I attended an incredible Ekphrastic writing workshop with https://www.ekphrastic.net/ last week and the instructor helped us generate so many story ideas. This is the initial draft of one of the stories. It came from the inspiration of a painting called Spirit, George Roux, France 1895.
Her hands dance along the keys, lighter than the summer rain. It’s magic, almost, how effortless she makes Chopin, how Nocturne Number 2 falls out of her fingers as if the sound is part of her body and she’s simply breathing the notes.
I lounge across the chaise, called back again and again by her music. Let me go, I whisper but she doesn’t hear, doesn’t pause, just plays and plays my favorite song, the one I would beg for every night after supper, sure that I’d never sleep without it. She reaches the subito pianissimo and goosebumps crawl up my arms. “Sarah” she whispers over the music.
Her hands move by rote over the keys, a muscle memory of our lives together. I’m pulled closer and closer with each passing note and before she reaches the coda, I’m next to her on the bench, stroking my hands across her arms as if she can feel me. I love you, I say and for a moment, almost imperceptibly, she pauses. Before I have time to hope, she’s playing again. If I could, I’d rest my head on her shoulder, but instead I sit, forever listening.