There was one last gift to be opened. There would be dozens more, from friends and relations, later at the party to be held in my honour. Anyway, the gift in question was stood at the foot of my bed. I had not noticed it until that moment. It was rectangular and quite large. Feverishly and pulled myself towards it, leaving my blankets behind me. I inspected the attached card.
Dear Erik. We hope you like your special surprise. Love from your mother, father, and brother.
I pulled away the shiny paper and felt the breath catch in my throat. Lying before me, in all its chestnut glory, was an elegant, beautifully crafted, violin. With it lay a book, entitled
Songs for the budding violinist
I was so overwhelmingly happy. I have always wanted to learn an instrument, and now my wish was to come true. I threw my arms around my mother and cried tears of joy. She held me, and gently ran her fingers through my unbrushed hair. When I had calmed down I also hugged my father and brother in turn. I felt like hugging everyone. Even aunt Geraldine, with her bristly moustache and hairy mole.
I picked up my violin and bow and placed it lovingly under my chin, as I had seen other's do. Gently I drew the bow across the horsehair strings. The noise that was produced was sweet and echoing. I smiled with relief. I had half expected my first try to result in something like a cat having its tail pulled. I looked up at my mother. She was crying again. But these were tears of happiness. Again I drew my bow, tilting it slightly, and a new deeper but still beautiful note issued forth. Experimentally I played out a few notes. For some reason the tune sounded familiar, as if I had planned to play those exact notes subconsciously. Finally I removed the violin, and placed it tenderly before me. My mother wiped her eyes and said in a hoarse voice-
"That was beautiful sweetheart. You're going to be a natural, I can tell. You'll make your grandfather proud."
She got up to leave, and I watched her as she crossed my room to the door. She was wearing a simple blue silk nightgown. Her hair was partly tied into a French plat, and her dark curls fell elegantly down to the small of her back. I felt my heart swell. I must be the luckiest child alive, to possess such an exquisite mother, who loved me unconditionally. In the back of my mind, I was slightly disturbed by my own feelings. Was a son supposed to love their mother to the extent that I loved mine? Why was my love so extreme? She had many flaws, mainly in intellect, definitely not in looks, yet I saw her as a perfect being, practically an angel. I was not what you would call clingy, but I always felt a sense of insecurity whenever I found myself without her, am I always needed reassurance of her love. I made yet another mental note, this time to hire a psychiatrist, for I clearly had one or two issues that need to be addressed and resolved.
My brother made to waddle after my mother, but before departing, he decided to take my plush bunny present with him, clutching it tightly to his chest. Personally I wasn't bothered. He was welcome to it. My father lingered. I noticed him glance quickly at the books from my mother, and for just I split second his face took on a very strange grimace, the likes of which I never seen him make before. Then he addressed me-
"Now son, don't get carried away, with this stuff."
I blinked stupidly, probably mirroring the look my father usually took on. What on earth was he talking about? What did he expect me to do? Now I really wanted to read those books. After I while he grinned idiotically as usual, and produced a small piece of paper from his pocket, and held it out to me. I took it and examined the front. It was a ticket, to the opera that was to take place that evening. My mother was to be the main soprano, a character named Margarita. The production was to be Faust.
"Now don't tell your mother, she wouldn't want you to go."
Perhaps my father wasn't as stupid as I assumed. I couldn't wait. Although my mother was indeed an opera singer, she never sung around the house, and therefore I had never heard her. Actually that is not correct. Once, when I had gone to visit my mother at the Opera Populaire at the end of rehearsals, I had come to her dressing room door, on the verge of knocking when I heard it. My mother was singing softly to herself. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. Now not only was I in love with my mother, I was in love with her voice. The words were muffled, but I could vaguely make them out.
Angel of music
I denied you
Turning from true beauty
They were sung with such sadness, that I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I longed to hear her again, but I was much too shy to ask her to sing for me. Now I would be able to hear her. I wondered why my mother did not want me to hear her sing. I had never sung myself, I was too nervous in case someone might hear me, and I had no experience of the thing. I also wondered who was this angel of music she sung of? Another mental note to find out. Now I desperately needed a notebook.
My father left. I was alone and able to contemplate and get dressed. I stood up, scratched myself and yawned. The sun was streaming through the branches of the tree positioned outside my open window, casting beautiful intricate shadows on the floor. It was then that I noticed the dark figure positioned among the leaves at the same level as my eyes. I had the huge urge to let out a girlish scream, but managed to subdue it.
To be continued…
(A/N) so there you have it! Who is the figure outside the window? Who knows? Who cares! Please do review. If you liked it, let me know. If you didn't…still let me know! I'll be updating A.S.A.P. TTFN