Can't Stop

She pulled out Poem by Charles T. Griffes. Tentatively she slid the interlocking pieces together. She filled her lungs and breathed life and warmth into the instrument she hadn't picked up in what seemed like forever. The keys felt stiff and clicked when they moved. Had it been too long? A two octave chromatic scale proved that her fingers still knew their places. It was time. She began the piece.

In her mind she heard the orchestra come in. The theme lamented in a swelling song that had no clear beginning or end. Over the orchestra she entered with her own line. The clear and silver sound of the flute drowned the rest of the world in its wave of movement. Each note stretched slightly longer than dictated by the black symbols on the pages. A sudden flitting here and there reminded her of past moments - In a rich blanket of sound as she swayed and ached with each note.

A sudden change in tempo and in tone set her heart to racing. It felt as if her fingers would not be able to keep up with her mental accompaniment. Runs of sixteenths filled with accidentals. The pace becoming increasingly frantic and then suddenly shifting to an iteration of the main theme. The flute practically whispered in its lowest range. The tone had a sharpness that mourned some indescribable loss. Just as she had a chance to become comfortable another run took her to a set of shrill trills that led to the syncopated and most melodious portion of the piece. It was a deceivingly simple rhythm that mingled subtle complexities and a juxtaposition of contrasting ideas.

Jumping octaves, soaring high above the staff, tumbling up and down the scale to end as abruptly as it had started. Again. Staccato double-tounging followed with a meandering transition that led her finally to the climax. She was now wrapped entirely in the piece in what seemed like a passive involvement in complete brilliance. The descent back into the final theme was a screaming animal finally giving in and allowing itself to be tamed. It ended as it began. The long, slow, biting siren of the final phrase echoed in her mind for days.