by Dean Mayes
Andy stepped forward, but Sonya threw up her hand, abruptly stopping him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed.
Andy shivered at the sound of her voice, and he saw anger in her eyes. He froze.
“Sonya, it’s the truth. I remember it all.”
“How dare you?” Sonya spat, backing away from him as tears of rage welled up. “How dare you play this game with me? How could you even begin to be so cruel? Who do you think you are?”
Andy felt a nauseating panic. His mouth went dry and he struggled to force his jaw to work.
“What are you - some kind of sick stalker?” she continued, her fury becoming white hot.
He thumped his chest firmly, interrupting her.
“Sonya, look at me. Surely you can see it. Surely you can sense something - can’t you?” He was pleading with her now, his voice rising. “What about that kiss just then - tell me you didn’t feel something! Why would I make something up like this?”
But Sonya shook her head and backed away even further as he stepped forward again, holding his hand out towards her.
“No! Don’t you come near me. If you do, I will call the police.”
She wheeled around and stumbled on the sand before running away from him. Tears were streaming down her face now, her heart and mind filled with confusion and anger. Andy stood on the beach watching her go until she had disappeared. He was too stunned to move.
“What have I done?” he whispered.
CHAPTER 22
When Michyko knocked on Andy’s door the following morning, she knew something was wrong. A disheveled Andy peered out from behind the half-opened door, squinting against the bright light of the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked pale and sickly.
“Andy!” Michyko gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Andy croaked, his gravelly voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just not feeling well.”
Michyko appeared crestfallen, and Andy felt awful for her. It was her heat today.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to attend today, Michyko.”
“Well, can I get you anything? I can get some soup or something sent up.”
Andy closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door frame. The throbbing in his head threatened to cause him to collapse.
“No, thank you, Michyko. I’ll be fine. I just want to be alone.”
Andy retreated back into his room and shut the door. Stumbling into the darkness he found the bed and collapsed onto it. He caught a whiff of himself as he turned over and winced, disgusted at himself, disgusted at the stench of alcohol that oozed from his pores and his own stale breath. The curtains were drawn, preventing any light from seeping into the room, allowing him to suffer in the misery of the hangover that had him going to the bathroom frequently to throw up, until there was nothing left, and then he continued to throw up anyway.
After returning alone to the city last night, Andy had holed himself up in the downstairs bar and slowly wiped himself out with a bottle of whiskey. No one noticed him in there, save for one of the bar staff who had kindly and discreetly walked him up to his room and deposited him safely onto his bed, where he tossed and turned in a drunken haze - tormented by his catastrophic revelation on the Williamstown beach. He drifted in and out of the torment of his circumstance and several times flirted with the desire to seek out a “hit” from somewhere - anywhere.
That last image of Sonya, distraught and disgusted, refused to leave him. It hung there at the center of his consciousness, seared into his soul, torturing him.
How could I have been so stupid? Andy cursed himself angrily through his tears of pain.
Though he hadn’t comprehended it at the time, Andy understood in the light of day why Sonya had reacted so violently. He had behaved like a crazed idiot. So eager was he to reveal himself to her that his explanation came out so mangled, and so obviously crazy that to think about it now made him want to tear his hair out. His anger with himself was only partially assuaged by the grief that assailed him. The opportunity had been comprehensively wrecked now. There was no chance of repairing the damage his actions had wrought. He knew that if he approached her now, Sonya would surely call the police on him.
As he lolled in and out of consciousness at the hands of the violent headache, Andy hated what he had become. He hated having Denny’s spirit inside of him and the knowledge of that other life, the burden of that lost love. In his ruined state he dragged himself from the bed and struggled to the bathroom. As he stumbled past the mirror, Andy caught a glimpse of himself. He stopped and snarled at what he saw.
“Why did you have to choose me?” Andy hissed at his reflection. “I never asked for this! I didn’t want any of this!”
Fighting against waves of nausea, Andy felt a rage deep inside of him. He looked down at his fists, balling them tightly before thumping the top of the vanity. He glared contemptuously at his arms, turning them back and forth, his breath quickening, his anger growing. Then he began clawing at his arms, scratching at them so hard that he drew blood. He saw the tattoo on the inside of his forearm - the inscription Ancora Imparo - and he spat at it, trying to tear the skin away from his muscle.
“This is yours!” he screamed violently, ignoring the pain of his own attempts at self-mutilation. “This belongs to you! I don’t want it anymore!”
He glared at the mirror and saw his rage etched into his features, saw the tightness in his jaw and he gnashed his teeth together and spat impotently. But as he stared longer Andy was suddenly struck when he saw his eyes. He froze where he stood. His eyes were filled not with anger, but with pain and grief.
Andy stumbled backwards, horrified by his behavior, stunned at his anger. He slumped back onto the cold tiles and sobbed in the darkness, his heart swelling with grief, with an emptiness so desolate he thought he would lose himself in it. He remained there on the floor unable - unwilling - to move. He lost all track of time and drifted on the pall of his tears until finally sleep overtook him and he dreamed only of the darkness.
***
Across town, in Joss’s apartment, Sonya sat on the edge of the bed similarly frozen and lost in her emotions. Her traveling case lay open on the bed and she was clutching a dress in her hands, having taken it off a hanger with the intention of putting it into the case. Sonya wanted so desperately to get out of here - to escape the city and this god forsaken festival and go back to Hambledown.
After returning to the apartment last night she’d locked herself in her room and cried herself to sleep. Joss had tried desperately to talk to her, but she had refused saying simply that the date had gone badly. Very badly.
Which it had.
She was sickened by Andy’s behavior as much as she was frightened by it. Sickened, that this stranger, who had come out of nowhere, would be so cruel as to play with her emotions like that. Sickened that he would concoct a fiction so destructive and violate her privacy and security by looking her up on the Internet like some sort of stalker was disgusting and vile. Her BlackBerry sat on the nightstand, and she thought several times of calling the police and reporting him, as well as alerting the Festival organizers.
But something held her back.
She could not bring herself to pick up the phone.
Despite his insane proclamation, Sonya could not bury the fact that she had sensed that something about him that was extremely powerful and familiar. And she could not entirely expunge the memory of the kiss.
It had been such a soft and familiar kiss.
A kiss that she knew.
The dreams, those short reveries that had played themselves out for real, came to her mind.
Leaves falling from the tree in the Gardens…as he lifts his hand to her…
Watching the stranger on the sand who is out of focus, except for those vivid pools of green that are his eyes...
That she was even considering the possibility that the American might be telling the truth filled her with ang
uish. It went against everything she believed or chose not to believe. This was the real world, a world where things like this simply did not happen.
Sonya considered the case on her bed and angrily wiped a tear from her cheek.
***
The lawns in front of the Conservatory building in the Fitzroy Gardens had been transformed into a wonderful amphitheater in readiness for the grand finale of the emerging artist concert series. The lawns had been freshly manicured, the surrounding trees had been adorned with twinkling fairy lights, and the stage had been bedecked with white ribbon and flanked by planter boxes filled with lilies and tulips and roses of brilliant color. The Orchestra musicians were preparing themselves on the stage, tuning their instruments as stagehands rushed about performing a variety of tasks in readiness. The audience was already beginning to fill the available space on the lawn in anticipation of this final concert.
Andy sat in the performers’ tent near the stage, quietly waiting. He had checked and rechecked his instrument, ensuring that it was ready, and now all there was to do was wait. He sat alone in a neatly pressed shirt and tie, his jacket slung over the back of his chair. Somehow he had managed to pull himself together and push the trauma of his failure away for the time being to deliver a semifinal performance skillful and convincing enough to convince everyone that Andy was still a serious contender for the grand finale.
He had performed Fernando Sor’s Sonata Prima with an orchestral accompaniment and had scored well with the judging panel, much to his amazement. In his mind it was not a good performance and he was sure that he had failed it, such was his turmoil. He had lost that hard-won ability to invest emotionally in the piece, as he had done before, and instead had delivered a stilted attempt at the sonata. The German contestant had won the night with a rousing performance of a piece called “Pavane” - another orchestral composition that was virtually flawless. But, somehow he was here. Andy had made it through.
He had thought of nothing but Sonya.
Andy had tentatively searched the Gardens yesterday before the semifinal, and again earlier this afternoon upon his arrival here, before making his way to the tent. He wanted to see Sonya. He wanted to say something - anything - that might make up for what had happened the other night.
But what could he say?
He had wrestled with his mind for the answer, but there was nothing he could think of that would repair the damage. As it was, he hadn’t glimpsed any sight of her anywhere in the Gardens and he was beginning to wonder if Sonya was even here in Melbourne anymore.
As the concert began outside, Michyko appeared in the entrance to the tent and smiled warmly upon seeing him. She made her way over and, finding a chair, she sat down quietly.
He acknowledged her silently and looked down at his hands.
“Where are the others?” he queried softly.
“They’re sitting outside on the lawn. We’ve got a great vantage point - right near the stage.”
He nodded simply and remained quiet, lost in his thoughts. He picked up his guitar again and touched his fingers to the strings, listening to the tune from them - making sure it sounded perfect. Every so often Michyko thought of something she might say to make him feel more at ease, but she kept hesitating.
“I was so glad that you came to see me play, Andy,” she offered, unable to remain quiet any longer. “It meant a lot to me.”
Andy looked up from his guitar and regarded her blankly for a moment before smiling wistfully.
“I’m really sorry about the other day,” he replied. “It wasn’t fair on you or the others. I know I wasn’t very supportive of you, especially.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Michyko said cheerily. “It didn’t cross my mind at all during my heat. I was just concerned for you that - you know - something really bad was happening.”
“You played beautifully, Michyko. I thought you should have gone through - most definitely. You are more deserving of this than I am.”
Michyko grinned reflectively.
“No, I wasn’t nearly at my best the other day. I guess the nerves got to me. Being among so many talented people was just too much. But, I’m not at all disappointed.”
Andy shook his head and laughed in spite of himself.
“You really are a rare person, Michyko,” he observed wryly. “Nothing ever gets you down, does it?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Michyko responded. “I guess I’ve learned not to be too disappointed by failure - not that I think there is any failure, really - so far as all this is concerned. The experience is more important to me. I mean, I’m just still blown away by the fact that I got to be here and that I was a part of all this. I won’t soon forget it.”
Andy shook his head and set his guitar down, finally.
“And I’m just thrilled to be here to watch you, Andy,” Michyko ventured. “Everyone is talking about you. You have such a wonderful gift - I never knew how wonderful it was until I saw you here.”
Andy felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment.
“You’re a little too kind, I think,” he said with a smile.
“Not at all,” Michyko shot back with a measured enthusiasm. “You create such a beautiful sound, Andy. It’s like you can reach into yourself - into your emotions - and pour all of them into your playing.”
Michyko rested her hand on his arm and leaned forward.
“You must have such beautiful memories to be able to do something like that. Or beautiful dreams.”
Andy blinked. “Memories? What do you mean?”
Michyko tilted her head slightly, thinking about her response.
“My grandfather used to say that it’s our memories and our dreams that are the key to nurturing our creativity. They speak to us and inspire us. They are our truth. I think that your memories and dreams must be extremely beautiful - that’s part of why you play so beautifully. Don’t you think?”
Memories…
Andy gazed beyond Michyko. She had touched something off in his mind - something he had not considered before. And then it fell into place.
My memories…
He realized that he had related none of his memories to Sonya - that he hadn’t revealed the intimacy of them to her in that exchange on the sand.
Since Denny had returned to this mortal world in Andy’s body, there were all those moments with her - all those experiences and dreams that Denny had entrusted to him that only two people could know intimately. They were as vivid and as real to Andy now as his own memories.
Denny had come to him, had rescued him from an abyss. Were it not for Denny, Andy would most likely be dead. Or worse.
Denny lived on in him, now.
And in that moment, everything became clear.
“Anyhow, I think I’d better take my place out in the audience.” Michyko stood and leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on Andy’s cheek.
“No matter what, Andy. You’ve already won.”
Andy smiled and watched her go, then looked down at his guitar.
He cleared his mind of everything: every thought, every emotion, every memory, and all that remained was the music he was about to play. He could hear the orchestra preparing itself on the stage, though it sounded distant in his ears. He could hear the audience nearby, gathering on the lawn of the Gardens under a brilliant starlit night. It was warm and still out, but not at all uncomfortable.
“Andrew. It’s time.”
He heard the attendant’s voice and nodded an acknowledgement. He stood, quickly brushed himself down, and turned towards the makeshift stairs that led up onto the stage.
He was alone.
Stepping onto the stage, Andy observed a capacity crowd before him. Every spare inch of space was taken on the lawns in front of the stage. The natural amphitheater looked beautiful before him: a place of light and peace. The orchestra was seated in a half-circle behind him, each member dressed immaculately in black and white. Andy approached his seat beside the conductor, who greet
ed him with a respectful bow.
This was what it had come down to now: the end of a long journey that had taken him from near-death in that hospital on the other side of the world. From a destructive existence among the trash of Chicago street crime; from the realization that he was destined for ruin if he continued in that life. Andy had dragged himself back from the edge, had grabbed onto this single gift, his passion for the guitar. He had nurtured his skill and it had delivered him here.
The orchestra musicians lifted their instruments to play. The conductor tapped the lectern before him. And the Concierto began.
The string section softly came into being, heralding the gentle beginnings of the piece, and Andy gently raised the guitar in his arms, cradling it in an upward position. He rubbed his fingers together and touched them to the fret board.
Andy disappeared into Rodrigo’s signature piece, “The Adagio” and from the very first movements of his fingers across the strings, he became one with it. He looked to the young woman soloist across from him as she lifted her oboe to her lips. She gently issued forth a tender refrain that accompanied his gentle rhythm beautifully, and together they took the orchestra into the unified steps of this profoundly emotional piece. Rodrigo’s second movement was said to be a prayer for the recovery of his wife, who had fallen gravely ill following the death of their child. It was a piece of haunting depth and vulnerability of a life lost, but love sustained.
A life lost.
A love sustained.
As the strings gently rose from behind him and their harmonious tone floated across the Gardens, Andy eased into the first of his solo movements, closing his eyes and finding his mark perfectly, evoking a sense of deep emotion in the audience, who were clearly entranced.
Michyko managed to steal a glance around her and saw that, already, Andy’s playing had inspired deep emotions in the audience. Some were moved to tears.
And somewhere in the audience, unknown to Andy, were Joss and Sonya. Dressed in a stunning blue evening gown, her hair swept up and held in place with a glittering clip that Joss had given her for the evening, Sonya watched him play. She was moved by the beauty of his performance, but her expression betrayed nothing of her feelings. She watched with tears filling her eyes, unable to look away from his exquisite playing, the echoes of which reminded her so much of Denny. Her emotions were torn - torn by him and the things he had said to her - the things she wished she had never heard.
