Poison & Puzzles

Scars

 My Da was in love with my Papa long before he ever met my Mother. My Da just didn't realize at first that loving my Papa was something he was allowed to do. My Papa was terrified of loving my Da, because of what it meant for the life that he'd already chosen for himself.

I remember staying up one night with my Papa after he and Da had been arguing. I asked what he saw in a man like Sherlock Holmes. I was eleven and trying to figure out why they didn't just separate. I assumed the only reason they were married in the first place was so that Papa could have parental rights. They didn't have a wedding, just signed some paperwork a year or so after I turned up on their doorstep. I drew conclusions. I was a smart eleven year old. My Papa made me a hot chocolate and stared at me for a while. Not uncomfortably. Just trying to figure out what to do with me. He was angry at Da, but he didn't want me to be, he stared off into the darkness of the next room as he spoke and eleven year old me listened to one of my favorite stories for the very first time.

I remember the day that we met. There was a street fair. All these people shoved together along the road, so intimately close and yet not even looking at each other. It was madness, but the beautiful kind. I was on leave for a few days exploring, enjoying my break from the world. It was just beginning to darken outside, and they were lighting the lanterns that led the way to a small makeshift stage at the center of this little town. Everyone around me was dressed for the festival. Bright silver and shades of blue paying tribute to the night. Their masks shimmered, giving me the impression of being tossed in a sea of smiling demons. I inched around the crowd as it surged toward the stage. Even before my accident I felt uneasy in large crowds. I kept to the curb of the street, I found a lamp post I could lean against. I listened to the music that came from the stage. Leaning against my lamp post I shut my eyes and just listened, thankful for what little breeze I could feel on my face. Once I was able to breathe a moment everything started to feel still and peaceful. The perfect night.

Then something startled me from my daze. Someone was playing the violin. It was a drastic change from the constant drumming and twang of more country strings. This was classical music, and the hiccup in the noise of the crowd assured me that I wasn't the only one who noticed how out of place it was. And yet I seemed to be the only one giving it a second thought....

The melody was soft and dream-like. The music seemed to fit the night in a way more holy than the festival seemed capable of. The pull of the bow against strings seemed to worship the moon. I followed the sound down a street or so. There was a man around my age playing to two or three people who cared to stop and listen. I kept my distance but I watched too. He seemed to have the stars captured in his eyes. Eyes that changed between making me think they were green, or maybe blue, shifting like they were swirling galaxies. That mop of dark hair wasn't helping much, like a black hole pulling me under. I felt like I was drowning but enjoying every moment of it. I'd never felt like that before.

I had to get to know him. Before the night was over I needed to know what made those sounds pour from his soul into those gentle slices of wood. I would break my rules when I came to people. I would need to make new promises and set new boundaries, but none of that mattered. I needed this being in my life, if only for a little while.

My Papa has a way with words. My Papa was a writer before he was a soldier. When he wasn't busy being a Soldier or a doctor, he seemed to be a poet. He would tell me all kinds of stories, but my favorite ones were the ones about him and Da. I had flashes of memories from... from before... Memories that proved to me that my parents had been impossibly in love once, but more and more I felt like I needed to be reminded. Today I wish I was being reminded in any other way but this.