A Crowded Place

Chapter 12: Rhapsody

I hated how my anger towards Jacob was dissipating by the minute. I hated how I'd laughed at one of his jokes. I hated that I had agreed to listen to him playing his piece, as if there weren't better things for me to do than be cooped up inside a tiny practice room with a guy I barely even knew, and feel flustered and claustrophobic at the same time.

No.
No.
No.

This guy was driving me insane. I needed to stay calm.

Calm...

That was the only word I could use to describe the beginning of his piece. He started off a murmur of rich, silky notes. My gaze was fixed on his saxophone and the way his fingers effortlessly graced the keys. The melody was a hodge-podge of diminished and augmented intervals, but it was a beautiful masterpiece nonetheless.

My eyes travelled to his face; I had never seen such concentration before. His eyebrows were creased in effort, his eyelids semi-closed and fully immersed in the music. I sat on a tattered chair on the other side of the practise room, barely 3 meters away from him. I usually steered myself away from listening to the repertoire of brass instruments, becuase I thought I wouldn't enjoy it - all I knew of them were Blues jazz music and their characteristically incoherent melodies.

But listening to Jacob's playing, I was thrown into the deep end of the pool. I didn't even know music like this existed.

He crescendoed into a lively and rhythmic section, brimming with mystery. He serenaded me to the French countryside in summer, where birds chirped all day long and the landscape was painted with streaks of vivid colour. Listening to his intoxicating, meandering melodies, I felt astonished and euphoric at once.

After ten of the most blissful, dynamic and surprised-filled minutes of my day, the wonderful piece that was Debussy's Rhapsody for Alto Sax ended. Jacob's performance was almost pristine, save for a few slip-ups in intonation and a few squeaky notes. But I had to give him credit - the piece was incredibly hard in itself, and Jacob had managed to deliver a terrific interpretation of it.

Jacob bowed dramatically, a gesture which reminded me that this was only a 19-year-old boy, not some professional saxophone player. He certainly sounded like one though.

I whistled. 'Whew,' I managed, rendered speechless by his music.

'You'd better watch out for me in the talent show, Garner,' Jacob smiled, obviously pleased with his performance.

'Not so fast, Dalton (Jacob Dalton was his full name),' I retorted. On a last-name basis now, huh? Game on.

'What did you think of it? Don't tell me you made me play for ten minutes and exert all this energy-' he illustrated by flailing his arms in the air as if they were made of rubber, '-just to tell me that you don't know what to make of it!'

'I mean, it sounded...OK. I guess.' I gave him the most indirect answer I could think of, which also echoed what he had said to me after he had heard my Bach the day we first met.

I hated every second of this. I hated how Jacob was changing me, how he forced me to listen to his performance and how I now admired him.

Stop.
Stop.
Stop.

And now I couldn't stop.

'I mean, it didn't sound too bad, I think,' I continued, trying to sound nonchalant. But from the look of astonishment and admiration in my eyes, one wouldn't even have needed to hear me speak to have known that I was impressed. But Jacob, on the other hand - he wanted to hear the words coming from my mouth. That he was so talented, that his playing was magnificent, that-

'Aw, I know you can give more than that,' He said, his voice close to a dangerous whisper, as he began to pack his instrument.

'I really can't give you my thoughts on it,' I said with mock-sincerity, 'My apologies, Dalton.' I grabbed my violin case and slowly began to back out of the door.

'Not so fast, Garner,' Jacob spoke between his teeth, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. In a flash, he was done packing and had followed me outside the door. I was still a few strides ahead of him, but he was catching up fast.

I broke into a run, a nervous giggle escaping from my lips. Jacob grunted as he sped up, and he was only a few meters away from me when I burst into the auditorium, which seemed to be empty (thank god). But, stupid me, it was a terrible decision. The only way out of the auditorium was through the doors which I just came through, and now they were blocked by him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

'Stop, Jacob,' I laughed, a hint of desperation in my tone. What a stupid game.

But Jacob advanced, smiling menacingly. I walked backwards but I was cornered, blocked by a row of seats behind me. I dropped my violin case beside me - I knew this was going to get hands-on.

With a lunge, Jacob pounced onto me, pinning my shoulders to the seat - luckily it was soft and cushioned.
'So, I'll ask you one more time: how was my performance?' With each word in the question, Jacob squeezed my shoulder slightly, emphasising each word.

I couldn't think straight. Laughing uncontrollably, I gave in: 'It was great, Dalton. Th-the best saxophone performance I'd ever heard. In-incredible. Outstanding.' I couldn't stop my giggles as he pressed harder, imploring with his ocean blue eyes.

'Is that really what you think? Is it really?' Jacob leaned in closer. I could smell his breath - like peppermint and spices and masculinity. 'Liv, you're one interesting girl...' He mused, chuckling. 'It feels like I've known you forever...'

We had both gone a little insane.

'My God, who's here?' A voice came out of the darkness of the auditorium. Someone else was in here.