THE GOD WHO SEES - Chapter 7

I returned to the device, deciding that I wasn’t going to find any simple answers to my question.  Listening to these recordings had lightened my spirit considerably and I found myself not really wanting to think too deeply at this point, anyway.  I pressed the button and was surprised to hear that Melody’s voice was even more distinct than the last recording.  While I couldn’t quite make out the actual question, I kept straining to see if I could pick out a word or two here and there.  All I got from the first question was the word “color.”

“Oh wow, that’s totally not what I was expecting,” replied a woman who sounded like she was maybe in her 30s or 40s.  The only way I could find to describe her voice was that it reminded me of laughter.  It wasn’t that she sounded like she was laughing when she spoke, it was more that the tones of her voice made me think of how people sound when they laugh.  I realized that seemed like the same thing and I was having a difficult time explaining it in my head.  I settled on continuing to listen to see if I could clarify it to myself.

“I’m not sure I could answer for myself but I’ve had people tell me that they think orange is pretty apt.  Apparently, you put red and yellow together and you get me!”  She actually did laugh and it was more of a pleasant chortle.  I found it to be an almost healing sound that resonated in my ears.

Melody laughed along with the woman, almost like she couldn’t help it, something I completely understood.  She was still laughing a little when she asked her next question.

“Well, this might seem a little obscure, but there’s a delightful composer in a book called ‘Pictures from an Institution,’ and he bases his music on a twelve-tone scale like Schoenberg.  I guess he sort of fascinates me because he reminds me that no matter what your intentions, sometimes God has other ideas for you.”  She paused and I could hear a soft chuckle.  “Plus, he sort of embodied Schoenberg’s philosophy of music, although in a humorous way rather than it being as a defense.”

Not being at all versed in what I could only assume was classical music, I found myself completely at a loss to know what the woman was talking about, and I hoped that Melody would do some follow-up questions.  I was not disappointed.

“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry.  I get to talking about stuff and I forget...I’m so sorry.  Schoenberg is a twentieth-century composer who wrote some, well, let’s say interesting pieces.  He was convinced that the important thing about music and art was the process not so much the end result.  Whether or not people liked his music couldn’t have mattered less to him, which was probably a good thing.  As a fellow composer once said, Schoenberg’s music is usually defended rather than listened to.”  There was another chortle.

Melody’s next question came, again, on the tale end of her own laughter.

“Yeah, gotta go with my man Bobby McFerrin.  ‘Don’t worry, be happy.’  There’s enough unhappiness in this world, why add to it?  Besides, what’s better than sharing a laugh with someone?” she asked and followed up by putting her words into practice.  But I thought there was a slightly different quality to her laugh this time.  Nothing I could put my finger on, but there was definitely something.

I didn’t have to understand Melody to know what her next question was.

The woman laughed and said, “You’d probably think so, yeah?  No, that would definitely be Telemann’s Concerto for Oboe in G Minor.  My favorite movement is the Vivace section.  I think it’s a riot to play!  I know a lot of people don’t find Baroque music to be challenging enough, but I happen to love the symmetry and organized structure of that period.”

Her enthusiasm made me want to find a recording and listen to it right away, but I had to content myself with making a mental note to look it up as soon as I could.  I turned my attention back to the recording.

“I don’t have anything resembling a green thumb so I’m not sure I know enough to pick one single thing.  Maybe the best thing I could use to describe them would be sprouts.  Not like the kind you put on sandwiches, I’m talking about those little things that happen, you know, when a seed first pops open and you see a little green shoot.  I guess when I see those I just want to protect them and nurture them and make sure they turn into what they’re supposed to be.  Is that too on the nose?”

Melody’s comment elicited a very kind “thank you” from the woman.

Man, I thought, I wish this lady was still alive.  I’d love to meet her.

The next question was met with quite a prolonged silence.  Finally, the woman said just one word.

“Blizzard.”

There was no response from Melody.  I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like she was giving the woman space to...just be.

“I guess that doesn’t really tell you much, does it?”  The woman’s voice was subdued and her grief was so palpable that I dissolved in tears.  I felt rather than heard Melody’s comment.

“No, it’s okay.  Really.  There’s just...yeah.  Sometimes words aren’t enough.”

I couldn’t believe the pain I felt for this woman.  I didn’t even know her and yet I found myself sobbing almost uncontrollably at her sorrow.  Or maybe.  Maybe it wasn’t her pain I was feeling.  Maybe it was my own that I was projecting onto her.

When I had controlled myself enough to keep listening, I could hear Melody speaking softly.

“You’re so sweet.  But I think I’d like to go on.  It’d be good for me.”

A short query was given the response, “Definitely.”

Melody asked her next question somewhat tentatively.

The guffaw that came from the woman startled me.  There was relief but also genuine mirth in her laugh.

“I like that one!  That’s good.  Really good!”  She continued laughing.  Melody joined her and I found myself smiling through the tears that were still flowing down my cheeks.

“I’m gonna say butterscotch blondie.  You might think you’ll miss the chocolate, but take one bite and all thoughts of the stuff vanish!”

This time I was laughing along with them.

“Was that the last one?” the woman asked as I wiped a different kind of tears off my face.

Melody responded and then asked her final question.

“Wow.  That’s a heavy one.  Let me think about that one.”

While the woman thought, my mind went back to what she had said about words.  They might not be enough at times, but people usually took that as permission not to even try.  What I wouldn’t have given to hear certain words.

“Well,” the woman was saying, “I think it would be about love.  Don’t make the mistake of thinking that love conquers all and everyone gets to live happily ever after if you just love enough.”  She went silent and I thought maybe she was done.  She continued, though.  “Love doesn’t always inspire change.  See, for some people, when you love them, it exposes them for who they really are.  And what’s our natural human response when we get exposed?  I can tell you it ain’t pretty.  True love a lot of times lays waste to our hearts.  We tend to hit at it, want to hurt it, try to make it go away.”

Melody asked another question.

“I think it’s because we don’t want to face the pain.  We don’t want to experience the grief of loss.  And we most certainly don’t want to admit our own responsibility.  I think that’s why love doesn’t look the way we expect it to most of the time.”

I didn’t hear Melody’s last words.  I was vaguely aware that she had said something but my mind was consumed by the woman’s words.

Suddenly, the lines that were holding up the small device winked out and I found myself in complete darkness.  My heart started pounding and against all reason, I started stumbling around, attempting to feel my way back to the huge door I had entered through.  Nothingness met my hands and I started crying again.

I just want to go home, I thought, then stopped myself.  Did I?  Did I really?

I gulped down one last sob and forced myself to stand still.

“Hello?” I began with uncertainty.  “Is it — can I leave now?  I listened to a bunch of those recordings and...well, I’m glad I did.  But I think, I think I’m done now.  Is that okay?”

No response.

“Is anyone there?”  I tried to keep the rising fear out of my voice.

Still nothing.

“It’s just, you know, I think — ”

I was cut short by a blinding flash of light.  I instinctively ducked my head and put my hands up to cover my face.  As the light subsided somewhat, I peeked through my fingers and saw that the device was now surrounded by even more glowing lines that lifted it up to my eye level.

“What — ?”

The lines around the device began pulsating strongly, and I couldn’t mistake their intention.  I dropped my hands and walked back.