Letter Ten - Dress Rehearsal
The wind played tangles into Christine's hair as it blew, hot and thick, from the underground platform. She made her way down the stairs, feeling, as she always did in these sort of moments, like a character in an action scene or the tragic heroine in a drama. She ignored the bay where tourists were buying day passes and crossed the cavernous room to the turnstile, the light turning green as she tapped her metrocard. The smell of the subway grew thicker as she made her way down another flight of stairs to her platform. Old grease and hot oil and something electric. Other smells too, unwashed bodies, urine and weed. She was used to it.
Christine stood with her arms crossed, waiting for the train to arrive. The platform was mostly empty, just herself, a mom with a stroller, and a tall man in a long jacket on the far end of the platform. She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. Rehearsal had been busier than usual. The cast had been called in small groups for costume fittings while the rest ran through blocking again and again. It had taken several hours, and they ended the day with a run through of the entire show. Opening night was only a week away, and tomorrow dress rehearsals would start in earnest.
A ghostly shriek echoed down the subway tunnel long before any lights illuminated the curved walls. With a rush of noise and heat the subway screeched to a halt, blowing Christine's bangs into her eyes. She brushed the hair aside and climbed onto the subway before wearily dropping into a seat.
She was still wrung dry from the previous week. The Angel's reaction about Raoul. The ultimatum. Her feelings of panic and loss at the Voice's absence were like a bruise or a livewire, dangerous and sharp and something she didn't want to touch. She sighed and settled into her seat. It didn't matter anyway. She wasn't going to think about it anymore. One day at a time. She felt dizzy at the thought of losing what the Angel gave her...the lessons, the support, the confidence, the comfort. She leaned her head against the window, the glass thrumming against her skull with the motion of the train, and watched the walls of the tunnel slip by. The whole situation was confusing and mysterious and part of her was very aware it might be impossible.
But she believed in miracles.
And this was miraculous.
And it was what she needed right now.
o...o0o...o
"Stevenson! Jacobs! Martin! Stage Right!"
"Can you toss me my… no, the other thing. Yes! Thanks!"
"Step two, three, four, and one, two, three, and plié and turn and hold!"
"Stand... still...please! Stand still! Careful of the pins now!"
Christine pushed her way through the crowded backstage, bumping shoulders with almost everyone she passed. The ballerinas finished rehearsing on stage and rushed off, pouring into the wings. Today was the first day of dress rehearsals. The morning had been spent in warm ups, last minute scene blocking, and final costume fittings. Everyone was gathered together for the first full, costumed run through.
"Christine!" Meg, practically levitating from excitement, rushed from where the dancers huddled and grabbed Christine's arms. "Guess who got a dance solo in the Gala!"
Christine shook herself out of her mental to-do list with a happy squeal and pulled Meg into a quick hug.
"Meg! That's so great! How did that happen?"
"Well, it turns out Sorelli–"
"Places, everyone!" Reyer called from the pit to the sound of instruments tuning. "Places!"
Christine joined the other soprano's and adjusted the peasant costume she was wearing, picking up the basket she would carry on stage for the next scene. The lights dimmed, and a thrill went through her.
Her first professional dress rehearsal!
She hadn't been on stage since her final performances at Julliard, and so much had happened since then.
So much had changed.
Being backstage before a show, even just dress rehearsal, felt like coming back home after a long absence. She smiled and took a few steps towards the wings to watch the opening scene.
Piangi was there, taking the part of the aged scholar, Faust, with his cup of poisoned wine. He sang in French of his sorrows, bemoaning the life that had passed him by as he focused on his studies. So wrapped up was Christine in Piangi's performance that she almost missed the cue to sing. There were two separate measures in the first act where a "heavenly chorus" (or the very earthbound chorus singing from offstage) stopped Faust from drinking the poison. One of the sopranos gently tugged Christine back to the group as the sound of thunder rumbled, Méphistophélès' cue to rise up from beneath the stage.
"Be careful of standing too close to the wings, even during rehearsal," the soprano whispered. "I got caught my first year here and Reyer, well...he wasn't happy."
Christine nodded thankfully just as the cry of "CUT!" rang throughout the room. The soprano next to her shrugged and the company as a whole drifted towards the stage to see what had happened.
"Where is Méphistophélès?" Reyer cried.
"Here…" a mournful sounding man in red called from the floor of the stage, where only his head could be seen. Laughter swept through the company as Joseph Buquet rushed to the edge of the stage.
"Sorry, man, the lift got stuck, we're doing everything we can."
"Fabulous," Reyer's voice floated from the pit, "any idea when it will be fixed?"
"Could be five minutes, could be an hour."
"Fine." There was a smart rapping of Reyer's baton, and he called out to the room. "We continue! Everyone just...avoid the hole."
The music picked back up, and the rehearsal continued somewhat smoothly, with only one bass nearly tripping into the still open trapdoor, and one alto's skirt getting caught when the lift finally snapped closed. Reyer dismissed them for the day, and Christine waved to the other chorus members as she turned down the long hallway to her dressing room.
Part of her still wished she could be closer to the other girls, or perhaps even share a room as she had when she first started. It was a silly wish, she knew. Her lessons with the angel would never work if she shared a dressing room. There was a tiny part of her, though, a tiny, ungrateful part she told herself to ignore, that missed being around people. She loved the feeling that came just before a show. The camaraderie, the excitement, and she couldn't take part in any of it, tucked in this out of the way corner as she was.
She opened the door of her dressing room and pushed the thoughts away. She was being childish, describing high school theater when she was now a professional. She was in the chorus at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. She had basically achieved her dreams! People worked their whole lives to achieve what she had achieved.
She dropped her music folder onto her vanity and sank in the seat. Things were better now, right?
They had to be.
Better at least than they were a month ago. Two months ago. She had a job. A dream job. Her dream job, in a beautiful city with a nice place to call home. There had been a long time when she was a little girl where she didn't even have that. Things were much better now. She had Mamma Valerius, she had Meg, Lyla, the other girls in the chorus. People were nice. She was finding her place.
Things were better now.
Sure, she couldn't really see Raoul anymore, which was hard after so long and him being right there, but it was also fine, she was fine, it didn't matter and there were more important things, like the Gala and opening night, and the beautiful, beautiful gift that was her lessons with the Angel. Those were real. They were here and happening, just like papa had promised and she was ok.
Maybe not happy, but she was ok.
She was working her way towards happy. She was getting there. Who cared if she felt a little lonely in this out-of-the-way room? Who cared if she left the opera alone each night? Who cared if the Angel of Music - no.
No.
Christine stood up from the table abruptly, lipstick, foundation, and combs rattling with the motion. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. She had decided.
The Angel was real.
This was happening.
She grabbed her keys and locked the door behind her. She wasn't going crazy and this wasn't some kind of trick. Christine had checked the hallway every single night before her lessons, and there was never anyone anywhere near her room. She looked at her phone. There was plenty of time. She reached the door nearest to her and placed her ear against the wood. Nothing. No sound. She leaned away from the door, but it wasn't enough to just listen. Tonight she needed more. The knob turned easily under her hand, and the door opened to a small, dark storage closet. Rolls of toilet paper in neat rows. Cleaning supplies on the shelves. Barely enough room for the vacuum, let alone a man.
Because the voice sounded like a man's.
No!
The voice sounded angelic. The voice sounded angelic because it was an Angel's voice. She shut the door with more force than she intended. An angelic tenor or bass, maybe, but not a man. She continued down the hallway, opening the doors she'd only ever listened at before. More storage closets. A room full of music stands. An empty office with a small fish tank bubbling in the corner. Nothing. No one.
She wasn't going crazy and it wasn't some kind of trick.
Christine finished the hallway but still felt restless. She roamed the halls until she came upon the other dressing rooms. They were quiet. Everyone else had gone home. She wandered past dark rehearsal rooms and empty offices. On the opposite side of the opera, she paused to watch a dancer whose name she didn't know pirouette across a mirrored room. She made her way through the lobby, nodding to the night guard as she passed, and stopped at the massive windows that made up the front wall of the opera. The lights of the city told a million different stories all at once, but she knew none of them.
Christine checked the time and slipped her phone back into her pocket. She should head back. Her footsteps echoed softly as crossed the lobby, everything cream and cool and modern until she entered the crimson auditorium. A cleaning woman was backing out of the far door with her cart, and Christine gave her a small wave.
"Would you like the lights left on?" The woman paused, her cart holding open the door.
"No, that's fine. I'm just walking through."
Her feet were quiet on the lush red carpet, and the red velvet of the seats was soft beneath her fingertips. She turned her face upward, taking in the starburst chandelier sparkling above her before the lights dimmed. A few emergency lights glowed orange near the exits, and she made her way towards the single, bare light bulb illuminating the stage. The ghost light. She pulled herself onto the tall lip of the stage with some effort and turned to take in the room. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she could see the seats filled. She could feel the warmth of the spotlight. Almost without realizing, Christine started to sing. One cautious note. Then another. Soon the Jewel Song from Faust began to pour out of her.
A shadow rose from one of the seats and moved towards the door. Christine's voice died in her throat.
"Hello?" Christine called. The shadow stopped. Turned. Walked towards her. This was it. This was him. She'd been duped and she was a fool and this was -
"I apologize for the interruption, miss." The shadow turned into a man in a three piece suit. Christine's heart dropped into a more normal rhythm. "I was just on the way out of the theater when you started singing, and I didn't mean to startle you."
His voice in no way resembled the the one that came from her mirror. The ghost light illuminated a friendly, open face with startling green eyes.
"It's fine, I just didn't expect anyone else to be here." She smiled politely. He smiled back, but made no move to leave. She scrambled for something else to say. "Do you work here? At the opera?"
"In a manner of speaking." The man answered.
"Oh. Ok…"
The two stood in silence for a long moment before the man nodded, as though coming to some decision.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening, miss, and thank you for the song. You have a lovely voice."
The man turned and strode out of the auditorium without waiting for Christine to respond, disappearing through the door to the lobby. Christine leapt off the stage and barreled up the sloping walkway. What if it was him?
Maybe the Angel was all a ruse.
There were only a few minutes until her lesson. This could have been his way of putting her off the scent! Maybe he had just disguised his voice. She hit the swinging door at a run and was halfway across the lobby before she thought to be stealthy. She slowed to a walk and looked about her. He was nowhere to be seen. She felt a queasy sort of triumph. She knew it. He was probably making his way back to her dressing room right now. She cast one last, frantic glance across the lobby, and spotted him. There, on the other side of the glass. He strode past the fountain, hailed a cab, and drove away.
Ok.
Ok.
Ok.
She felt the buzz of her phone's alarm and took off toward her dressing room. This was good news! This was great news! That guy couldn't be the Angel! He had driven off! There was no way he could get back into the opera before she got back to her dressing room. She wasn't going crazy! This wasn't some kind of trick! Her hands shook as she unlocked the dressing room door, and she felt like she could float away. Just to be sure, just to cancel out the last doubt, she ran her hand along the edge of the mirror. Nothing. She ran her hand down the other side. Nothing. No levers, not buttons, no hidden catches. Nothing but a solid wall. She dragged a chair a few feet towards the mirror so she could reach the top but the strains of a violin caught her ear. She left the chair and took a few steadying breaths, moved to her place in front of the mirror, and smiled.
The mirror was just a mirror. She wasn't going crazy and it wasn't some kind of trick.
o...o0o...o
Christine cornered Meg the next day and asked her about the man she had seen the night before.
"Oh, him? That's just Pierson." Meg looped her arm through Christine's and the two of them walked toward the little cafe near the opera. "Not really sure what his deal is. He might be head of security? Or maybe a P.I.?"
"And he's just allowed to...roam the opera?" Christine said.
"Well, yeah, I guess, if he's head of security. He's been here for a few years. Seems nice enough but pretty much keeps to himself."
Christine decided to drop it. The explanation made sense, and she didn't want to dig anymore. She stepped up to the counter and ordered a sandwich. Meg ordered a salad. The two grabbed their food from the hand-off counter and sat at one of the tables outside. It was a beautiful day, the air warm and pleasant, the entire city seeming to sigh with relief as the heat of summer lifted.
"Tell me more about your dance solo," Christine said around a mouthful of food.
"Yes! Ok, so," Meg leaned back in her seat with a satisfied air. "You know La Sorelli? Tall, French, Prima Ballerina?"
"Yeah."
"Well, she was originally going to lead all four of the dance numbers in the Gala. BUT there's this one number that's shorter than the rest, and she got into an argument with the choreographer the other day – Christine?"
"Yes." Christine had lifted her face towards the sun. She cracked open one eye and nodded at Meg. "Continue, I'm listening."
"And she was like 'Can I cut it down to three dances?' and the choreographer was like 'No.' and Sorelli was like 'Cut it down to three.' and he was like 'No.'"
"She's the prima does she want cut her own numbers?"
"I know! I'm getting there. SO. Sorelli is all 'Listen, I am making a Very Important Speech to the managers right after the Gala. I need time to practice beforehand. Let me sit that dance out.' and he's like 'I don't care WHO you're dating at the moment, the schedule is set–"
"Ooooh," Christine sat up quickly. "Who's she dating?"
"I guess it's one of the new patrons? One of the de Chagny's? Anyway…" Meg's voice drifted further and further away as Christine tried to absorb this blow. Was it possible? Could Raoul really be dating–nope. Nope. That didn't matter. Raoul was just a friend who could date whoever he wanted. He was barely even a friend at this point. Christine turned her attention back to Meg.
"...and by THAT point, Reyer was involved, the choreographer was at his wit's end, and Sorelli told them to give the shortest number to one of the other girl's. I auditioned, and here we are!"
"Meg, I'm so happy for you!" Christine leaned over and gave Meg a quick hug. Meg went into more detail about her solo, which led to talk about the Gala, which led to opening night, and the two chatted throughout the remainder of the lunch hour.
The opening of Faust went off without a hitch that afternoon, the lift delivering Méphistophélès (now with fog!) at the appointed time. There was a tiny, silent round of applause from the chorus and the stagehands at this. Carlotta pushed her way through the clapping crowd, bumping into Christine.
The diva shot Christine a withering look before climbing the ladder to a platform with a spinning wheel. Carlotta's Marguerite costume was a more elaborate version of the peasant dresses the chorus wore, at least for the opening. There was talk of doing an adaptation with more modern costumes later in the season, but for opening night, the costumes were replicas of the original 1880's production, all puffed sleeves and long skirts perfect for twirling. A spotlight illuminated Carlotta from backstage as she blissfully spun thread on her spinning wheel. Méphistophélès was showing Faust a vision of what the old scholar could have if he sold his soul for youth. The spotlight gave Carlotta a dreamy, angelic glow, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she only wore a wig cap instead of the two long braids that would complete the costume. One of Carlotta's assistants waited at the base of the ladder with the wig in hand, and fitted it to Carlotta's head as soon she descended.
Faust sold his soul, the poisoned wine becoming an elixir of youth. Christine came and went from the stage, always trying to discreetly watch from the wings as the now youthful Faust seduced the innocent Marguerite away from the besotted Siébel. Carlotta's rendition of the Jewel Song was more brazen than demure, and her "sorrow" at being a single, pregnant, outcast came across as indigence, but her voice was still lovely and there was a part of Christine that couldn't help but admire her.
Carlotta had, for the most part, left Christine alone this week. With the Gala and opening night, all Carlotta seemed capable of was the occasional dirty look in Christine's direction, which was a welcome change. Christine was just happy that Carlotta didn't have time to harass her. Rehearsal drew to a close. In the final scene, as Marguerite was called up to heaven, the harness got stuck about 15 feet off the ground, leaving Carlotta stranded. Carlotta heaped abuse on Reyer, the stagehands, even the Opera Ghost. As the company filtered off the stage to give the stagehands room to rescue the dangling prima donna, Christine passed Joseph Buquet.
"I'm telling you, I found where the ghost lives!" Bouquet said to another stagehand.
"Yeah, right."
"Seriously! It's over by one of the set pieces, and I think…" His voice faded out of Christine's hearing, and she hastened to her dressing room. She sang the Jewel Song in her dressing room to keep her voice warm, infusing the emotions she felt the scene called for into the song. Humble and demure at the start when Marguerite discovers a box of jewels left by Faust, then tipping over into a dangerous, almost prideful joy at how the Jewel's make her look and feel. The perfect set up for her to be seduced at the end of the act. Christine finished the song a second, third, and fourth time before she wandered to the dressing room door. She stood for a long moment with her hand on the knob, silently counting the seconds that ticked by, before sitting back down at her vanity.
"Aren't you going to search the halls for imposters?" The golden voice whispered in her ear. She jumped a little in her seat.
"I wasn't…"
"Perhaps I am just early." There was a click, and the door swung open slowly. "Don't let me keep you, Miss Daaé. Search away."
"No!" Christine jumped out of her chair and pulled the door closed. "No, that's all right, I don't need to search tonight."
Her breaths were shallow and fast as she leaned against the door, trying to keep her composure. Of course the Angel knew her little routine. Knew about her doubts. Knew about yesterday. Her eyes pricked with unshed tears. She was stupid. An idiot. Ungrateful. And now he would leave her.
"No need to fret." The voice was soft and warm in her ear. "No need for tears."
Christine's breathing slowed at the Angel's tone. The voice began to drift towards the mirror, and she followed, as though being led by an unseen hand.
"This is a wonderful development, my dear." The Angel had never called her that before, and her heart twisted with hope. "I do not fault you for your doubts, they were natural. Warranted."
She paused in her normal spot in front of the mirror. Glancing in her own eyes, she could still see a trace of frantic worry, but the voice went on, soothing and sunset and kind.
"No, I do not fault you. Rather, I value your faith. I have seen your struggle, but through it you have proven your dedication. To me. To the music."
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Rest easy now, child. I do not wish you to fear me. I wish to be your are safe with me. I am your guide. Your confidante. Will you trust me?"
"Yes…" she breathed.
"Good, Miss Daaé. That is good." The voice paused for a moment, and Christine exhaled. "How are you, my dear?"
"I..I'm fine," Christine said, confused. The Angel was normally all business. Straight to singing. No conversation other than instruction.
"Merely fine? How are you feeling about rehearsals? Life? You cannot grow as a singer if you do not feel stable and secure."
"Oh, well...yes. Things are fine. Good. Mamma and I are getting along well, I, uh, I enjoy my time here, and the people are nice...for the most part."
The Angel sighed, the sound drifting slowly about the room, but it was not an angry sound, merely resigned.
"That is good, Miss Daaé, though I hope in future you will feel more comfortable confiding in me."
"I'm comfortable–"
"No, no, my dear. You aren't. Not yet. I can tell. I put you through quite the ordeal last week. An unfortunate necessity, of course, but difficult all the same. I needed to know for certain that you were worth my time. I now know that you are. Come, let us sing."
Christine nodded slowly, corrected her posture, and the lesson commenced. The Angel was as exacting as ever in his instruction, stopping to have her repeat a note or phrase until he was satisfied, but there was something different about this lesson. There was a warmth in the Angel's voice, a gentleness that had not been there previously, and it filled Christine with a blossoming glow. She had done right. She could doubt no longer. This was where she was meant to be. A gift from her father, a gift from God. Why she, of all people, had been chosen for this blessing, she couldn't understand, but it was real and it was happening and it was hers. She poured her joy into her voice, singing as she hadn't since her father was alive. She was happily exhausted by the time the Angel finally called for the lesson to end.
"You did well tonight, Miss Daaé. Very well, indeed."
"Thank you, Maestro," Christine said. The Angel's words flitted through her head, and after a moment she continued. "That was...this is the best I've felt in a long while."
"Good." If a voice could smile, it would sound like the Angel did at that moment. "That is good."
Christine smiled back.
"Farewell and good evening, my dear." The voice drifted deeper into the mirror as it always did at the end of a lesson.
"Good night, Maestro." Christine slipped on her jacket, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.
"Oh, and Miss Daaé?" the voice was a whisper in her ear, and she paused with her hand on the knob.
"Yes, Maestro?" She replied, just as soft.
"We must ready you for your debut."
o...o0o...o
The next few days passed in a blur. The mornings were reserved for Gala rehearsal and the chorus reviewed the numbers they would be performing. There were pieces from Tosca, Aida, and Norma. A number of operatic stars who had gotten their start at the Metropolitan Opera came and went, people Christine had admired for years, people who now traveled all around the world to sing. In the afternoons, the company would run through Faust in its entirety. The managers, both new and old, came one afternoon to watch. Each day the production went smoother, the lighting and effects increasing with each practice, each performance had less snarls, less accidents.
Her evenings were spent with the Angel of Music. A thrill of excitement ran through Christine every time she thought of the Angel's words. He had not mentioned her debut again, but she strove to pay extra attention and dedication in her lessons. Perhaps the Angel knew of an upcoming audition, and with each passing day she grew more and more certain of her desire to succeed at the opera. If there was an audition, she would be ready for it. During lessons, the Angel moved on from general technique to a more acute focus on one song: Carlotta's number from the Gala, a piece from Romeo and Juliet that Christine adored.
"No reason, my dear, other than that it is perfectly suited to your voice." The voice had said when Christine asked why that song had been chosen.
Christine woke on Tuesday feeling...different. It wasn't until she was on the subway that she realized what the difference was. For the first time in weeks, she was happy to be awake.
The opera was bustling by the time Christine arrived. There were only two days remaining until opening night, and one week until the Gala. The buzz of energy was palpable. She quickly dropped her bag in her dressing room, hurried into her costume for Faust, and joined the rest of the company on stage. Reyer announced to the company what the Angel had told her the night before: Gala rehearsals would resume on Friday. Instead, there would be a full run through of the show before and after lunch until opening night. The experienced members of the company, and Christine, were already in costume, but the newest members were given fifteen minutes to go back to their dressing rooms and change.
"Miss Daaé," Reyer paused as he passed Christine on his way to the pit and nodded approvingly. "Always a pleasure to see one of our new recruits staying on top of things. Well done."
Christine went into rehearsals with more spirit than she ever had before. She poured more and more of herself into her performance, and with a sudden clarity she realized she was enjoying herself. She was having fun! The run through of the show continued flawlessly, and Christine drank in every second of it.
"Hey, Chris!" Meg caught up with Christine as the cast broke for lunch. "Wanna grab something to eat at the cafe?"
Meg had already removed her costume and wore a pair of boots over her black stockings. She pulled a large grey sweater over her leotard. Christine agreed happily, and the two made their way to Christine's dressing room. Meg inspected the assortment of stray props displayed on the antique dresser as Christine changed behind the screen. Christine laughed when she heard the ting! of the silver egg cups.
"Those are my favorite!" She called from behind the screen, and Meg responded by tapping the cups together once more. Christine grabbed her purse, and the two hurried up the hallway towards the exit. They were chatting about the morning's rehearsal and Meg's previous opening night experiences when they saw a large knot of girl's gathered by one of the stage doors.
"I wonder what's going on there?" Christine said.
"I have an idea," said Meg, rolling her eyes. The group of girls laughed loudly and then dissipated, leaving a lone figure. "Joseph Buquet."
"Come on ladies, don't you want to see the Ghost?" he shouted at the retreating girls. He shook his head, hands on hips, but his face lit up when he saw Meg and Christine. The girl's tried to power past him, but he jogged a few steps and cut them off. He put his arm out to stop them and leaned lazily against the wall.
"Come on, Joe," Meg said, "let us go."
"What would you lovely ladies say if I told you that I know where the ghost lives?" Joseph said, ignoring Meg.
"I'd say fat chance, now let us by."
"Listen, listen..." Joseph put up both his hands to block them. "There's a trapdoor under the stage, near a flat and a set from Le Roi de Lahore, and I swear to you that I saw the Opera Ghost climbing out of it."
"That's nice, but I'm hungry, and you're blocking me."
Joseph rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Christine.
"You're not saying much," He ran his fingers lightly down her forearm before catching her hand in his. "What do you say? You, me, a little hunting for ghosts? See where things go?"
"Nope." Christine pulled her hand from his. "I...no. No thank you."
"Fine, suit yourselves," Joseph stalked off, muttering insults under his breath.
Meg and Christine looked at each other for a long moment before bursting out laughing, and the two headed to lunch.
o...o0o...o
The rest of the day went smoothly. The second run through of Faust only had one minor snag (an alto accidentally stepped on Carlotta's dress during the market scene and everyone was treated to a fifteen minute monologue from Carlotta on why that girl, in particular, would be the downfall of the entire Metropolitan Opera). Christine filmed a short, happy update for her weekly letter before a productive lesson with the Angel. She left the Opera feeling energized and excited.
She skipped lightly down the subway steps, the warm air from below playfully tangling her hair. The platform was full, but not crowded, and after a short while the echoing whistle announced the arrival of the train. The seats were quickly taken, so she held onto one of the handles near the back of the train and enjoyed an audiobook of Swedish fairytales through a headphone in one ear. The walls whizzed passed with only the occasional streak of light to break the monotony, and in her mind she painted the tunnels with Swedish monsters and mermaids and maidens.
Her stop arrived, and she made her way across the platform. A couple of men in suits, deep in conversation, jostled past on either side of her, and a briefcase knocked into her hand. Her phone skittered across the platform floor and came to rest at the base of the stairs. With a cry, she hurried after the phone and knelt to pick it up. The screen hadn't cracked. She breathed a sigh of relief and stood, just as something tall and solid collided into her from behind.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," she said to the black-jacketed man as he hurried up the stairs. He didn't acknowledge her. She put the headphone back in her ear and hit play on the audiobook. The night air was cool and fresh on the street above, and though she could not see the stars for the city lights, she knew they were there. The thought made her happy, and she wondered if the Angel was watching over her now.
The Angel of Music.
The whole situation was confusing and mysterious, but who cared if it was supposed to be impossible?
She believed in miracles.
This was miraculous.
And it was what she needed right now.
IS THAT A THE PERSIAN CAMEO I SPY? I THINK YOU KNOW. I THINK YOU KNOW IT IS.