Reflections on Art and Life
I came across this video and felt inspired to write a mini story.
The old street musician who was rushed to the emergency room from the hit and run accident was badly injured. His right lung had collapsed, most of his ribs were broken and his pelvis was dislocated. Miraculously, the electric cello was unscathed even though the man clutched on to it forcefully until the very end. The tuning pegs, now soaked with his blood, dug deep into the side of his neck, right below his left ear where they used to only tickle his skin. “Who is going to play my Bella?”, he whispered, tears trickling over his unshaven purple swollen cheek. “My darling Bella…”.
When the man stopped breathing, Eric pronounced him dead. The blood loss from the neck artery was too severe to attempt resuscitation and by now the man’s face was utterly colorless and without expression. The supporting paramedics left the room, leaving Eric to sign off on the chart. He lingered a little looking at the instrument lying parallel to the corpse with the tuning pegs still buried in the man’s neck. He carefully removed them and pulled the cello away. It uttered a quiet whimper of a sound. Eric’s hands, usually precise and unhesitating, now trembled and yielded to the instrument as he instinctively sat in a chair an rested it against his knees.
They say you can’t run away from your destiny. What were the odds that the instrument he had given up fifteen years earlier, after vowing never to have anything to do with music and choosing a more secure career path, would find him in this God forsaken place? Yet here he was, his right hand gravitating to the familiar roundness of the bow, and the left one suddenly remembering the precise language of fingering in which he was fluent since childhood. If the setting was grotesque, he did not care. He was not aware of his surroundings.
©2014 Dosia McKay