Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Prompt from Twitterlit: "I love the flute because it’s the one instrument in the world where you can feel your own breath"

Sixth period band practice – the mayhem, the noise, the tomfoolery going on continuously in the percussion section. She couldn’t believe this was her last year. After graduation, then what? As far as she knew there wasn’t anything like band practice in the real world.
There was a new boy in the French horn section and he smiled at her as she sat down. She nodded in his direction and then turned her back to him as she placed her music on the stand, opened her flute case and began putting her flute together. Several times during class she could feel him looking at her but she didn’t turn around. She was fixed on her music.
It was like this for almost two weeks before he finally came over and introduced himself. He had grey eyes and a pleasant smile. They had moved her from Delaware. After class he walked her to her locker. He made some crack about band practice.
“No,” she said. “I love it. I feel so alive in there, in the midst of the music. It’s the only place you can be and hear the music all around you. Where you are a part of it all.” He looked at her intently, silently urging her to go on. “Of course its also because of my flute.”
“Your flute?” He asked.
“Well of course, “she said lowering her voice. “I love the flute because it’s the one instrument in the world where you can feel your own breath.”
Later that week he walked her home and asked her out. She said yes. The Monday after they went out, after practice he came and sat in the chair next to her.
“Can I hold your flute?” She looked at him, a questioning look on her face, as she handed him her instrument.
“Mmmm.” He said as he held it close to his face.
“I can feel your breath.” He smiled and looked into her eyes. She had listened closely expecting a mocking tone, or irony in his voice but there was none.
Her fingers shaking a little she took her instrument back and put it in the case. They walked to her locker. He chatted as casually about stuff but she didn’t know what to say or feel so she just smiled and nodded.
The next day he sat down beside her after practice again. He put his hand out and she handed her instrument to him again. Again he brought it up to his face and smiled. Trembling even more than the day before, she took it back from him, cleaned it and put it in the case. Everyday that week he came to her and asked her for her flute.
Friday night they went out to a movie, had a pizza afterwards and then drove to the park. They got out of the car and walked over to a bench, looking up at the stairs they talked about this and that. It was a cool spring night and she hadn’t worn a jacket so she moved closer.
He looked into her eyes then, and very softly he said, “Did you bring your flute?’
She looked up at him startled. “What?” she started to say.
“I want to feel your breath,” he whispered and then he kissed her. Then she knew that she didn't need to have band practice to be surrounded by or be a part of the music.

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