"Where there is love, there is pain."
-Spanish Proverb
Walking into my room after school one day, I almost tripped over something protruding from underneath my bed. Not remembering what I had under there, I pulled it out... and flinched as my father's black violin case came into view. I had put it there after first moving here, not knowing what else to do with it and unconsciously hoping I might forget about… As if by some force that was not my own, my hands flicked the locks open and lifted the lid. Trembling, my fingers brushed the smooth wood of my father's instrument, remembering... remembering...
A little face peeks through the keyhole of a seemingly enormous door, one blue eye sparkling as she watches the man she calls "Daddy" play his violin. The motions of the bow mesmerize the seven-year-old girl as it flowed effortlessly across the strings, producing beautiful music that most people only heard in dreams. The bow stops and the door opens to reveal Daddy's smiling face.
"What is it, Angel?"
The little girl twirls a piece of her long curly hair around a small finger. "Um... I was gettin' kinda bored... and I wondered if you could play with me... but if you don't have time, it's okay," she says in one breath.
Daddy smiles and kneels down to give her a hug. "I always have time for you, Angel..."
I shook myself with a start, feeling a single tear slide down my cheek. "I must never forget..." I whispered, caressing the wood one last time before gently closing the lid and pushing the violin case back under the bed.
One week later I was alone in the theater after school, absently humming to myself as I glanced through a booklet of universities specializing in music performance and waited for Erik to appear for my lesson.
"In anticipation of your receiving the role of Maria, I've... borrowed the piano score from Mrs. Lucas so we can work on a song or two from West Side Story today," Erik announced as he appeared on stage, gliding towards the piano with the lithe grace of a cat.
"Where's your hat?" I asked curiously from my vantage point at the opposite end of the piano, noticing immediately the absent piece of his usual attire.
Erik stiffened as he sat down at the bench facing me. "Someone took it as a joke, I think," he replied abruptly. "I don't want to talk about it... Let's begin."
I hurried to go stand beside him... and froze with a mixture of anger and consternation as I saw the small white spit wads clinging to the back of his thick black hair. Belatedly, I realized Erik had begun playing but I had not sung and he turned towards me, frowning with impatience.
"What's wrong?" he asked, seeing my stricken face.
"Erik... there are..." I couldn't say it. Delicately I reached towards his head, noticing that his mismatched eyes watched me with suspicion. "May I? I'm not going to touch your mask... they're in your hair..." He jerked his hand back and combed it through the strands but still failed to get all of them. "Here," I said anxiously, eager to prevent his temper from flaring up. "Let me help..."
Sitting down beside him and not quite opposite his face, I gently ran my hands through his hair, dislodging the little wads of paper that had somehow gotten tucked in-between the strands and had stuck. Erik stiffened at the first touch of my hands so I started humming, hoping to take his mind off the fear of my unmasking him. Slowly, he relaxed a bit and breathed slowly as my hand continued stroking the soft tresses... All the spit wads had disappeared but strangely enough, I didn't stop caressing his black hair, somehow liking the feel of it between my fingers. His eyes had closed to slits and with a start I realized that I had been singing "One Hand, One Heart"... Erik was singing along with me softly, his beautiful voice swirling around me, calling out to me, making my very soul ache with a sensation I dared not identify. A bit frightened of these emotions, I removed my hand quickly and stood, heart pounding.
Erik's eyes opened and he looked at me, those clear pools of green and blue gazing into my own eyes with what seemed like a kind of sadness and longing. But I must have been seeing things.
"Thank you," he said quietly, turning to the piano. The lesson that followed was, oddly enough, relaxed and not tense like I feared it would be. Perhaps I had crossed one of Erik's barriers at last.