Prologue. - First Sight
As I entered the building, the aroma of various espresso beverages wafted over me, sending me to a blissful and sentimental euphoria.
The stamp being pressed into my wrist pulled me back to the present moment. That’s when I saw him.
Seeing him, it felt like every nerve ending in my body went active. My mouth went dry, my breath quickened, my vision warped, I nearly lost all sense of balance. The trumpet player.
To minimize the possibility of a chance encounter before the performance, I had shown up with just minutes to spare, and he perked up at the arrival of the final audience member. I ordered myself a latte and found a seat during the sound check.
Soon, the jam session began, each song was sweet agony; their melodies resonating deep within my core. Each crescendo was full and dramatic, each legato as smooth and soft as a kiss. I could picture myself resting inside the bell of the trumpet, or draped over the strings of the bass, letting the vibrato ring through me as only good music can. The progression of chords rose and fell with the beating of my heart, and every piece felt so syrupy and sweet, I thought I might cry. As they played, the dusk light flowing in through the windows hit his eyes in a familiar way, and I felt my diaphragm contract as I took in a sharp breath.
As the final note was played, I made my way to the designated “Chill & Chat” area. My leg tapped incessantly as I waited for him to finish packing up. What would I even say? How would I start? Maybe I should leave...
After what felt like an hour, but was more accurately about seven minutes, the combo came to answer questions. I sat there not really listening, but thinking ‘maybe I should leave. What could I say at this point that would do anything?’ I stood to leave, deciding I’d rather live with the regret than become a babbling mess.
That’s when he stood. He held something in his hand which triggered a phantom memory that I had brushed aside. I knew I had to act.
“Hey,” I smiled, not knowing where to let my eyes settle. “Hi,” He smiled back, choosing to look me directly in the eye. “Uh.. can I give you something?” God, could I have found a weirder way to ask?? His response was just as eloquent, “Uhm...sure?”
Neither of us moved for a moment.
Finally, I resolved to follow through on our exchange. I reached inside my bag, searching through my things before finding My Book. This all started to feel very real. I’d had my family members read it of course, and I knew that other people had purchased and presumably read it, but handing this book to him… it took on such a deeper meaning.
“I don’t know if you know already, but I-,” I laughed, “I wrote a book. This copy is for you.”
He reached out tentatively, accepting it and remaining silent, turning it over in his hands until he responded, “I have something for you too.” He handed me the thing which he had been holding since the start of our conversation-it was a piece of paper- and my heart raced, “this is for me?” He simply nodded.
I unfolded the paper which revealed a letter, addressed to me, by name. I began reading, taken up in the nostalgia this was bringing me.
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