in the air and onto her furniture. His eyes squinted to remember the familiarity of her room. He left her room the way she had left it, vibrant and full of life; although, now the colors had become muted and worn as if her room had become tired of breathing. Its life was gone now along with her warmth and vibrancy. She was gone. 68
Swallowing the knot in his throat, he blinked away the water that had managed to spring his eyes, turning his back to her room. She had brought the music, the sashaying notes that waltzed together, the joy in his heart when he played her melody. She had left a mark on him, to continue to play her music long after she had left. Don’t ever stop playing our music. Remember it. Ever since she had left, he couldn’t find that peace or joy anymore. As hard as he tried to compose again or to create a sweet melody like the one she had brought, The Composer simply couldn’t let himself play any other melody except hers. It left him angry and frustrated, leaving him in temper tantrums. His servants never came up to his quarters anymore. Instead he avoided them, wallowing in his misery by himself. He fought his insomnia day by day, trying his best to just create new, beautiful music . . . music that would’ve made Cecilia proud. The Composer sank to his feet where he had stood, losing all his anger and pride that had seized him before. He couldn’t fight the memories that her room evoked, the total and utter pain that bit him. He sat there crying like a young boy, losing all control of his inhibitions, letting loose the tears that had been plaguing him ever since her death. Losing all sense of time, he fell into a deep slumber having taken his body to her bed to smell her as he drifted off into sleep, finally allowing the embrace of sleep to take him away.