FICTION
Memories In The Melodies
The unique power of music…
The old church had been decorated tastefully, with wreaths of white hanging upon each seat, and purple sashes arcing gracefully between them. A row of candles adorned the walls, their soft light casting flickering shadows behind the altar. Further back was the door to the dressing room, where John knew his fiancée Angela was currently getting dressed in her lissome, white wedding gown. Everything was… perfect. Exactly as it had been last time. Seeing everything so immaculate only heightened John’s anxiety.
“Feeling alright?” James asked him, buttoning his dark groomsman’s tuxedo. John nodded dishonestly, staring up at the small skylight in the roof, and the clear sky beyond. No, he wasn’t OK. The scent of the flowers and the flickering flames had reignited painful memories from the last time he was here, nearly fifteen years ago. Standing in a church, dressed aplomb in his finest, ready to bind his life to someone else’s.
That time he’d been waiting for Bianca to walk down the aisle. That day — once again — everything had seemed perfect. He recalled seeing Bianca’s ethereal look in her gown as she’d walked down the aisle. His parents and friends had all watched and clapped as he’d kissed his bride. It should have been happily ever after. And he had truly believed it would be.
But John’s mind, always on point when it came to investment banking, had miscalculated that day. Entering the church today brought back echoes of arguments, tears, feelings of worthlessness and nights spent alone. A tornado of anger and betrayal, as a different Bianca had surfaced after their marriage. Everything they had built had come crashing down in a maelstrom of heated emotions and infidelity…
The reverie was broken by his father’s hand on his back.
“You OK son?”
His father knew what John was going through. The years of therapy it had taken to rebuild himself. To wrench himself back out of the depths of failure and depression. To bring himself back, to where he could reach this point again. Standing in the chapel, waiting to be married… once again. This time aged nearly forty, his mind riddled with invisible scars.
“Everything will be OK this time,” he reassured John, before leaving to take his seat. Other guests began to arrive — many familiar faces from the last time. Forcing a smile, John spoke and tried to mingle with them, ignoring the itch in his feet to run miles away.
It was all he could do to keep himself walking out the door. Could he be wrong again? Could Angela too be not who he thought she was? Before he’d married Bianca, John had known her for five years. Or at least he thought he’d known her.
As John walked, past the expanding number of guests who enthusiastically greeted him, it caught his eye — the grand piano in the corner. A shiny black, ornate piece, almost camouflaged by the shadows. Involuntary steps drew him towards it, sitting him down and closing his eyes, while his fingers gently caressed the keys, relishing their familiarity. Instinctively he began to play, causing the guests to turn as the melody of “To Zanarkand” resounded through the chapel.
Memories of Bianca dissolved as he lost himself in the music, all fears and trepidation evaporating. In their stead, more recent memories surfaced. Him sitting in his music room, playing the same tune on the keyboard, and Angela sitting on the couch in the corner, smiling while watching him play. He remembered opening his eyes, smiling at her, then continuing to play. Countless nights when he would lose himself in the music and Angela would join him on the violin. Bonding with him in ways that Bianca never had.
As the tune shifted, other memories came back. Walking in the park. Hiking in New Zealand. Always together. And simpler memories — the taste of Angela’s hot soup when he’d been sick, the nightly foot massage after he’d had a long day of work. The evenings spent dancing in the music room, just the two of them.
Yes, he remembered, that this time everything was different. There were fights, but no burning anger or resentment. Days apart, but no infidelity. Where there was a fractured, cracking relationship with Bianca, there was a gentle, weathering stream with Angela. He’d been slower, more hesitant, and more careful this time before allowing himself to open up.
The music filled the chapel, with the crowd slowly silencing and falling into one with the flow of the music. Every note felt like a release, as John felt more and more sure that this time was different, and his every anxiety evaporated.
He opened his eyes to see the door ajar beyond the altar, and Angela’s eyes peeking at him through there. Smiling, he closed his eyes again and continued to play, until a gentle tap on the shoulder from his father caused him to stand up and take his place at the altar. With one final smile, Angela closed the door, as he stood, calm and secure. Ready to take on life once again.