The cellist sits restless on his stool.
Halfway into his cello practice, he takes a break. One hand resting on his instrument, the other on his right knee , he waits for an upsurge of inspiration.
He lacks the right emotions to interpret Bach’s suites for cello. His concentration has been drifting lately from the notes on the score to the young lady rehearsing her violin piece next door. He can hear her play and by the sound of the music he imagines her hands gliding over the strings, her eyes closing as she reaches a grave moment in the piece, and her blond hair gently brushing her pale white skin as she pivots her head from one side to the other in search for the perfect chord.
In his own room, in his own head, in his own thoughts, the young cellist searches for a way to express his doubts and admiration for a lady he only saw once. She never pauses, nor she ever takes her time to put her violin away. Always in a rush, from the moment she enters her rehearsal studio to when she slams the door shut. The young cellist always flinches when the latter occurs.
Today, he is enchanted. He has recognized his favorite composer played by his imaginary lover. Today, she invites him to dream and hope. The romantic melody of Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise has the cellist’s heart melt. It affects his entire body as well as his soul. His feelings are confused, has he fallen in love with the lady, or he is succumbing to the music, his queen, once again?