Chapter 02: Water

Eyes closed, feeling the water rush and flow over her body, listening to the sound of falling water and the waves . . . she smiled at the memory. She opened her eyes to find herself still standing in the shower with the warm water falling over her tanned body. She always loved taking showers because they reminded her of her childhood spent near the ocean and the waterfalls that she played in with her little brother. But that was a world removed – one they had left many long years ago.

She stepped out of the shower, dried off, and put a towel around herself as she brushed her teeth. She quickly dashed to her room to grab some clothes to put on, passing her brother’s room on the way. Toothbrush in mouth, she pulled out a blue summer skirt and a nice shirt to match. After getting dressed, she dashed back to the bathroom to put her towel away and rinse her mouth with water. On her way out she paused briefly at her brother’s door, listening to him snoring lightly as she slowly brushed her long black hair. Sighing deep with relief, she bounced into the kitchen to grab herself a little snack.

She took an apple from the fruit basket sitting on the counter and began to munch on it. Then she sat on the old ugly blue-grey couch in her living room and looked at the clock. 9:30 A.M. Her mom had already gone to work and she still had about an hour before she met up with the others for brunch at the café. Finishing her apple, she went quietly to her room and pulled out her instrument case from under her bed. She grabbed a chair and plopped it in front of her music stand where sheets of music littered the carpet.

She gingerly took out her instrument, running her fingers across the four strings. Lifting it out and setting it on her shoulder, it looked like an oversized violin. Make no mistake, it was no violin. “No, it’s a viola!” as any violist would rightly say. She closed her eyes, not needing to read the sheet music scattered about. She let the music flow from her mind down through her left arm to the ends of her fingertips and instinctively pressed down on the strings silently with her left hand, feeling the waves of each note in her head. Her actual viola part was largely uninteresting (the curse of being a violist), but even so, she could hear the sounds of the other instruments and how hers melded in harmoniously.

Not wanting to become too lost in the music, she abruptly opened her eyes to see what time it was. Her pinky, still caught in the spell of the silent notes, accidentally plucked the thinnest string – the A string – causing a distinct ping to resound. She quickly wrapped her left hand over the strings, holding them firmly against the black fingerboard of her instrument’s neck and suffocating the sound as she didn’t want to wake her brother.

She held her viola close to her chest as she looked out her bedroom window. It seemed nice outside – sunny, mostly blue sky, it seemed so warm and inviting. A smile crept at the corner of her mouth. She sat there for a few minutes, taking in the day that had just started. She then swiftly put her viola away in its case and gathered the scattered music, stuffing the loose sheets in a pocket on the side of her case. She grabbed a light blue jacket from her closet and put it on while walking out of her room, case in hand. She closed her bedroom door quietly, carefully – almost reflexively – listening to her brother’s light snoring. I’m probably worrying too much, she told herself.

With a tiny bounce in her step, she walked to the front door, grabbing a set of house-keys from the clay bowl on the counter. She looked down at her watch as she locked the door behind her. 10:01 A.M. She had about half an hour. She paused for a moment before deciding to walk instead of riding her bike. It truly was a nice day anyway. The café was not too far and she could take her time to enjoy the walk.

She relished the warmth of the morning sun and the light breeze on her skin. She felt the shifting temperatures when she walked under the shadows of tall trees. Breathing in the cool shade, she could feel it fill her lungs before flowing to the rest of her body. When the “coolness” reached the ends of her limbs, she gave a small yet satisfying shiver. She could see the end of her modest neighborhood coming up. Where it ended, the city proper began. Soon she was walking past the little flower shop where she had worked for many years. She had many fond memories of the place and its owner.

She rounded a corner and saw the main city hospital. An ambulance was just rolling in. She immediately froze, a brief flash washing over her body in worry and fear. She shook it off and kept walking, a bit faster until she rounded the next corner past the hospital. That one bad memory stuck in her head, causing her heartbeat to quicken. She wanted to get past it, but the hospital – that hospital – kept bringing it back. It had been months already since the incident, but it haunted her still. She stared at the ground a bit as she walked until she reached the next corner.

The café was just around this next corner. She looked at her watch. 10:30 A.M. Jason would probably already be there. She looked up and down the street, near the outdoor tables and chairs in front of café, there stood Jason just as she predicted. She felt uplifted at seeing him, and let out a smile while breaking into a light jog while waving. She saw a smile creep across his face and wave in response. Within a minute she had caught up and stood before him, still smiling.

“Hola Jason!” she said in a slightly Spanish-accented voice. “How are you? On time as always. You’re so dependable.” She smiled widely and gave a little laugh.

Jason exhaled a playful sigh. “Hey, that’s who I am. Dependable, like a rock.” He looked back down at his cell phone. He looked up, meeting her eyes with a placid gaze. “They’re late.”

“I’m sure they will be here soon,” she said of the two violinists in their quartet. “We’re just early by their time. You know how them violins are, always thinking the world revolves around ’em or something.”

Jason sighed again, then suddenly looked up. “Wha-” she began to say . . .

“Esperanza,” whispered a deep voice next to her as she felt a finger poke her in the side. She yelped and jumped a foot in the air. She heard a rich laugh behind her as she frowned and turned to meet her poker.

Passacaglia

Orange Simplicity by `gilad on deviantART

Passacaglia. An Italian musical term originally derived from the Spanish pasar (to walk) and calle (street). It is a musical form that typically contains a melodic basso ostinato, a motif or phrase that is constantly repeated in the lower voice. The upper voices take this melody and vary it freely, though always aware of the harmonic anchor sustained in the bass.

Why is this, then, the title of this story? Certainly it centers on four members of a quartet and the perhaps unlikely intersections of their lives. Each of the characters is unique from one another, but maybe there is some unifying thread among them, some basic human theme that flows from all of them, and verily all of us.

Like the passacaglia, there must be some basic human aspect that functions like the basso ostinato in everyone. Each of our uniqueness is a variation upon that and overlaying on top of that. And so, life in a way is like a passacaglia. And so, this story is titled "Passacaglia." Enjoy.

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Dear readers, please leave constuctive comments on the chapters. They will help me go back and edit the chapters, hopefully improving upon the original text.

Chapter 01: Stone

9:00 A.M. The alarm clock on his nearby dresser began the familiar drone of the news on National Public Radio. Yellow sunbeams leaked through the slits in his blinds, casting his small bedroom in stripes of golden light and shadow. Slam! A weary hand fell down on the snooze button. He rolled over in his bed, covered his face with an arm, and groaned. Too early, he thought, six hours of sleep is not enough. He hated his new schedule – but it will all be over in just a couple more weeks, he told himself. Ten more minutes of respite.

9:10 A.M. The radio sounded again. He raised his hand again, ready to let gravity do its thing. Instead of the droning news, it was now replaced by the melody of a single deep-sounding instrument. He retracted his arm back into the warmth of his blanket. He felt the familiar resonance of the instrument’s strings in his ears, in his bones. I know this piece, I’ve played it before. It had to be one of Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello Suites, which one he couldn’t remember. He even knew the cellist playing the piece, the controlled arpeggios and the clarity of each note: unmistakably Yo-Yo Ma, the greatest cellist of his time (that was his opinion anyway). “And that was Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello played by the world-renown cellist Yo-Yo Ma,” said his alarm clock as the clip of the piece faded away. He hated how they always cut the music clips short, but at least he was correct.

He promptly sat up straight, turned off the alarm clock, and put on his glasses. It was time to start the day. With a yawn and a stretch, he groggily shuffled out of bed. He pulled open one of his dresser drawers and pulled out a shirt, changing into it and out of the T-shirt he wore to bed. He then took his jeans off the back of the chair at his desk and changed into that as well. As he opened his door and went to the bathroom down the hall, he could see his roommate’s door opened just a crack. Glancing in, he saw his roommate still fast asleep, snoring even, and quickly fought back a small pang of envy.

He completed his morning ritual of emptying his bladder, brushing his teeth, and making sure sleep hadn’t gifted him with horrible bed hair. Walking into the living room, he instinctively turned his head towards the clock on the wall. 9:32 A.M. He still had about an hour to meet up with the others for brunch. He took his time and stood at the large windows, looking out at the city before him as the morning light flooded the low rooftops of nearby buildings. The birds were singing, a few clouds lingered at the edges of sight from the window. It would be a good day he told himself.

He walked to the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. When he finished drinking his gaze fell on an odd-shaped object next to an end table by the couch. Strangely gourd-shaped, it came up to his chest and was black in color. Sometimes it looked like a mini-sarcophagus capable of fitting a small child inside. I know you feel trapped inside, he said aloud in his head to the object. Setting the empty glass down, he walked over to the object. On either side were long straps. Crouching down, he slid one arm through each of the straps and stood up, lifting the surprisingly light sarcophagus thing onto his back like an over-sized backpack. And now I feel like a turtle, he thought, chuckling to himself.

He made sure his wallet, keys, and cell phone were all in his pocket. Then he headed out the door, locking it behind him. Though he lived on the fifth floor of his apartment complex, he was feeling lazy today. So he took the elevator that was usually too slow for his liking. It was early enough that few others were awake and the elevator responded promptly and didn’t stop at any other floor.

Exiting the elevator, he walked briskly across the lobby and out the front door. He turned to his right into the parking lot and slung the black object off his back, putting it into the trunk of his car. He stood there for a minute debating whether or not to walk to his designation or to drive instead. It was about a forty-five minutes’ walk away whereas it would be about fifteen minutes by car. He extracted his cell phone from his right pocket to look at the time, as he didn’t like to wear watches. 10:03 A.M. Well, driving it was then.

About fifteen minutes later he was nearing his destination, a local café situated in the busy downtown area. Already much of the parking was taken. He looked at the clock in his car – 10:20 A.M. He had ten minutes to find a parking spot as he circled around the block. He drove slowly as there were people filling up the sidewalks and walking without warning into the streets. About a block away he found a space for him to parallel park. Making sure his doors and trunk were locked, he walked leisurely to the front of the café.

He stopped just in front and again took out his cell phone to look at the time. 10:29 A.M. He suppressed a small smile. Lame as it was, he prided himself on his punctuality, a very difficult thing to do in his field of work. He glanced down either side of the sidewalk to see if anyone had already arrived yet or not. He saw someone he knew turn the corner to his right. She looked a little tired but in good spirits. Upon noticing him, she broke into a light run and smiled while waving hello. He returned the smile and the hello wave. A minute or so later, she was standing before him, the sun giving her tanned skin a light glow.

“Hola Jason!” she said in a slightly Spanish-accented voice. “How are you? On time as always. You’re so dependable.” She smiled widely and gave a little laugh.

Jason exhaled a playful sigh. “Hey, that’s who I am. Dependable, like a rock.” He looked back down at his cell phone. 10:32 A.M.