God’s Gift of Music
Flash Fiction by Voni Harris
She took her place at the soloist’s music stand.
He looked over at her from the director’s podium.
The sparks that flew between them could’ve started the stage on fire.
After all, they’d been fighting all day up until time to leave for the concert. Her husband was driving her crazy, but that was no reason to ruin the concert they’d worked so hard preparing for.
She consciously lowered her shoulders and put a pleasant smile on her face.
The argument over how to put the toilet paper on the roll had gone too far, she had to admit. But it was so hard to let go of the anger over his thoughtlessness and inconsideration and male ego and…
She consciously lowered her shoulders and put a pleasant smile on her face. Again.
She lifted the violin to her shoulders and looked up to her husband. He, too, deliberately put a smile on his face as he met her eyes.
On his cue, the rest of the orchestra lifted their instruments. He brought them in slowly and quietly, then signaled her entry into the music.
The song built to a crescendo, when her solo took off flying, supported by the oboes and clarinets. Then the violins came in, sending her soaring even higher.
He met her eyes again and asked for more from her violin. She gave it to him, until the music came to a sudden pause. And took off again in an outpouring of joy that—finally—spilled over into her heart and soul.
Their eyes locked again, as he brought the music back down to earth, gently landing her solo with a last, long, sweet note.
And the smiles between them were suddenly not deliberate, but genuine.
As if it really mattered how the toilet paper was put on the roll.