Your Melody

As the sun began to set, the bard smiled at all the activity in the plaza; with all the celebrations coming to an end, it seemed he would finally be allowed a brief moment of respite.

Leaving behind the cacophony of chatter and laughter, he made himself comfortable on the edge of the fountain. He unsheathed his lute, checked its tuning and, once satisfied with the pitch of each string, took out a piece of charcoal and a scrap of parchment from his satchel.

A moment to himself, rudimentary writing utensils, and his stringed partner in crime. All the pieces were in place for him to create his next masterpiece.

“...hmm hm by candlelight… oh so bright? Bright, light, night... Hmm hm nights by your side...”

He tried out the verse alongside two simple chord progressions; satisfied with the result, he penned it down, and was struck with inspiration for a different segment of the piece.

“How can I one two three… hm. How can my voice two three, yeah.” Another pause to scribble on the parchment.

“All that I have here.. Hm. All that I can say…with this melody--”

His fingers froze. Someone was watching.

Resting his palm on the strings to cut the reverberation short, he lifted his head and took a quick look around, locking eyes with the culprit attempting to hide behind a pillar no more than a few feet away. It was one of the children—though this one was more of a teenager.

“Oh, hey. Anselm, was it? You can get closer if you want to listen. I don’t bite.”

Though still noticeably frazzled at getting caught in the act, the boy lightened up a bit. “Thanks.” He awkwardly gestured at the lute. “Um, is it a new song?”

“It will be.” Smiling, the bard invited the boy to sit next to him. “What do you think?”

Taking his place on the fountain, Anselm stared at the lute as he thought. “It’s nice.” A moment of hesitation. “Is it for a girl?”

Caught by surprise, the bard laughed. “Aren’t you a perceptive one.”

The boy blushed slightly at his praise. “Well, the lyrics and all. Though the melody is…”

“...a bit melancholic?”

“...yeah.”

The bard smiled. “It wasn’t on purpose, initially, but I think it works. B minor. A wistful key for a wistful story.”

“Key?” Anselm looked puzzled, though the bard seemed to have expected such a reaction.

“Yeah. In music, a key is a… group of notes that work well together, that you move around in when composing your song. It’s like the song’s home base, if you will.” He pointed at the cathedral that stood imposing in the center of the plaza, watching over all the activity. “Each key can give the song a different feeling. For instance, B minor sounds like this,” he struck the chord, “whereas B major sounds like this,” and he struck the corresponding chord, earning himself Anselm’s awe.

“That sounded totally different! How did you do that? Can I try?”

“Whoa, hold on,” the bard said with a laugh, “you’re skipping quite a few steps there. First you’d have to learn each note individually, before you can pair them together. See, if I just play this note here, a B...“ he paused, reading something in Anselm’s eyes. “...you know what?” Giving his lute one long look, he offered it up to the boy. “Hold it and do as I say.”

~~~~~

Anselm proved exceptionally adept at the instrument. In their quick impromptu session, he managed to pick up on just about all the basics: proper posture, alternate index and thumb figueta, basic fingering in the first position… and not just that. The boy seemed to glow as he played, each victorious ring of the instrument fueling a fire that had seemed to light up inside him. The bard almost felt as if he was looking at his younger self.

“Hey, Anselm. I’ve got a proposal for you.”

Anselm’s eyes were glued to the instrument, as he was busy making the most out of his fleeting moment with it. “What is it?“ He said, still trying to carve out a simple one-stringed melody they had been practicing.

“Well... what do you say we meet up for classes regularly? You could be my apprentice, of sorts.” The words came tumbling out by themselves.

Anselm froze in place, his eyes slowly shifting up from the lute to his master’s face. “Apprentice? Me? Classes with you? For real??”

Caught by surprise by the kid’s intense questioning, the bard smiled sheepishly and shifted his feet. “Yeah, I mean, it’s no big deal, I’m usually free after my performances—” his eyebrows shifted down— “but you’ve got to promise you give it your all every time, you hear? I won’t waste my time only to—“

He was silenced by the force of a suffocating hug from Anselm.

“Anselm, please,” The bard whispered airily, his arms slowly moving down to rest behind the boy’s shoulders. “I may be able to sing loud enough to be heard over a crowd, but I still need to breathe like any other person.”