Eyes of an Angel

“When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest.”-Henry David Thoreau1

I watch as he plays with such grace and elegance. His fingers move like water over the strings, the notes come out as an soothing lullaby. My eyelids are heavy I can’t stay awake. It lulls me to sleep. I try to stay alert but the music is so mesmerizing; I drift off with the sounds of his lullaby floating through my head. I dream of his sweet music, I see him smiling as he plays. His emerald eyes shimmer and I can hear his sweet laughter. I dream that I can play like that, the music flowing from my fingers. I enchant everyone that hears my sweet song, an intoxicating melody drifting into the atmosphere.2

“Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men.”-Goethe3

I awake slowly, my eyelids stay shut as I listen for his sweet song. All I hear is unending silence. I slowly open my eyes; not wanting to leave my beautiful dreams. I will visit again I tell them. I cling to them as if they are life; my life, my music. I arise from my sleeping place, my quaint little room, moving towards the rustic oak door, which stands half open. I stop in front of the mirror, an opal faced girl with a golden mop of curls and inquisitive jade eyes stares back at me. I rub the sleep from eyes and make my way down the hallway to the kitchen. I look for him as I enter, but I see only my mother. She is preparing foods of some sort. I grab a roll and plop down in a wooden chair to watch her. I tear off small sections of my roll and pop them into my mouth. The kitchen smells wonderful. My visions pour through my head; I can’t take it anymore, I have to tell someone about them. So I do, I tell mom everything. I tell her of the music, and of my dreams to play, to play those sweet soft melodies. I tell her I want to play, just like him.4

“One needs something to believe in, something for which one can have whole-hearted enthusiasm. One needs to feel that one's life has meaning, that one is needed in this world.”-Hannah Senesh5

Her smile is radiant as she listens to my dreams. I watch as her hazel eyes glimmer, I can tell she wants me to play too, to be as marvelous as him, maybe even better. I blush, my cheeks a rosy pink, I feel the warmth rising off my small face. She has great confidence in me; she knows I can do this. Then he comes in bursting through the front door. He is carrying his case, the case that holds his gorgeous music. He sets the case on the table behind me as he removes his coat and shoes. I want to open it, to hear the melodies again. Instead I shove the remains of my roll into my mouth, and look down into my lap. They talk, mom and him. She tells him of my hopes, I feel myself blushing again, the warmth of embarrassment now rising to my ears, but he does not laugh at my dreams as I thought he would. He listens intently, and nods every once in a while. I look up at him. My gaze locks on his pile of bronze hair. It is a mess, it must be windy. He looks at me and smiles his handsome smile. I am not so embarrassed, my courage is renewed. My thoughts flow over me once more.6

“With courage you will dare to take risks, have the strength to be compassionate, and the wisdom to be humble. Courage is the foundation of integrity.”-Keshavan Nair7

He walks over to where I am sitting; he kneels on one knee and looks up into my young eyes. He is searching them for conformation, he sees it there and he smiles, his grin reaches from ear to ear. He grabs his case from the table; he takes my hand in the other. He leads me down the hall to his room; there are books and sheet music scattered everywhere. He sets the case on the bed. He walks to his dresser and digs through all of the papers that are laying there. My curious eyes survey their surroundings. His room is simple, but just like his music it flows with beauty; simplistic splendor. He finally finds what he is looking for, it is a sheet of music. He sets in on the metal stand by the window, I walk over to observe it and I see a simple melody written across the page. He returns to his case and opens it. I am overjoyed; I watch in awe as he readies the instrument, plucking the strings to pitch, rosining the bow. He looks up at me periodically, his eyes twinkling. I feel the excitement running through my veins. I thought he was going to play for me, but instead he holds out the instrument to me. I am in shock; he wants to teach me. I look up into his emerald eyes, those beautiful emerald eyes. He nods for me to take it. I do, I hold it gingerly in my hands as if it were a new born baby. It is so gorgeous; the rich color of the mahogany is dazzling and the wood feels so smooth on my skin. He looks at me and says “The beginning of your dreams.” 8

“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.”-Lao Tzu9