Welcome to the Write…Edit…Publish blog hop. The theme for this August edition is – Moonlight Sonata.
This wonderful and haunting melody was completed in 1801 and dedicated in 1802 to Beethoven’s pupil Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. Ludwig Van Beethoven’s 14th piano sonata was given the popular name Moonlight Sonata by a critic, five years after Beethoven’s death. He compared the first movement to a boat floating in the moonlight on Lake Lucerne.
The piece is one of Beethoven’s most popular compositions for the piano, and it was a popular favorite even in his own day.
I searched my computer and unearthed this pic of my piano sheet music. The bloghop is a gentle nudge to flex my stiff fingers, clean the cobwebs from my brain, get onto the piano and continue practising.
For this edition, I tried to experiment with Deep POV.
I imagine that this piece would fit into the ending of this story. However, it’s still rough around the edges, a work-in-progress. Please let me know what you think. Word count: 756 words.
Carmelita agreed to meet me one last time in the piano bar of the Skyy Hotel. The stunning rooftop location boasted 360 degrees of breathtaking ocean views and the humidity blanketed the city, a throwback to a summer afternoon twenty years earlier.
Five minutes late and out of breath, I approached the woman who stood at the far end of the room: a slim waiflike creature, dishevelled appearance as the ridiculous hot air plastered her straggly hair to her face, her cheeks; everything about her was dull, in contrast to the sparkle in her eyes.
I did a double take. But who was this creature?
“I didn’t think you would come.” The wrong words: weak and pathetic. I could have kicked myself.
Her gaze was direct, unnerving. Eyes that bored into my soul.
But my memory held another face, a familiar face and one which haunted my every waking moment; a face which did not exist, not anymore.
Her eyes blazed. “Is that all you can say? No surprises, I suppose. Still the same…male ego intact.”
Brooding and pensive words hit deep in the pit of my stomach.
This was not the re-connection I had hoped for.
I reached for her trembling hands and she flinched.
The opening strains of a melody intruded, and we both turned to face the bandstand. It was empty, except for a young man seated at a white baby grand piano, face upturned and eyes closed.
We stood motionless for a few minutes as the pianist’s story unfolded, the ebony and ivory collaboration filling the space with a sense of promise. The beautiful melody weaved its way into the atmosphere, both odd and comforting.
Unfamiliar hands rested in mine: damp, limp, trembling gently, while the electricity sparked lightly on the back of my neck.
A contemplative moment ensued and she looked at me, “Why are we here?”
“I had to see you, one last time.” Whatever you do, don’t blow this.
“You know this won’t change a thing, don’t you?” The words slammed into my solar plexus.
“You have to hear me out.”
She gently disengaged her hands, smoothed a runaway wisp of hair and the familiar, thin chain winked around her neck. My thumping heart beat just a fraction faster.
“Do I?” She turned away sharply, her silhouette etched against the dusky orange skyline, as the sun made a slow, steady descent.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. There’s no escaping the truth.” It was more of a concession than anything else. Who was I to even talk about escape?
“Us? There’s no us.”
Shadows danced in the dusk and nausea settled in my stomach. “There was… there could be… if you just face the truth…”
“Who’s truth? Mine? Yours?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever happened… that was a long time ago.”
“Far too long. People change. I’ve changed. You know nothing about me.”
“I know what we shared, and I know you felt it too.” I refused to budge.
Her eyes narrowed. “That was then. This is now. You are who you are. I am who I am. We cannot change what is.”
Dusk released the shadows and I swallowed hard. “Listen, it’s our song.”
The soft strains of the melody continued and the notes lingered on the edges of a subconscious idea – seeking, sensing… looking for a gap to slip in and weave its magic; like it had, so many times before.
“You idiot. You’ve ruined it. Forever.” Her eyes were daggers of disbelief.
“But I thought…”
“Thought what? That you could lure me here and then suck me in with the song? What a cheap shot.”
The melody gained momentum, the shadows beckoned but still I refused to succumb. “But it’s always been our good luck charm.”
“What a cheek! You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Still clinging to a distant memory. You need to let go.”
How many times had the song woven it’s magic?
The song was my only hope. “I can’t let go.”
“You have to. I’ve moved on.”
It was not to be. Not ever.
The pianist’s face glowed with passion. His fingers glided over the piano keys, as the melody built to a crescendo and silent tears streamed down Carmelita’s cheeks.
In that bittersweet moment the collective weight of our conflicts, our sorrows came crashing down on our heads.
I opened my mouth to say something but the shadows consumed me.
It was futile.
The magic had disappeared.
The melody belonged to another time, another place.
I hope you enjoyed my piece!
I’ll get around to the other participants over the next few days.