His Song

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Photo Credit : sixstringmadness.com

Through the darkness, the guitar sounded, a deep thrum reverberating off the walls of the auditorium and through the hearts of the onlookers. The vibration resounded through their bones and did a somersault in their bellies, and they waited.

She could feel the energy swirling through the smoky air, floating with the dustmotes through shafts of stage light and open doors. Mini gusts of night air wafted through the room and cool fingertip breezes momentarily landed on her cheeks and then dissipated as quickly as they had come. The bodies around her undulated and rode the wave of music pulsating from the speakers. The notes amplified her nerves, her stomach doing a trapeze dance to the beat of the drum.

His face hovered above the guitar, his features a mask of concentration. His fingers raced up and down the long neck, striking chords that invigorated the chanting audience, their greedy ears begging for more.

And the hum of his notes carved a home in her bones. His music spoke of longing and memory, and she was the answer to his call.

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