How to Fall in Love ✔

How to Fall in Love (12)

            I didn't understand, couldn't comprehend, what it was all about. Actually, looking further on it, I couldn't understand Finn himself. He was such an enigma, a long polar of template emotions, that I couldn't read. He was a project I couldn't decipher, a figure I couldn't profile. I was drawn.

            These were what were running in my head until the host finally came back up on stage, a ready folder in his hands. "Pleasant afternoon, everyone! We are all here to see the performance of the wonderful world-wide cellist Denisse Linares. You have waited..."

            "It's finally starting," I mumbled to myself, hugging my arms to my chest, the cold seeping through.

            "And, without having to make you wait any further, Attraction is proud to present the prelude performance, Forming Winkler!" The host stepped down the stage, leaving the microphone on the podium. The spotlight on him now moved like liquid gold to the center of the stage, the center of the radiant red curtains. A soft five-count beat of bass drums sounded, and a second passed before the curtains started to draw.

            As it was going up, the people began clapping, and I took note of how no one, not a single soul, wolf-whistled. I remembered yet again that this was elites we were talking about, and I was brought back to earth. The spotlight followed the curtains going up, and in a passing beat, the cellos, the violins, a drum set, were revealed, the stage in plain view.

            And at once, they started playing. It was a majestic tune, the assembly of talented musicians stuck in my head like the melody they were playing. It made me forget, even just for a single second, how drastically upside down my life had just become.

            Before I knew it, the host was back up the stage, asking the audience to give Forming Winkler a warm round of applause. The curtains slid down again, like liquid red, and the lights dimmed. The spotlight was on the host, bright and blaring, making our hearts beat faster. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," he said, shaking me from my seat, eyes glued to him, "the woman we've all been waiting for, the same person who's one of the noble folks who built Serenity Homes, the largest orphanage overseas, the lady who garnered and snatched twelve Tony Awards in the field of musicals, let us now welcome onstage, the wonderful, world-renowned, one for the books Denisse Linares!"

            Claps filled the four walls of the museum as the spotlight centered, highlighting as the curtains, red like a heart, began to draw slowly, and in a flash, a moment too quick for me to decipher, all lights went out, and the curtains were completely up, the stage in plain view once more... but it was a dark void; there was nothing to be seen. Just seamless dark, and the stage was empty.

            Silence astounded the museum, and in the blink of an eye, like the soft blooming of petals in spring, whispers began to fill the quiet, cascading clouds overhead, enveloping me in their slow humming. Before I could blurt out a reaction of my own, as if they had enough of the audience's squabbling, the lights onstage flashed open, brilliant and blinding, the said wonderful, world-renowned, one for the books lady in the very center, an antique-styled stool behind her, a majestic cello in front. Her eyes were beaming as the corners of her lips pulled up in elated exuberance.

            And at once, the audience's confused whispers turned into rampant cheers.

            The lady's beam didn't widen; she stayed perfectly still, hands elegantly positioned on the arm of the cello. Her hair, done up behind her head, was a bright flame of red, like the curtains, like the vibrant sun when it's angry. She was dressed in a quaint black dress just short below her knees, envisaging her features in a curved form in the midsection. Even from the balcony, up in the air, she towered over us all, artificial height added doubling the impact, her chin up and her back straight, nothing to be scared of, not afraid of judgment.