|Silent Majority (standard:other, 1377 words)|
|Author: Giovanni||Added: Apr 23 2001||Views/Reads: 1597/970||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Allen thinks his mother will finally attend performance where he is conducting a local symphony, but he is worried that it won't meet her standards. he is also about the fight he had with the performers since he cut out one of the songs they were practici|
Allen could not help but step in three puddles leaving the bistro; racing down the street he stuffed his maroon tie into his right coat sleeve pocket and dug furiously through his left pocket for his navy bow tie. No time to change into his navy blazer, which lay wrinkled on the floor of his one room flat, three blocks too many away from the church. Allen, who had grown accustom to wearing his waiter's outfit in place of his conductor's felt a pit in his throat, momentarily having a vision that his mother would be in the audience tonight. Her recent letter saying that she would be in town for the week rested against his maroon bow tie now. From time to time she came to town but Allen hadn't seen his mother in five years. For whatever reason he felt that she would see his performance tonight. He tried catching his breath before entering the church, but he choked on the cool air; his cold wet leg shivered. Upon entering he searched the audience in a daze, the crowd consisted mostly of people with funky thin rimmed glasses, pony tailed men, spiky haired women, dark colored shirts and non matching ties: a post modern nightmare. Onto the stage he strode avoiding eye contact with the musicians, fearing that they would turn on him at the slightest unkind expression. The two cellists, twin sisters barely voting age, glared at him disapprovingly. The woodwinds offered no sympathy either. Then there was Gino the ringleader of the violinists who pitted the entire orchestra against Allen's last minute program change from Mendelsohn to Berlioz. With Allen expecting his mother tonight he had to close with her favorite, Berlioz. Wiping his brow, eyes focused on the floor Allen began the evening performance, embarrassed by his waiter's jacket. Two dead light bulbs hung above his head. The first few lines of Sibelius were crisp, soundly played, evoking a reminiscent air of Beethoven that the composer had intended. Shortly thereafter Allen recognized the familiar sound of Gino's whining violin, once again out of tune. An ill-timed flute drew some laughter out of the sister cellists. The three, the flute and the two sisters shrieked for a prolonged period; Allen seemingly focused diligently, however he was at sixes and sevens. Misplayed notes unwound in his head. The second movement began without all the necessary members of the string section and sweat poured down Allen's back. A man in the front row center turned to his wife, pointing out that the conductor's sweat stained back matched the shape of the stained glass window's crack to their left. When the piece was finished and Allen turned to face the audience he hardly heard the applause, even though he saw them clasping their hands. His cynicism was too well molded; he stuck firmly by it. His cynicism clung tightly to him the way his damp shirt clung to his back. He heard a cough and an echo of laughter. The performers mostly smiled, even if they felt differently inside. Allen was glum, his lips parted slightly. His arms hung low and tightly to his sides and his shoulders were tense as if the hanger to his jacket hadn't been removed. He saw, of all things, a little boy age three or four and his mother in a powder blue bonnet, one in which his own mother would approve of wearing. The boy barely able to keep his head above the pew in front of him, stepped on top of the kneeler and stared into the conductor's eyes. Thirty-five years flashed before him. His hands trembled. The boy's mother grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. Allen watched the audience; many faces stared back, but he kept coming back to the boy and his mother. He searched the church for his own, his eyes shuffling back and forth. Each time he looked back the little boy was squirming in his seat. The Offenbach was nearly perfect, which shocked Allen and his chief violinist who had played the piece flawlessly till the last two bars. Intermission dragged on two minutes too long and Allen made the mistake of conversing with the violinist. Gino, the violinist was a bona fide pest. He chewed off Allen's ear; Allen placated the violinist, looking around for his mother; he couldn't even find the woman in the blue bonnet that resembled her. Sidetracked he turned his attention to Gino and was furious when the violinist demanded that the program be altered. Allen stuffed his hands deep into his pockets fearing that he might strike Gino if he kept harping on playing Mendelsohn. Click here to read the rest of this story (59 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Giovanni has 5 active stories on this site.
Profile for Giovanni, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.