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laurie's blog: "Stories"

created on 03/25/2008  |  http://fubar.com/stories/b201129

The Singer

The Singer I stood alone in the darkening park listening to the gentle song of an unseen singer. The words seemed slow and rhythmic, almost hypnotic, and I rocked myself to and fro to the rhythm. One by one people started to fill the previously empty park, all listening to the singer. Her voice was soothing and calm and the people stood entranced. Then I noticed a beat that was accompanying the music, something like drums, but different, and as I looked downward I noticed a hundred, no, three hundred or more, feet tapping, pounding out a strong but muted beat that echoed the voice that was spreading across the otherwise silent park. I could see an old lady with tears flowing from her eyes as the singer's voice swirled around her, enwrapping her in her own emotions, and a hundred people mouthing words to a song they had surely never heard before. The once silent park was alive with rhythm, even though only the singer and the tapping of feet could be heard. It was a rhythm that came from the soul. The tempo increased as the singer moved into a faster song, stirring those listening and adding to the emotion. Feet tapped faster with the new beat, and somewhere someone was crying softly. Finally the unseen singer sang an ancient Indian death chant. It was a sad but hauntingly beautiful song, of death and loss, but, at the same time, it was filled with the happiness of the birth of something new, something that had, until now, not been experienced. The chant spread across the park, and one by one people began to join in, voices ringing through the night air as the chant became louder and more emotional. Then, with an almost orchestrated suddenness the people stopped and left the last words to the singer, whose clear, sweet voice slowly faded into the once again still night air. It was only then, as the last words disappeared into the darkness of the night, that I realised with a shock that the singer was "me", and unnoticed by the crowd that was still wrapped in their own thoughts and emotions, I slipped quietly away. Many times since that day I have wondered whose voice it was that had used my lips to tell her story in song. Many times I have had no answer, but this I do know, if she comes back, I will listen again and again, for those were the loveliest songs I have ever heard.
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