It Was All About the Music

[NanceGreggs]

It started with a guitar that her father played – at family gatherings, just for fun – or at home, for her mother, a fervent rendition of some ol’ love song from the ‘forties, an ice-breaker skilfully played when certain sad melodies hung in the air that couldn’t be taken back, any more than you could un-hear a phrase that cut to the quick, and laid the soul of your crumbling relationship bare.

The guitar went electric in the ‘sixties – it was exciting and out-of-control, wielded like an axe by the long-haired man of her dreams – the one who left her sitting in the crowd, night after lonely night. It would be her turn soon, he promised – but her turn never came.

The guitar gave way to the synth, the nano-piano, the pro-tools – and the son was gone, hearing the sound of the clarion call, anxious to engage the enemy in the Battle of the Bands. “CU soon mom” was the text message. Not exactly Motown, but impassioned nonetheless – if you put your heart on hold, and just read the words comin’ over the wire.

Eventually, the acoustic guitar – RL unplugged – wrapped itself around her heart, joined by violins. A warm embrace that said “you’re home”. Nachuma inspired me – do you know who she is?

I think I do – but I’m trying too hard to remember. Maybe that’s part of the problem, the fact that I can't quite recall.

But then the words started to come in again, loud and clear. Messages sent from across the miles, a heart hung on the wire – a Wichita lineman, who’s still on the line.

He doesn’t really know her – but she knows him. He’s a symphony, replete with horns and drums, bells and whistles, TV themes and movie soundtracks – oldies but goodies, classical, blastical, heavy-metal, heavy-hearted ballads that blow your ear-drums out of existence – yet resound with the subtle, natural sound of a lone cello being played in the rain.

She listens. She is enthralled. She thinks she’s heard it all – but she listens still. Knowing there’s more music out there, more to come. More lyrics to capture her heart, more cellos to capture the mood as she is swept away.

There’s more out there.

And she knows it.

And she’s listening.

Because he's still playing songs that her inner being longs to hear, distantly remembered chords that at times seem unfamiliar, but still invite a harmony of the soul.

[CaliforniaPeggy]

1. I really like this, my dear Nance...

Short story?

Part of something larger?

Really beautiful, sweetie...

There are themes here that speak to me...

Thank you!

:hug: