Anticipation flowed through Jim like a melody, just as it always did before a concert. He climbed onto the platform slowly, carefully keeping his balance. He wasn’t about to let his bad leg lead to a fall before the performance.
“Need some help, Gimp?” One of the trombone players, Ed, reached out and steadied the older man.
“Thanks, Ed. Wouldn’t want to leave you guys short a saxophone before the show.”
Ed grinned and replied, “Yeah, and not just any saxophone. Nobody wails like Gimpy Jim. Who’d play your solos?”
Jim laughed as he opened his case. Modesty aside, he knew Ed spoke the truth. When Jim Patrick played the saxophone, it sang.
He sat down on the folding chair and placed his sax on its stand beside him. He didn’t need a music stand, as he had learned every piece by heart long ago. Another perfect night, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Another concert, another opportunity to play, and then home again to Edie. He couldn’t imagine wanting anything more. Edie, with her sparkling brown eyes and her smile like sunshine, would be waiting for him.
They met at a concert. Jim spotted Edie the moment she walked in the door. He was on the platform, of course, and the band was getting ready to play for a dance. Edie wore a dress of sheer, red fabric that clung to her slender body, flared out over her hips, and swirled around her knees when she walked. She moved gracefully, like the dancer Jim later found out she was. He never took his eyes off her, even as he played. He willed her to notice him. Finally, it happened. Jim’s solo soared over the heads of the crowd. Everyone stopped dancing and turned toward Jim, and in the applause that followed, her eyes met his. Jim’s world lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas. When the evening ended, Jim had made a date with Edie for the following weekend.
Jim still had a semester of college to finish, but he came home to Edie as often as he could. He was awed and humbled by her complete trust, and he knew that the deepest desire of his soul was to be with her, to keep her safe, and to bask in the warmth of her smile. They were married right after Jim’s graduation, and he was wildly happy. Edie worked too, but she hurried home and was always there to greet him with her welcoming smile.
Then World War II intervened, and Jim’s company was sent overseas. He did his duty to the best of his ability, but he pined for his music and for his Edie. One quiet afternoon the air around him exploded in a blast of heat and light, and he woke up in a field hospital. He had never experienced such pain. Fighting nausea, he raised his hands before his face, terrified of what he would see. They were whole. His hands had been spared. The doctor explained that Jim had taken shrapnel in his left leg, and the bones had been shattered. Although he would walk again, it would be with a pronounced limp. Jim lay on his cot and grinned like an idiot.
“We’ll give you a built-up shoe, son. You’ll be ok. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” The doctor must have thought Jim crazy, or out of his mind on painkillers, but he was only delirious with relief. His hands were whole, and they would send him home to Edie.
Edie attended almost every show and concert. After the children came, the demands of motherhood kept her at home, but she was always waiting for his return, always ready to light up his world with her smile. She was never far from his thoughts. Edie sometimes laughed her golden laugh and called herself a “band widow,” but they both knew that she was always the most cherished of brides. His bride, Edie, would meet him tonight, after the concert.
Jim tuned up. B flat. A few scales. His hands flew across the keys, the sound fluid and hypnotic. It was true; nobody could make a sax wail like Gimpy Jim Patrick. The concert began. Jim had never played better. They moved through all the old favorites, all the songs that he and Edie had listened to over the years, In the Mood, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, Mona Lisa. Jim’s only regret was that he could not dance with his girl. He wished Edie could have been there to hear the songs she loved. The list went on and on, each tune carrying memories like golden leaves riding on a swirling stream. Jim was supremely happy. What could be better than a life of making music and then going home to his beautiful Edie?
Jim chuckled to himself as he looked out over the audience in the concert hall. All were clearly entranced by the music’s spell. He saw movement by the door, a swirl of scarlet fabric. It was Edie. She must have decided not to wait, but to come to the concert after all. Radiant as always, her red dress swaying gently, she walked down the aisle toward Jim. She held out her hands and beckoned him to come to her. Jim placed his saxophone on its stand and jumped down from the platform to take her hands in his.
“Come outside and see the stars,” she whispered, looking up at him with her brown eyes that sparkled like stars themselves. They walked down the aisle together, arm in arm, toward the door.
“Wait,” Jim said. “My sax.”
“Your friends will take care of it,” replied Edie. Jim looked back and saw that she was right. Ed was holding Jim’s saxophone. The whole band was on its feet, and the room had gone quiet. Someone was kneeling on the platform, beside the still, crumpled body of an old man with one leg stretched straight out and displaying a built-up shoe.
Copyright Brenda Layman 2010
I like it. The twist at the end was a little unexpected. I like how Jim is a war veteran and a musician. I like how the narration shows us Jim’s memories although it’s in third person. And I like your choice of music.
I liked everything about it. Poignant story, a twist at the end that I didn’t see coming until the last few sentences. The story leaves me wondering whether this is a dream of Jim’s, or Edie has been dead for some time and Jim dies during the performance, or Edie dies just before Jim, perhaps having been in the hospital or ill at home. I like a story that feels good, touches an emotion or two, and leaves me pondering the possible explanations/outcomes.
Well done!