Angel Full of Flowers

❁ 13 ❁

There was a line to get into the building. It seemed as though they were checking purses and such before letting anyone in.

At that moment I realized I had forgotten mine. But at least I didn't forget the ticket! That was all that truly mattered.

"Ticket, miss?" An old man in a tuxedo asked at the entrance.

I took it out of my nonexistent pocket and handed it to him. He furrowed his eyebrows. "And how are you related to this event?"

I frowned. Ageist. "One of the musicians is my very very very distant relative."

He gave me a disapproving glare and stamped my ticket. I plucked it from his hand and went on my merry way.

My seat was located on the upper balcony. Going up the stairs with these heels was proving to be a difficult task. Nonetheless, I eventually made it to my seat, which was in the front row. Looking down, however, made me queasy. So I simply did not.

I observed everyone as they took their seats and anxiously waited for the performance to start. Angel was right, everyone here was mostly old. I guess they were the ones who had the most money to give. As my eyes flitted around the audience, someone caught the corner of my eye. It was a woman with a big sun hat who sat right below me. She also seemed to be wearing sunglasses. Indoors? I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Perhaps she was too posh to care.

The lights suddenly began to dim, which I assumed meant the performances were about to start. I had to admit, I was a little excited. I was pretty sure that this was what Angel had practiced for since the very beginning.

I held my breath as the curtains opened. Everyone silenced themselves. A glistening black piano sat right in the center of the stage. All the lights illuminated the wooden floor.

A girl with a beautiful red dress emerged from the side and took a bow. She sat down at the piano. A moment later, Angel appeared with a violin. He wore a long, elegant black dress and a matching headband. Once he had inclined his body to the audience as well, he moved his long hair aside and placed the violin onto his left shoulder. They began to tune together. I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the whole ordeal. The sound of his violin felt so crisp and clean. It gave me goosebumps.

Angel inhaled and began.

Confusion. Anger. Sadness. If someone had asked me to describe what I had felt during his performance, it would have been those exact words. The pianist was too slow to match up with Angel's tenacity—he was far beyond her reach. Almost as if a tornado was swirling inside of him and that at any moment it would tear him apart. Listening to his sound was, unexpectedly, more than I could bear. It made my heart whither within my chest. Up on that stage, he wasn't himself. But I couldn't take my eyes off of him, not even for a single second.

On his last note, he raised his bow into the air, leaving it to ring throughout the theater. It left the audience silent until applauds filled in. I was flummoxed.

I immediately stood up from my seat and cheered, clapping as loud as possible. Everyone turned to face me. My eyes met Angel's and he turned away in shame. I slowly sat back down, somewhat embarrassed. It wasn't my fault I felt so moved by his performance.

A few other violinists came out to play, I assumed they were also students from the school. None of them could compare to Angel, though. I eagerly waited for it to be over because I wanted to be the first to praise him.