Melody by Julia Homeniuk

Some think that if you do one thing over and over again,

no matter how stressful it is, you will get used to the strain it puts on your nerves. Be it a rehearsal, an exam, a performance… But alas, for some, no matter how often they repeat the said thing, it always feels like the first time. 

Sirius Maltsberger checked the cufflinks of his suit. The elegant black attire with just some golden accents complemented perfectly today’s event – his concert at the nation’s grand theatre. The orchestra he was going to perform alongside was already finishing the preparations, every member was already seated at their designated place. They were all looking down at their notes, revising their parts of Sirius's composition. The grand piano had already been prepared, now it was standing on the stage, as if patiently waiting. The curtain was going to rise soon.

The man took one last glance at his fingers, he had spent the entire day prior to this moment rehearsing, yet the results of his toil could only manifest themselves as the light tremble of his fingertips. They trembled harder once a light hand landed on the composer's shoulder.

– Are you ready? – A familiar voice, melodic, yet with a twinge of stiffness in it, spoke. A young man stood behind the musician, holding a bouquet, pointing it to the ground. He was wearing an extravagant hat and still had his outside coat on. No greeting, no small talk. Straight to the point, as always. Sirius smiled at the man’s question.

– Oh, hello, Thomas. Yes, I think so. I’ve spent a lot of time preparing, after all… I must be ready.

The young man smiled in return. He closed his eyes and nodded at the friend's reply.

– Good. I believe this show will be a success. As all of your shows have been so far. – There was a glimpse of mockery in the young man’s smile, but his eyes glimmered with softness. Despite the tone of the friend’s voice remaining almost unchanged, Sirius could clearly pick up the subtle notes of fondness in it. His smile widened, and his eyes reflected the slight glow in the eyes of Thomas. 

– Thank you. Will you stay to listen to the performance?

The glimmer in the musician’s eyes dimmed once he saw his friend hesitate.

– Unfortunately, I must go… I wish I could stay and listen, but I still have some business at the atelier to attend to. And, since I know your performance will be perfect this time as well, I brought you this. – Thomas handed his friend the bouquet. Blue forget-me-nots and yellow alyssums were peeking from between the petals of dark purple irises. Sirius accepted the flowers, his face softening again.

– Well… That is indeed unfortunate. Thank you for coming to visit me. And for the flowers too. 

– Don’t mention it. I’m sure you will get many more bouquets today. 

– Ah, perhaps… But I’m still moved. Good luck with your work! 

– Thank you. Break a leg! 

– Thank you! 

With these words and a soft giggle, Sirius waved his friend goodbye. His eyes followed Thomas as he was leaving, until he disappeared behind the curtain that led out of the backstage. The smile faded from the composer’s face, pleasant warmth left by the conversation slowly dissipated, giving place to his previous worries. The musician pressed the bouquet closer to his chest and, with one long breath, inhaled the comforting scent. 

– Mister Maltsberger, the performance begins in 5 minutes! – Someone from the staff shouted, pulling Sirius out of his melancholic trance. 

– Ah, of course. Thank you. – The musician nodded. He handed the bouquet to another member of the staff, took one last glance in a mirror and walked over to the piano. His fingers grazed over the lid that covered the keys. So familiar, yet so alien. His hands were now still. They were not the same hands now that held the bouquet, they were now tools, of the same nature as the piano beneath them. Just as familiar, yet queally as foreign. 

The host had finished his speech. The audience was cheering. The curtain was slowly lifted. 

Sirius stood here, in the middle, illuminated by the stage lights, basking in their golden light. The people were applauding him, the honoured guests were looking and nodding at him with approval from their seats in high tiers. He was the centrepiece of this performance, as he’d always been. He greeted them with a wide smile and a deep bow before taking a seat at the grand piano. This moment, all the previous identical moments before it, is what his entire life had been leading him to. The lid was opened, the first strings were tugged. The sound filled up the concert hall.

A soft melody started playing, the sounds of violins’ strings and piano keys harmonizing together. The sound started intensifying before opening completely, engaging more instruments, like a flower revealing more petals when fully in bloom. The piano took the lead again, Sirius's fingers moving swiftly across the keys, matching the pace of the trumpets and the strings. He spent countless hours rehearsing this part. And God knows how many nights rewriting it. A quiet thrill of drums and a gentle humming of flutes could be discerned amidst the powerful sounds of wind instruments which took over, giving the pianist a moment of peace before his next big part. His heart was pounding loud and fast, yet he paid no mind to it. All he could hear was his creation, so alive, so overflowing… the sounds of each individual instrument were swirling together, intertwining, like fibres in a piece of the finest silk. Just like in his bravest dreams. Sirius's body felt like liquid, carried by the waves the music was creating, yet he still, as if a mechanism by command, took control over his body and added another loop to the fabric of the melody.

The wind instruments took the lead, introducing the sounds of the keys once again, before dying down and leaving the notes of the grand piano with the humble flutes and subtle drums. The sweat gathered on the pianist’s forehead, just like during his first time to the entire concert hall, yet his spirit and skill were as high as ever. Driving the melody to another climax, the composer, as it appeared to the audience, glided his fingers across the keys, growing anticipation in the hearts of everyone in the theatre. The hearts of the viewers yearned to hear the melody drop; the hearts of the musicians – to play this part perfectly; the heart of Sirius – to hear this part once again, for it was the most strenuous one, and the best one in the composition. Everything that had happened before led up exactly to this climax. Every music school exam he had passed and failed, every night he would spend musing over the lined sheets for the notes.

The drums intensified the impact of the piano, the ‘winds’ joined the pianist in the next part, before the flower bloomed once again, revealing all the petals, engaging even more instruments. The pianist couldn’t hear nor see the audience’s reaction, yet he knew they liked it, just from the chills he was getting on his back. And he loved it even more than them. The melody continued intensifying, shining brightly in the ears and the hearts, like a comet, descending and burning brighter and brighter before finally making its final impact.

The last notes were played, the last strings tugged and keys pressed. The hall fell completely silent. Sirius held his breath, partially because of built-up emotions, partially because of the fear the audience could hear it. A second after, yet for the musician it felt way longer, the hall erupted with applause and loud cheers, some people were even standing up, waving their handkerchiefs and throwing flowers on the stage. After briefly catching his breath, the composer stood up and welcomed the cheer with the same beaming smile as before the performance. This time, however, it was a little more genuine. He bowed and waved to the audience, thanking them with these gestures for such a warm welcome. It was only the beginning of his concert, just the opener to entice the public. It was just the opener, but he still remembered not being able to shut up about his love and big hopes for this piece to his friends, and Thomas specifically.

This night the concert hall seemed to have come alive, it was full of energy, feelings, and spirit. Each melody which resonated against its walls coloured the air within it a new emotion, from bright reds of heavy, pompous compositions, tailored for a nationwide celebration, to deep blues of whimsical melancholic piano solos. This night was truly memorable, for all hearts present in the hall. 

The concert ended at a bright yellow, sunny melody, as if signifying that it is not the final goodbye from the orchestra and the composer. Everybody stood up to receive the final applause of the day, feeling tired physically, yet fulfilled emotionally. Sirius's smile was even brighter than before as he was waving and bowing, accepting bouquets and other little gifts, albeit still awkwardly, and eyeing the audience for any familiar faces. He knew some honoured guests from his previous performances, but, aside from them, he couldn’t recognize anyone else. Thomas, just as he warned, wasn’t there either. He sighed, still keeping the smile on his face. That feeling hit him again. So familiar, yet so alien. 

He collected the gifts and carefully packed them all before leaving. They were all sitting beside him as he travelled home in a car, driven by his chauffeur. The bouquet of forget-me-nots, alyssums, and irises was lying in his arms, as the comforting scent washed away the nervousness from Sirius's heart.