Prelude To A Song

Prelude To A Song

  By Lisa Malabanan

  Copyright © 2012 Lisa Malabanan. All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, and locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Dia-Matic Keys series is dedicated to my family.

  Lisette epitomizes my inspiration. Ray represents my motivation, and Ramon encourages my creativity.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  A Flash of the Past

  A Fly on the Wall

  Sassy

  A Mother’s Reflection

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  A Flash of the Past

  Winter is a brutal season, especially in the middle of February. The frigid air is biting, and temperatures in the teens offer no comfort yet my trek to the old neighborhood grant me solace. Frozen snow is everywhere, painting a wonderland of cold beauty.

  The residential district changed with more university students inhabiting the territory. Many local businesses and restaurants occupy the main roads. Crowds of people are traveling through the area in search of indoor relief from the chilly climate. In spite of the cold, the snowman perched before a familiar Victorian dwelling greets me with warm coziness at the end of my journey.

  The old house stands magnificent in a coat of dark-green paint on the sidings, and a stark shade of white for the front porch. A different look, but still, the same home I remember. As I walk towards the three-story structure and climb the stairs up to the main door, the memories assault me. Similar to water, the floodgates open, and now I am swimming in fond memories of college and the love of my life.

  His name is Scott, and this house belongs to him. The Henry Family home is where I spent the majority of my college years. I can almost hear the guitar playing in the background once I enter inside. In a flashback to my sophomore year, the faint music of Scott on guitar makes me smile.

  The layout is altered from the original design. His parents are retired and have long since moved to Florida. This house is under Scott’s name. He would not sell his childhood home nor could he afford to keep it. The sensible choice was to rent out the place.

  So he remodeled the structure into a two-family dwelling. The main level became a two-bedroom apartment, and the second floor was also converted into a studio apartment. At the present, the first floor and basement are occupied by two college men.

  What can I say about Scott Henry other than love of my life? I met him during my second year at Rutgers University. Calculus was a requirement for a science major, and I struggled with the subject. I missed a class one day due to illness. Upon return, barely recovered, I learned of a test scheduled for the week’s end. In a panic, I begged the student sitting next to me for his notes. He agreed graciously and offered to help me study.

  Scott is spellbinding. A handsome gentleman with dark hair and the kindest brown eyes, I want to fall into his arms every time he looks at me. He has a brilliant mind and a creative soul. I was smitten by his endearing ways.

  Scott’s true talent is music, and jazz is his specialty. I remember rushing to this house almost every day just to see Scott and listen to him play. The groovy sounds are so enchanting. I couldn’t resist singing to his songs. Comparable to forgetting all your worries and problems, the tunes are contentment for me.

  Eventually, Scott and I fell in love. We were dedicated to one another. I would attend every gig Scott played. Any local bar or lounge he performed, I was there to show my support.

  He was mesmerizing to watch. Scott lured you into the music and kept you wanting more. I couldn’t get enough of him and I was always thirsty for his love.

  Years passed by and graduation arrived. Scott pursued music, and I continued on to medical school. To part from him was heartbreaking, although we needed to follow a different path of life. He supported my decision to become a doctor, and likewise, I encouraged him to be the best in the jazz circuit.

  Scott became a successful musician playing and recording for many bands and singers. As for me, I am a Board Certified Dermatologist. After medical school, I met and married a man named Russell. We settled in South New Jersey and raised two sons with the addition of another boy.

  The early years of marriage and family were blissful, though a part of me always wondered about Scott. Then one day, I stumbled upon him during a visit to the Franklin Institute. He is still the same charming and handsome gentleman. I was elated to be in his presence.

  My heart holds a special place for Scott. When he peers into my eyes, the desire to fall into his arms rises again. Similar to our college past, I yearn to delight in his music and love. However, I’m married and those emotions should not exist. The encounter stayed cordial and controlled.

  During our interaction, I divulged my eldest son’s interest in the guitar. Scott was sincerely ecstatic and offered to train him. He owns a music studio in Philadelphia and is a guitar instructor. Therefore, I consented to the proposal.

  My son excelled under Scott’s tutelage. Nevertheless, I wrestled with my feelings for Scott. Gradually, the love I buried away for him emerged. Moreover, my marriage to Russell deteriorated. Russell and I fell out of love with one another, and filed for divorce.

  After the newly found freedom, I abstained from running into Scott’s arms for he was in a committed relationship. In fact, he and his girlfriend have a daughter around the same age as my youngest son. Months later, I dated a few men yet none of them compared to Scott. I was doomed to pine over an unforgettable and unavailable man.

  Time moved on and so did Russell. He remarried, relocated to Georgia, and now has a daughter. I am truly happy for him. Russell discovered love again. Nonetheless, I’m sad for my own predicament. The one I desire does not reciprocate the affection for me.

  Regardless, my sons need me to stay strong, and I strive every day to be reliable and persevere. Being a divorced single parent is difficult, but the boys are dependable and loving. We adjusted to the changes well.

  Then one night, Scott and I have a casual dinner together. He admits to the troubles with his girlfriend. Finally, he confesses the reason for his failed relationship: me. As a result, I’m shocked, unable to respond.

  Scott continues to relay his sincere feelings. His love for me didn’t stop, and he wants to rekindle our romance. To hear those words, to feel his touch, and to say, “I love you” again is a dream come true. I fall into his arms and relish the night with him. From that moment, I never let him go, and likewise, he keeps me by his side.

  Indeed, this old house is different in appearance, though it is still the same. Long after the structure crumbles in age, the memories endure the test of time, and love will remain. I stand inside the dwelling now to find the next generation of music and to check on two of my beloved men.

  My name is Cathlyn Davis, and I am the mother of Ryan and Kevin.

  ***