Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
He hadn’t performed in three years.
He must have been so nervous.
I shared that nervousness as the room quieted and the lights dimmed. My breath became trapped in my throat as the curtain lifted and the orchestra was revealed. Applause rang out for the musicians, then died down as we waited…waited for the boy I loved with both my old and new hearts more than anything in this world.
I heard my heart beat in my ears, only for it to skip when Cromwell stepped out onto the stage. My hand squeezed my mama’s as I drank him in. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored tux. His large frame and tall height made him look like a model as he walked to the podium. The audience’s applause ricocheted off the walls as Cromwell stopped center stage. I stopped breathing, seeing his neck tattoos creeping from the collar of his shirt. His piercings glimmered in the light. His black hair was as messy as it always was. And flutters broke out in my chest when I saw his handsome face.
He was nervous. No one else would see it. But I did. I could see him rolling his tongue and rubbing his lips together. I saw his eyes adjust to the light then rove the seats.
I froze as his deep blue eyes fell on me. And then warmth burst inside me as his shoulders relaxed and I saw him exhale. His eyes closed for a moment, and when they reopened, he smiled. A true smile. A wide smile.
A smile of love.
A smile just for me.
Any air that was in my lungs fled as his smile hit my heart. Cromwell bowed then turned to the orchestra. He raised a baton into the air, and in that suspended moment, I realized I was seeing the true Cromwell. The musical prodigy that he was born to be. The orchestra waited for his signal, and the lights dropped low.
The symphony started with a single violin. And I gasped. Not at the already heavenly sound but at the screen above the orchestra. The black screen that, when a note was played, flashed up a color and a shape—a triangle.
Cromwell was showing me. He was showing what it was like for him.
He was showing me the colors he heard.
I watched, mesmerized, as shapes in every color of the rainbow danced across the screen. Strings and woodwinds and brass joined in, following every movement of Cromwell’s hand. And I watched, heart full and eyes wide, as Cromwell showed me his soul. I tried to drink it all in, the sounds, the sights, the smells of instruments being played so perfectly. Of Cromwell, at home on that stage, showing the world what he was born to do.
At the end of the second movement, the music died down to a single drum carrying a beat. Cromwell lowered his baton. Then, from stage left, out came Professor Lewis. The audience clapped lightly, unsure what to do at the surprise introduction of the infamous conductor. Cromwell handed Lewis the baton and disappeared into the dark. The drum continued, a steady rhythm…just like a heartbeat…
A spotlight suddenly flashed onto the upper stage left. Cromwell stood under the spotlight, his decks, laptop, and drum pad in front of him. His headphones were on his ears, making him look every inch the EDM DJ I knew him to be. The drum that was playing was suddenly echoed by Cromwell’s synthetic drum.
The strings came in next, a double bass and cello taking the lead. Violins took the melody. Light and pure. Then a song I knew started to play. The pianist to the right was playing the piece I’d seen Cromwell play so long ago, in a music room on a late night…falling apart after the last note faded away.
My heart leaped to my throat. Tears swelled in my eyes. The pianist played the song perfectly as Lewis conducted the orchestra with ease. Then the music dropped again, and the faint sound of a song I knew—a song that came from my heart—poured from the speakers above us.
My song.
My voice.
I gasped. My voice singing “Wings” filled the room. The song was set to a harp and a flute. Serene. Graceful.
Beautiful.
My hand went to my mouth as my breathing stuttered. Because this was how he saw me. Then, from the background, came the sound of an offbeat heart. My hands shook when I recognized the sound.
It was my heart.
My old heart.
A melody grew louder. One of sadness. The beautiful sound of the clarinet and cello playing side by side made my heart ache. And then it came, the sound of another heart. A much stronger heart.
Easton’s heart.
My heart.
My hand fell over my chest, and I felt the beat beneath my palm, in sync with the beat from the speakers. Cromwell threaded electronic beats with the orchestra, the colors a firework display of what he saw in his head when his music played. And I was enraptured. I was drawn into the piece like I was living it. My fight song came next, the song he had played for me so many times in the hospital that it had become my personal anthem. The soundtrack to my hopes and wishes as I lay breathless in bed.