Cadence

The Prodigy

Her head on my shoulder, my coat on her body. Her hair that smells like lavender. I could stay like this. My senses just going overdrive just by that scent. This beautiful clarinetist looks up to me.

And I melt.

I gaze into her eyes like looking far beyond the hair and makeup, those eyes that glimmered like the stars in the sky. Her eyes simply glistened in the light. She touches her forehead to mine , and I feel warmth, like there isn't anything else in the world but this moment. Her warmth, her touch, her being.

She reaches up and her arms hang softly around my neck. In that closeness, the stillness in our hearts make all the noise, the chaos of the world disappear. Her scent intoxicates; Her gentle smile, my salvation.

And that eye smile, my kryptonite.

How could I have hurt those beautiful eyes years ago? Six years ago.

(Flashback)

Her last performance before she left. A performance I'd rather forget. A performance that I wish I could redo a million times in my head. A performance that I have gone over and over but still maybe haven't gotten over with.

Our last performance. You, who would always go over last minute details of my score to check with me, look at those markings, argue with me on some and yet ultimately, kiss me on my cheek that made me feel 1000000x better. You, who would check every pause, ritardando and fermata with me to make sure I don't prolong the fermatas too much or else you'd lose your breath but it didn't matter because I always felt whenever you were about to take in air. You, who would always tell me to relax whenever I felt too tense with the performance especially when something goes wrong. You, who would always listen to me as I reminded you to breathe in sync with the music, the orchestra, and your maestro. You, who would glance back at me and tell me you're ready before walking towards the stage. You, who never failed to reassure me by holding my hand as gave yours a kiss before passing the last curtain. You, walking with me side by side as we entered the stage at the same time, as equals. That familiar feeling I had that I always got your back through every measure, through every phrase, through every passage. The excitement of sharing the stage with you. The passion in your eyes whenever you glance at me before every accelerando wanting me to pick up the tempo. The magic that goes with every crescendo and decrescendo that you do just with your breath. The mellow pianissimos with the lower register. The energy with every fortissimo of the of your higher registers.

Through a combination of effortless but unmistakable viruosity, well-honed technical skills, a varied palette of sound and an irresistible musicality. Only the clarinet prodigy, Son Ye Jin.

All in the past tense. Separate dressing rooms this time. Despite being your conductor, the last conversation we had was during the general rehearsal. We did not go through the last minute details and adjustments. We did not check how long every pause was gonna be, how slow the ritardando was going to last or where to breath after the fermata. No reassurances. No Yejin telling me to relax. No Yejin to remind to breathe in sync with the music and with me. No Yejin to do a last glance before entering the stage. No hand to kiss before passing the last curtain.

Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry.

I knocked at your dressing room. I wanted to clear things. I wanted you to stay. Call me selfish, but I didn't want you to go. I wanted you with me. I wanted to wrap my arms around you, hold you tight and never let you go. Not like how I lost my father. It was a bad dream, and I pushed you away even if you were there for me the whole time. I was so confused.