A story about... Classical Music © 2000 Marg Frey, Bryce Graves-Hurst, Nahoya, Christine Schwab	BRYCE	CHRISTINE	MARG & NAHOYA
				NAHOYA & MARG
			MARG	CHRISTINE & NAHOYA
			NAHOYA	CHRISTINE & MARG
				MARG & CHRISTINE

Where was I? Damn. I've always hated fake accents written into dialogue. It looks silly. And it really wasn't the point anyway. I already said she was French, didn't I? What should I do? Write her dialogue in French? That would certainly be authentic. He didn't even get to the part about how the harpsichord music transported the crowd to a new level of understanding about music, about life. There are three chapters about how their lives change drastically the next day and half of them dedicate themselves to the harpsichord, becoming a new historic movement in classical music.

Maybe I need another reader.

Or, I mused, another angle.

     My hands began to create music beneath them. I began easy, with an old familiar dance carol. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was a few of them smiling as they recognized the tune. Then I closed my eyes. Performance was never important to me. Not like the music. I felt it begin to build and lift.

     I had wandered into Jack's Tune! How odd. A repeating memory to an old friend. I had lost track of him years ago, but this piece of music seemed to capture him and the fun we had and the bonds created. I'd never really finished it. It began to finish itself. I sank deeper into the piece and quite honestly forgot I was performing for guests, so lost was I and thrilled to see where it was finally going and where the end would be.

     It was all I wanted it to be and it took me back to days of being ten and playing in fields and burning leaves.....

     A few moments after I was done I marveled at where it had gone and took a part of it inside me to keep and finish later.

     Then I opened my eyes. The silence was a fine applause. Then the mood was broken with hands coming together quietly, but with warmth.