Music: We Are Not Alone

Note: I wrote the below based on the prompt in the photo. I intend to enter this. I also intended this to be a nonfiction piece, but this just sort of came out.

 

 

 

Eleanor flattened the wrinkles from her maroon skirt with her fingertips before crossing her right leg over her left. Her dark loafer dangled a bit off her heel, but she didn’t expose any more of her foot, dreading that one of the others would see the run in her flesh-toned stocking. She wished she’d dyed her hair before coming, the flecks of gray were overcoming the dark mane she fashioned into a neat bun.

“If you must know, I suppose, it’s the loneliness,” she said. “It’s everywhere. Everyone is lonely.”

Mr. Cory nodded in agreement across the circle. She felt a kinship with him more than any of the others.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Wealth, fame, it’s meaningless. We’re ghosts and nothing more.” He sipped from the Styrofoam cup, his eyes shifting about.

“I was married once,” Eleanor said. A collective groan spread around the group.

“Marriage! That’s how they get you,” Jack rose from the metal chair and paced around the gymnasium, his shoes tapping off the hardwood. He still carried himself like an athlete, but his stomach protruded too far past his belt for the illusion to fool even the most casual observer.

“Here we go,” Diane lifted her arms in exasperation. “It’s all my fault!” The woman was a beauty once with aspirations of stardom, but those dreams were gone. She wore a sweatshirt that might have once been pink, but somewhere along the way transformed to a shade that Crayola could dub Faded Glory.

“Please, sit down, Jack.” The Listener implored. He was a thin, bespectacled man with a bald spot in the back and a comb over in the front. Eleanor and the rest only knew him as the Listener, and when he beckoned them to come, they met, as if hearing their complaints somehow saved him.

“We all struggle with our identities,” Lola said. She never added much to the conversation, but always chimed in with pointed statements.

Jeremy snorted from his corner. The brooding boy always pulled a chair from the group, preferring to reside on the fringe. Eleanor couldn’t deny a sense of relief that he didn’t speak. Her focus shifted from the boy to the ceiling as one of the overhead lights flickered in and out. From the rafters hung banners declaring long ago glories. A state title in the cross country for one. Third place in some sort of band contest on another. She lost interest, competing was never her bag.

Each meeting was at a different location, although lately, the theme seemed to be dreary, almost haunted, locales. Last time, they met in an abandoned factory, the silent hulking machines rotting in isolation, and another time in a barn with the smell of chaff strong in the air, but it was empty save for the titter of raccoons somewhere in the dark and ominous hay hooks dangling from the ceiling. Long ago, the places were brighter, cheerier. Around a campfire near a crystal clear lake at sunset, for one. Oh, and the cabin overlooking the wildflower pasture had been splendid. The conversations were better then, and the characters in the group more upbeat. Not that Eleanor ever shook the weight of loneliness from her heart.

Jack dropped in his seat, his discontent wrapped up in his crossed arms, but life went on.

“I must confess something,” the Listener startled everyone by rising from his chair. He was noticeably stooped over, and by gosh, he had aged. Dark bags were evident under his eyes and standing produced a noticeable tremble. “I’ve listened to your stories for years. Heck, some of you I have listened to since I was a boy. I’ve imagined your lives beyond that provided in the snippets and lyrics, and in some ways, your lives have grown along with mine.”

He coughed. Looking around the cavernous gym.

“I played here in high school. Shooting baskets and so on. My how time passes. No matter, what I want to say is that your songs have enriched mine. During the good times, you were the background noise. During the lonely times, you were my companions. We’ve met all these times for fellowship because being together is the secret. Are you listening, Eleanor? We are not all alone.”

Eleanor brushed back a tear, wanting more than anything to believe that.

“I must confess though that our time grows short, and my days near their end.” A stunned gasp echoed in the gym. “I fear we shall not meet again, so I wanted to thank you for the music you’ve brought to my soul.”

“But what will happen to us?” Eleanor rose, her fists clenched.

“My Eleanor,” the Listener said, his arms at his side, his palms turned toward her, “it is my song that is ending. Yours will continue to sound out. So will Richard Cory’s. So will Jeremy’s. So will Jack and Diane’s and so on. As long as there are ears to hear, your songs will be heard.” Tears welled in his eyes. Eleanor remained taut, her fingers tightly tucked against her palms. How could he do this?

A tall woman wearing blue jeans and a halter top emerged from the shadows. She had straight blonde hair that dropped to her bare, tanned shoulders. Entering the circle, a spotlight focused on her from above and around the gym tiny lights whirled, as if a disco ball was spinning. The woman stopped before the Listener, her fingers brushed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

“May I have this dance?”

The Listener produced a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and managed a smile.

“Thank you, Mary Jane, I would like that.”

And so they danced, the Listener with one hand in Mary Jane’s and the other at her waist. Gradually, he lowered his ear to her chest, listening to the beat of her heart, and closed his eyes.