short story: THE SYMPHONY

As if two jobs and as much photography as I can possibly squeeze in wasn't enough, I thoroughly enjoy writing short stories. Creative writing. Though my style may not be to the liking of some people, as it's blunt and often from the dark side of humanity. But I don't write for other people. I write for my own pleasure and to maintain good mental health. Here is a sample for you.

(THIS STORY LOSELY BASED ON REAL EVENTS)

She was still  young. She was still beautiful, and she was still sexy. And tonight, she was performing with the VSO. The symphony had been rehersing for months, going over and over every single note. Every section. The wind, the string, the brass, the percussion. Every instrument was in tune and ready to perform. The dress rehersal was yesterday and had gone down smoothly and beautifully, and her immaculate body was now covered in a long, crimson red gown she'd been gifted for the occasion. Her long, black hair flowing freely, down to the bottom of her shoulder blades. A high carat gold necklace ensured a smooth and gorgeous visual transition from body to face, illuminated now, as the sat there by the Steinway, by the single spotlight above her, ensuring that she was the only thing you could see on the otherwise blackened stage. Just her, behind her Steinway. The curtains were lifted and utter silence fell on the on the crowd and in the theatre.

So long ago, when she grew up far away from where she was today, and her mom had signed her up for piano lessons, nobody had any idea of the future that laid in front of her. But life sometimes takes you down roads, small and big, bi-ways and highways, that you never knew even existed. It was not always an easy journey. Often it was quite the contrary. But tonight she was here, and the spotlight belonged to her. Had her mom been here tonight, she would have been very, very proud and all the sacrife well worth it.

The first note was in G major. And then they just kept coming, like warm water into a bathtub, soothing your soul and your body. Like honey dripping from a cone, sweet and golden. Then were all there, tonight: All the famous ones, from Sibelius, Brahms and some guy named Mozart, to more unknown ones like Brunhoff, Herz & Gorecki. She spread her wings wide and flew on the warm winds like a condor. Soaring in the sky, well knowing that the only way you could see her was to look up to her. At her.

No question she was gifted musically. But she was, even more importantly, also gifted with smarts. She knew the story of this dude named Mozart, and was very careful not to tread the same path, avoding the same fate. She had two lives and balancing them, one in each hand stretched out in front of her, she was able to juggle them both to her advantage. She had learned early on, that being a concert pianist, you could make a pretty decent living, with the side benefit of travelling around the world and do what you like best and was good at. An investment that had the potential to pay off, long into the future.

She had also learned, that class, style and talent, combined with beauty and a body that no god could even come close to having perfected better, had huge potential to secure an income and a lifestyle in a predominantly male dominated world, that most other girls could only dream of but would never be able to attain.

The escort & the pianist. Tonight it was the pianist that the audience was devouring, with open mouth and attentive ears. She was ravaging on stage and held the entire crowd in the palm of her hands, by letting her fingers dance up and down the ebonies and the ivories. Very symbolically, each can be good on their own, the ebonies and the ivories, but when they come together, sweet music is created.

But a life in the upper echelons of society, despite what people think, doesn't come without sacrifice. Le peuple wants to believe that there is "no maintenance required" - that everything comes easy. Nothing could be more wrong. It's not only the hours upon hours of seemingly endles practice every day. It's not only the struggle to perfect your repetoir. Those are just two external sacrifices. There is plenty of internal sacrife as well: The sacrifice of always being away. Of never being home. The sacrifice of not having a place where you truly feel you belong.  The sacrifice of relationships that are impossible to maintain, never having that special comeone to come home to. The sacrifice of loneliness, once the light go out and the crowd has gone home to their loved ones, in their place where their heart belongs. The list goes on. Too many sacrifices. That's where her other life comes in; temporary relief for emotional pain. A temporary investment that will not last a lifetime, no matter how you twist and turn it. But for now, it dulls the pain and keeps the door open for a long-term solution.

London, Paris, Milan, Berlin. Venezia, Barcelona, Madrid. You name it. She's careful not to get emotionally attached. She knows she's walking a mine-field. So many beautiful cities, so many luxury hotels. So many white beds to wake up in, in the morning, unmade and evidence of the previous night's booking. So many room-service breakfasts, high-end fancy teas and lousy croissants. Presents and flowers left behind and showing up throughout the day. Jewelry, makeup and lingerie. Expensive perfumes and fragrances. All the glitter that anyone else would envy. but still, when concert times roll around, when the grand halls start to fill up, she's still alone. He was great, last night. Really great. Generous and kind. Tender and attentive. But he's not mine, and won't be. Another shot, another pill, to kill the pain? Is that what life is about, killing the pain between the highs?

Vancoouver was different in a way that was really hard for her to describe. Not only the VSO, but everyting that surrounded the city. The vibe was....different, here. Laissez faire. More chill and easy going. More relaxed. Less pressure. Sure, not as glamourous as Paris, for sure, but probably healthier for soul and mind. After her performance, which got rave reviews, the ember of curiousy about this place, had turned into a small but demanding, tiny but persisting fire, and rather than accepting appointments from interested clientel, she decided to take two days off to see the area more, by herself.

Once she got out of town and into the mountains, she got the emotional impact she never had in any of the big and famous European cities. What none of those cities could offer her, she had right here, in abundance. Not only was it the landscape, the scenery. It was the meaning of it all. Being dwarfed between mountains and canyons, rivers, ocean and wildlife, the entirety of life started to come into perspective. It was both frightening, because it threattened everyting she had so far believed in, and at the same time immensely relieving, because it offered her so many new opportunities. It was the medicine she needed for mind and soul. "If only mom and dad were here now, with me to see this. This would be a beautiful way to pay back some of the sacrifices they made for me". She felt her eyes getting moist.

"If you want to know somebody, walk a mile in their shoes", it's said. She knew that later in life, she'd be able to know what it was like walking in her parent's shoes. She'd know their sacrifies as she would make her own sacrifices for her own children, as she completed the generational cycle. But right now, she didn't fully understand. She knew they were there, their sacrifices, but didn't fully understand and comprehend. She know, that given time, she would. But Mr. Right was still undetectable on the horizon. She was wondering if he even existed? "Have I gone down the wrong path? Is this a dead-end street, a cul-de-sac"?

She stopped for a moment, in the defening silence between the towring cedars, to listen to the woodpecker hard at work. It was nest building time. Few minutes later, another stop where she sat in silence just listening to the faint roar of the river. No other sound. It was good medicine. That night, as the sun set over the lake, on an orange sky that looked like moulded in plastic, she was accompanied only by the cries of the loon. She cold see vaguely see him between the last glimpses of a lake below the firery orange, she knew nature had gotten to her.

She woke up in her cabin, to more deafening silence. After a decent but unpretentious breakfast of English Earl Grey and sourdough bread with jam from local wild berries, she looked at her shower but decided to take a dip in the lake from last night, instead. The look who aparently belived that this lake was his domaine, didn't look much interested when she dropped her robe and took a skinny-dip in the lake. She quickly got out again though; the water was still cold, this time of year. But refreshing? Absolutely! Good for body and mind and she was starting to love it. The lifestyle. But even the 1000 years old cedars in the area, don't grow straight into heaven. No tree does. And appointments and concerts were already planned and scheduled.

Taking the sea-plane back to the city, the pilot who picked her up at the lake, made a u-turn as the pontoons lost their grip on the lake. She looked out the windows and saw the beaver of her lake, roll over on his back and slap his tail on the surface of the water, as if to say "See you later...sis". Once again, her eyes grew moist. She hated that, because that was not the way she was brought up. But inside her, deep in the dark chambers of her heart, she knew that the beaver might just be right.

When she arrived in Sidney, AU, La Traviata had just closed the night before. She knew that Utzon wasn't there, but he'd left a spectacular opera house behind. One of her favourite places to perform. Four night later, after the previous night's dress rehersal, she was sitting by her Steinway again. Full house. 2679 seats filled. Lights dim and eventually completely disappear. A moment of silence and the curtains go up...and for a moment, she just sits there. Frozen. She's back at the lake. She can hear the woodpecker. The beaver slapping his tail. She can smell the cedars and hear the deafening silence. A gentle hand touches her shoulder and she is brought back to reality.The first note is in G major.