tears and bubbles (5k edition)

8/9/2019 Tears and Bubbles (5k edition)

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Once in a while, only once in a while, I go out looking forsomeone, someone with whom I can talk to; someone to look at insilence, argue with or admire. A person that allows me to understandmy soul and vice versa, a person who can look me in the eyes and

say with no bones about it; It is totally impossible to define all of thecolors I see in your eyes!

Oh, yes, yes! It would be so touching.

Could this possibly happen to me someday?I am so sad and going through a terrible spell! I would love to be ableto blow and make my problems go away.

Lately, my flute cries every time I play it and I end up drenched bymusical tears. It is tricky, tremendously tricky. Thats why I dont playanymore. That and a terrible laziness that has come to live with meand I cant seem to shake.

Enjoying my misgivings, I saw what appeared to be a trumpetplayer, (why, if not, would she be carrying the instrument?) walkingup the hill that wanted to be green but couldnt, its grass had died.

On the very top, I could see how she imagined herself.Majestically! Not everyone is able to do that. I mentally applaudedher.

Had she spent weeks making her notes shine like I had? Iwondered, Would she put special emphasis in rubbing them withtension until they became clean like, (if it is comparable) a crystal ballon a Christmas tree? Would she then cuddle them in her arms andlater drink them so that they would penetrate the most intimate partsof her soul and then expand her lungs and come streaming out of hertrumpet?

After ending the interrogation in my mind, she began to play. Abubble came out of the bell and I heard it say:

Boring! it exclaimed as though surprised, The same old thing,over and over again! I must be the worst trumpet player in the wholeworld. Do and Mi are not the same notes as those shiny notes I drank;at least they arent acting like they should. How strange and verycurious they are! (She moved her head as though she was talkingbut wasnt). So then what?

Nothingnesses! I replied as I threw my flute to the ground.

Excuse me? she said.


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Nothingnesses, pure and simple nothingnesses. Yes, yes. Dontlook at me that way, as though you dont know what Im talkingabout Does it surprise you that my Mi is Re and Fa is Do? Lately ithappens to me all the time!

I make music, or at least I try, and that is basically all there is toit. If my notes want to transform themselves, then let them. We areall butterfliesbut at least they could warn me!

Oh, butterflies! I said.

And who might you be to criticize my music? she asked whenshe realized I was a total stranger.

Please excuse my audacity. It is true. I am no one to judge yourmusic. But curiosity got the best of me when you said you were theworst trumpet player in the world after a soap bubble came out ofyour horn. Achoo! (I sneezed).

Bless you.

Thanks.

Yes, thats the problem. These blasted bubbles that come out ofthis bloody trumpet.Im going through a spell where all that comes out of this thing are,

as she looked at it with scorn, bubbles! Everyone laughs at me.

They laugh?

Yes and dont you dare!

She picked up the horn and began to play with sweetness but, justas she had predicted, no music came out, only bubbles, hundreds andhundreds of little bubbles that, when they popped, emitted strangemusical notes unknown to my well trained and refined ear.

Those bubbles are very pretty. Too bad they dont float aroundforever! I said as I watched them zigzag in the air.

Yes, they are, but my music

It has transformed. Dont you remember we are all butterflies?You said it yourself!

She smiled, kindly. She looked at me and I could have sworn tosee her, for just and instant, drawing a small part of my being. With acertain air of confidence seeing that her music wasnt making melaugh but, on the contrary, was fascinating me, I sat down crosslegged and said in a distracted manner, Play, please play. I want to


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dream with this bubble music, so new to my ears and to the world. Ittells a magical story, splendid!

The trumpet player accepted and began to play. She didnt seemto be ashamed and she gave me a glimpse of her butterfly wings.

The bubbles came out of her shiny horn. They were different sizesand sometimes shapes, (you had to have a keen eyes to see them).The music inside told a story that would be interpreted when thebubbles burst: at random, of course. The first bubble came to me andpopped a few inches from my nose and this is what I heard, a tunewithout lyrics, but telling this story:

Where does one go when one loses a friend? asked ayoung girl crying. Wheredoes one go?

Gather all of the angels together; it is very urgent!

Seeing her play with so much feeling gave me the shivers. It wasso real another bubble burst:

Dance! Dance! That will bring your creepy angels!shouted a dark and evil voice, laughing.

And the girl danced within her tears. She danced, even knowing

that this voice could know the truth.

Enough! What a sad and melancholic tale! I exclaimed as amusical note in the shape of a tear headed for my cheek. It was socruel that the voice laughed at you dreams!

She looked at me sadly feeling deceived by her simplicity, and hidher wings. The last bubble hesitated, brushed against us, first her andthen me, and placing itself between the paths of our gaze, popped.

Imagine that they all came, all, all, all

of the angels and that their little feet dont touch the ground as theydance

In the end, that should be all,all, all of the angels.

What a powerful sentiment!

And the dark voice became furious. Then a terrible scream washeard.

Oh! she sighed.


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Oh! I said, Now what? What will happen to her?

I dont know! I dont know!Play, Play! That voice must belong to a pitiless monster!

Perturbed, the trumpet played blew heavily into the mouthpiece,blowing up her cheeks to such an extreme that, if she didnt have thetrumpet, you would believe she had two enormous ostrich eggs in hermouth. Only one bubble came out of the bell and it began to grow. Itwas dark and on the inside there was dark, dense smoke. Soon a pairof evil eyes could be seen, only to vanish again.

And then she began to be suctioned by the bubble, the monster,who knows? From the inside of the dark orb, the trumpet player wasabsorbed through the mouthpiece of the instrument until shedisappeared completely. The trumpet fell to the ground and thegigantic balloon began to slowly ascend.

What happened? Trumpet player? Where are you?

An uncontrollable sensation of anguish came over me when Irealized that my unknown friend had disappeared because of mycommand!

I could hear her shouting, Help! Mysterious Flute Player, helpme!

Without thinking, (and never having played the trumpet), I pickedup the instrument and blew and blew and blew. The same thinghappened to me. What a terrible feeling being suctioned! I ended upon the inside of another bubble that slowly drew nearer to the darkone. When they touched they fused into one.

Once inside and surrounded by darkness, I searched for her. WhenI found her I embraced and hugged her there in the shadows,encompassed by perverse laughter and whispered in her frightenedear, Do you know something, Trumpet Player? This morning I wentout to find someone, because I felt lonely. Yes, I found you!

She knew very well that very soon we would disappear (what dobubbles do when they pop?) and turn into millions of micro-particles.She said to me, What difference does it make that your flute cries?Now at last I have found you and I cant find the words to thank youfor coming to find me, without even knowing me, without questioning.Hold me tightly, Im afraid.

As her thin arms embraced my body she asked, Do youremember the next-to-the-last bubble that crossed in front of ourgaze when we were looking at each other?

Yes.


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I could see all of the colors that there are in your eyes.

I clung to her and taking a deep breath I kissed her, we becameone and disappeared.


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tears and bubbles (5k edition)

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