'Andy's Song' by Emily Mai

The light wakes him.

Rays of bright sunlight stream in from the large, metal-frame windows. He winces, and tries to shield his squinting eyes, bracing for the familiar throbbing pain in his head. It doesn’t come. 

He forces his eyes open and the blurred surroundings gradually come into focus. He recognises the room and it’s furnishing: the flimsy patterned curtain and the cheap-looking bedside table with his glass of water atop. The room looks cleaner somehow. Instinctively, he reaches across for the liquid to sooth his parched throat. His hand stops short.

A tall figure is looming over the end of his bed, where the neatly-tucked corners meet the white-painted steel frame. He gaze jolts upward to the unannounced person’s face. Several moments of confusion follow, before:

“I know you!” he states, loudly. His voice rings out into the silent room.

His mind and thoughts are still very much hazed in the fog of waking, or, more likely, whatever he had taken last night. But he would recognise that face anywhere. It’s thin, red-painted lips, severe silver haircut and strict-looking expression. 

“You were my Headmistress!” It all comes spinning back to him. 

The lady: Ms Legna, was the notoriously tough Head of Campion School for Boys. Her reputation was formidable, her tolerance for misbehaviour, zero. He, himself, had spent more than a few hours in her office being admonished for various misdemeanours. Although he had seen a few faces from the past in recent days, this one is very unexpected and more than slightly disconcerting. He must be dreaming, he reckons, or hallucinating. 

In response to his declaration, Ms Legna, or the hallucination with the likeness of Ms Legna, raises one suspiciously dark eyebrow behind a pair of rectangular glasses. 

“How interesting!” comes her bemused retort, a half smile forming at her mouth. Her voice is just as stern as he remembers.

“Andrew, I need you to come with me please!”

Huh? If this is a dream, he would like to wake up now, thanks. A good dream did certainly not involve padding after his former Headmistress in his pyjamas. The hallucination (he is almost certain now) appears to sense his hesitation. 

“Quickly Andrew, please - we don’t have much time!” The hallucination's voice is kinder this time. And with that, it spins a precise 180 degree turn and marches towards the door.

Feeling like a naughty school boy, Andy hesitantly pushes himself out of the bed, mentally preparing for the joints in his body to object furiously. But movement comes surprisingly easy. He looks over at the familiar form of his wife, Molly, asleep on the chair. She has dozed off with their two year old twins curled up in her lap: they look so peaceful. The sound of a lone instrument floats into the air. Is it a flute? He looks around but can see no source. The notes are faint, but they are there. 

Remembering Ms Legna’s instruction, he stops this train of thought and hurries out the room.

The shape of his Headmistress is disappearing down the corridor. She is wearing her standard uniform of a high-necked, white shirt, ironed to perfect crispness and buttoned all the way to the top. A navy-blue, mid-calf length skirts swishes neatly, retaining perfect form. He recalls the one day she appeared at school wearing a fitted pencil skirt that finished just below the knee. Andy, never one to miss an opportunity to entertain, had wolf-whistled and called out:

“Looking good Headmistress!” his voice clear, above the muted din in the corridor. If Ms Legna was embarrassed, she didn’t show it, but she never wore that skirt again. He feels a small pang of guilt at this recollection, although it is somewhat offset by the memory of several detentions he’d received for his cheek. 

The sound of a flute (or is it a clarinet?) moves through the air again. The music is more present this time and its notes are mournful. His old Headmistress pauses in her military-esque march and cocks her head. 

“You hear that?” Andy asks the hallucination, and it turns to face him.

“Yes Andrew, I hear it.” 

As he listens, the sounds of strings join the lone woodwind tune. They come together, perfectly, and the music begins to swell. He notices they are no longer in a corridor; the space where they stand is unfamiliar and there is something wrong with the lights: they cluster together like glowing orbs, containing swirls of both light and colour. They seem to hum and pulsate in the strangest manner. This dream is getting weirder, he thinks.

“There are things you need to see,” the hallucination continues. 

As it speaks, the light orbs appear to burst and flood the space with random shapes and forms. At first, he can make no sense of what seems like raw energy spiralling about him, but the randomness begins to come into focus. He recognises the form of an Avro Vulcan flying powerfully above him; a magnificent piece of engineering. And he sees his best friend, Dave, sitting on the grass of the airfield below; head thrown back and laughing in amazement. He remembers that day. 

'Snowman' from Pixabay.com (Creative Commons)

The lines of light change again and form the shapes of a younger Andy, and his childhood friend, Eve - her distinctive red hair visible, even in the dark as they build a snowman. He remembers this too: they were so excited to see snow they couldn’t wait until the next morning. All around him, the colourful streams of light are forming his memories, and the faces of those he knows and loves. So many places; so many faces. He sees his wedding day, in Las Vegas with Molly and, like an outsider looking in, he watches as they cradle their new born twins. 

All the while the song, formed by the flute and the strings is building, the mournful tones have disappeared and the tune is livelier and lighter. It’s swell is joined by the joyful sounds of brass, coming together in a beautiful crescendo. Vibrations of emotion fill the room: happiness, adventure, love and sorrow. He can do nothing but stand there and listen: it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard. 

He sees his old Headmistress watching him.

“What is this?” he asks, quietly.

Ms Legna smiles a knowing smile. 

“The human soul, Andrew, is a wonderful thing. It is capable of feeling so much more than most people can ever express. And when the soul mourns a loss of a loved one or celebrates a life, it releases a pure energy that humans, with their limitations, can only ever understand as …. music.”

She pauses, then continues:

“Some who come to this place, will hear but a lone instrument. But those who have truly left their mark in this world can hear a whole orchestra in perfect harmony. You have a powerful song, Andrew.”

He digests her words. Having reached its pinnacle, the music is starting to fade. He knows why there is no longer any pain in his head. 

“I don’t want to leave yet!” 

“Few do,” the hallucination answers, simply.

The notes formed by brass and strings tail off, leaving the lone harmony of a flute again. It’s voice sings lightly, reaching beautiful peaks,  reminding him of a sunrise: the breaking of a new dawn.

He is back in the room now, and he can see the shapes of his sleeping wife and two sons. 

“Will they remember me?” His boys are so young; it seems so bitterly unfair.

The hallucination smiles a real smile now. 

“They will grow up surrounded by those who love you; and the energy you created in life. In their hearts, they will know you. For with a song as powerful as yours, how can they not?”

The notes of the flute are growing slower and fainter. The air hums as if it is alive and the space is illuminated, as if with the clearest northern light. The final note breaks and draws slowly to a close. Andy knows it is time.

In Memory of Andy
1980 - 2018

Copyright owned by Emily Mai, October 2018