incendiarystory (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} incendiarystory) wrote,@ 2004-11-28 08:38:00 |
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Why Sleep When I'll Only Dream - CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Tears Of Sadness Turn To Tears Of Hallelujah
As Emily stood on the platform crying, a familiar sound started to serenade her. She heard the opening guitar chords of "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen breaking through both the cacophony of noise made by the passengers on the Metro waiting area and the cacophony of questions rising in her head from Sandra's statements. The haunting melody was coming from a squared in area further down the platform. Like a siren's song, she walked towards the music and on arriving saw a late teenaged busker plucking away at an miked acoustic guitar.
"Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord...That david played, and it pleased the lord...But you don’t really care for music, do you?...It goes like this...The fourth, the fifth...The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah."
She stood transfixed and her mind cleared. She felt this music unlike she had been able to feel the music in the dance club a few nights prior. This was the very song that Scott had played for her so many times when she had felt very similar to how she felt at this very moment.
"You say I took the name in vain...I don’t even know the name...But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?...There’s a blaze of light...In every word...It doesn’t matter which you heard...The holy or the broken hallelujah."
It was as if she was supposed to hear this very song at the very moment to bridge any doubt that she had that Scott had been telling her the truth. She didn't believe in signs, but Scott did. And, she knew that if he were there at this very moment, he would be trying to sing it to her in his broken singing voice. It was never the sound of the voice that would soothe her, really it would be like nails down a chalk board, it was always the sentiment - a sentiment that would calm the inner turmoil.
Before she could stop herself, she found herself singing along right in the middle of the crowded stop. She realized that if the people had not been looking at the broken girl, and that's what she felt like, a broken little girl, the broken little girl she had been when she met Scott and not the strong woman she had become, crying on the Metro, than they certainly noticed the American standing two feet away from this street musician playing underground.
She didn't care. She had spent so much time caring about what others thought of her, like Sandra, she had been neglecting herself and her own feelings. She knew she would never see any of these people again - she hoped never to see this city again - so what did it matter?
She didn't care because she felt the lyrics pulsing through her in a direct arrow to her heart and her soul. She realized how happy that she was that she would be seeing Scott in Berlin, but she could barely speak the words through the pain of what had transpired. She was saying the "hallelujah" in a broken tone choked by emotion. She was the broken hallelujah right now.
"I did my best, it wasn’t much...I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you...And even though...It all went wrong...I’ll stand before the lord of song...With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah."
How many times had she heard those very ending lyrics of the original version of the song? They were different than those in the Jeff Buckley cover (or the Rufus Wainright version that followed echoing the Buckley sentiment). In the Jeff Buckley reworking, she thought, there was such a negative ending. That version came after the breakup. "Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah."
She almost smiled as she thought of how much words meant to Scott and knew why he would choose to sing this version to her. He really wanted to be with her and the other set of lyrics was inappropriate. As much as he let his life be run by random events in its disorganization, there were some things he did not leave up to chance like trying to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. Occasionally he would not say anything at all to her if he didn't know what to say that would make her feel better.
Was this the lying that Sandra had been talking about?
Was the holding back of information that might not make her feel better, something he always tried to do, was that lying?
The sentiment was like an epiphany. She had always believed that when he sang the lyrics they had been meant for her current dilemma at the time. That she could stand before whatever was bothering her and say that she tried. That she could stand before those who were judging her and say that she did all she could and that she had done nothing wrong that was in her control. That she could stand before the lord and say that hallelujah that things had happened the way they did.
But now, she began to wonder. Why did Scott choose this particular song? Was he worried that she would think he was lying when he sang these lyrics to her? That he was lying in his own sentiment and trying to convince her that he was telling the truth that he wanted her to feel like she could be strong in troubling times?
Damn Sandra! How could she say those things about him? How could she say that he was a liar? How could she desecrate all of those beautiful memories like Scott singing her, or trying to sing her, this song? That beautiful song! That song that held the answers to that sudden barrage of questions that were flying around her mind.
Damn you Sandra! You're the one that was lying! She couldn't trust Sandra's words, she never could, and now she was sure of it.
She raised her voice right as the busker raised his, hers with the American accent and his with the French accent singing in English and they echoed together the "hallelujah" that ended the song 17 times, Emily always counted to see that Scott had gotten it right. By this time the musician had looked up from the guitar and was looking her right in the eyes as if he understood his pain.
He tried to match her cadence and her power as opposed to what would usually be the case. He tried to match her as she crescendoed in power as the song began to end, each "hallelujah" seemed to purge the sadness out of her soul more and so she sand it louder. The musician kept up very well as she nearly screamed the last "hallelujah" although the beauty of her voice still showed through.
Emily almost felt a power being in the lead. She felt a power not only in the song, but in being able to control her own emotions again. The tears of pain had begun to dry and a warm feeling was rising through her. She was still crying but she knew now that they were tears of joy, they were tears of "hallelujah."
The busker concluded and took a small bow. "Merci," he said. But it didn't just to Emily. Emily's spell of staring at him enraptured in the music was broken. She stared to her left and right and then turned around. During the very short song an entire crowd had gathered and were applauding. One person came up and clasped Emily on the shoulder, "that was very good," he said in French.
Now Emily began to blush and demurred away but the entire crowd that had gathered began to applaud her harder, either to congratulate her or to make her feel better about a terrible job - like some sort of impromptu karaoke performance beneath Paris. She straighted her dress and walked up into the crowd of people that were now pouring bills and coins into the open guitar case that stood in front of the real musician. After they had cleared away, she walked up.
The performer looked down at the monies and said to Emily in English, "thank you, I never do so well on just one song. It must have been you. They probably believe you are part of the act."
"There is no act to that song, there can't be," Emily said, "you have to feel it in your heart. And, I think you did too. I've never heard it sung with such passion."
"The passion is from you," the busker said, "it is as if you wrote the song and not Monsieur Buckley."
Emily corrected him, "not mister Buckley, mister Cohen. That's the Leonard Cohen version. There is a huge difference. There is so much more hope in that version. There is so much more chance of reconciliation."
"Oh yes, yes, sorry," the musician continued in English as Emily was reaching into her bag to pull out her wallet. She dropped a 10 Euro bill into the guitar case.
The musician looked down and said, "oh kind miss, that is not necessary but thank you."
Emily nodded and began to walk away toward the train that was going to begin her destination to Paris Nord Train Station. She paused. Turning around she said, "thank you. You can't even know how necessary that was. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
The doors opened and she stepped on the train with another, small, whispered, "hallelujah."
Chapter Word Count: 1591
Daily Word Count:1591
Total Word Count: 59198
As Emily stood on the platform crying, a familiar sound started to serenade her. She heard the opening guitar chords of "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen breaking through both the cacophony of noise made by the passengers on the Metro waiting area and the cacophony of questions rising in her head from Sandra's statements. The haunting melody was coming from a squared in area further down the platform. Like a siren's song, she walked towards the music and on arriving saw a late teenaged busker plucking away at an miked acoustic guitar.
"Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord...That david played, and it pleased the lord...But you don’t really care for music, do you?...It goes like this...The fourth, the fifth...The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah."
She stood transfixed and her mind cleared. She felt this music unlike she had been able to feel the music in the dance club a few nights prior. This was the very song that Scott had played for her so many times when she had felt very similar to how she felt at this very moment.
"You say I took the name in vain...I don’t even know the name...But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?...There’s a blaze of light...In every word...It doesn’t matter which you heard...The holy or the broken hallelujah."
It was as if she was supposed to hear this very song at the very moment to bridge any doubt that she had that Scott had been telling her the truth. She didn't believe in signs, but Scott did. And, she knew that if he were there at this very moment, he would be trying to sing it to her in his broken singing voice. It was never the sound of the voice that would soothe her, really it would be like nails down a chalk board, it was always the sentiment - a sentiment that would calm the inner turmoil.
Before she could stop herself, she found herself singing along right in the middle of the crowded stop. She realized that if the people had not been looking at the broken girl, and that's what she felt like, a broken little girl, the broken little girl she had been when she met Scott and not the strong woman she had become, crying on the Metro, than they certainly noticed the American standing two feet away from this street musician playing underground.
She didn't care. She had spent so much time caring about what others thought of her, like Sandra, she had been neglecting herself and her own feelings. She knew she would never see any of these people again - she hoped never to see this city again - so what did it matter?
She didn't care because she felt the lyrics pulsing through her in a direct arrow to her heart and her soul. She realized how happy that she was that she would be seeing Scott in Berlin, but she could barely speak the words through the pain of what had transpired. She was saying the "hallelujah" in a broken tone choked by emotion. She was the broken hallelujah right now.
"I did my best, it wasn’t much...I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you...And even though...It all went wrong...I’ll stand before the lord of song...With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah."
How many times had she heard those very ending lyrics of the original version of the song? They were different than those in the Jeff Buckley cover (or the Rufus Wainright version that followed echoing the Buckley sentiment). In the Jeff Buckley reworking, she thought, there was such a negative ending. That version came after the breakup. "Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah."
She almost smiled as she thought of how much words meant to Scott and knew why he would choose to sing this version to her. He really wanted to be with her and the other set of lyrics was inappropriate. As much as he let his life be run by random events in its disorganization, there were some things he did not leave up to chance like trying to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. Occasionally he would not say anything at all to her if he didn't know what to say that would make her feel better.
Was this the lying that Sandra had been talking about?
Was the holding back of information that might not make her feel better, something he always tried to do, was that lying?
The sentiment was like an epiphany. She had always believed that when he sang the lyrics they had been meant for her current dilemma at the time. That she could stand before whatever was bothering her and say that she tried. That she could stand before those who were judging her and say that she did all she could and that she had done nothing wrong that was in her control. That she could stand before the lord and say that hallelujah that things had happened the way they did.
But now, she began to wonder. Why did Scott choose this particular song? Was he worried that she would think he was lying when he sang these lyrics to her? That he was lying in his own sentiment and trying to convince her that he was telling the truth that he wanted her to feel like she could be strong in troubling times?
Damn Sandra! How could she say those things about him? How could she say that he was a liar? How could she desecrate all of those beautiful memories like Scott singing her, or trying to sing her, this song? That beautiful song! That song that held the answers to that sudden barrage of questions that were flying around her mind.
Damn you Sandra! You're the one that was lying! She couldn't trust Sandra's words, she never could, and now she was sure of it.
She raised her voice right as the busker raised his, hers with the American accent and his with the French accent singing in English and they echoed together the "hallelujah" that ended the song 17 times, Emily always counted to see that Scott had gotten it right. By this time the musician had looked up from the guitar and was looking her right in the eyes as if he understood his pain.
He tried to match her cadence and her power as opposed to what would usually be the case. He tried to match her as she crescendoed in power as the song began to end, each "hallelujah" seemed to purge the sadness out of her soul more and so she sand it louder. The musician kept up very well as she nearly screamed the last "hallelujah" although the beauty of her voice still showed through.
Emily almost felt a power being in the lead. She felt a power not only in the song, but in being able to control her own emotions again. The tears of pain had begun to dry and a warm feeling was rising through her. She was still crying but she knew now that they were tears of joy, they were tears of "hallelujah."
The busker concluded and took a small bow. "Merci," he said. But it didn't just to Emily. Emily's spell of staring at him enraptured in the music was broken. She stared to her left and right and then turned around. During the very short song an entire crowd had gathered and were applauding. One person came up and clasped Emily on the shoulder, "that was very good," he said in French.
Now Emily began to blush and demurred away but the entire crowd that had gathered began to applaud her harder, either to congratulate her or to make her feel better about a terrible job - like some sort of impromptu karaoke performance beneath Paris. She straighted her dress and walked up into the crowd of people that were now pouring bills and coins into the open guitar case that stood in front of the real musician. After they had cleared away, she walked up.
The performer looked down at the monies and said to Emily in English, "thank you, I never do so well on just one song. It must have been you. They probably believe you are part of the act."
"There is no act to that song, there can't be," Emily said, "you have to feel it in your heart. And, I think you did too. I've never heard it sung with such passion."
"The passion is from you," the busker said, "it is as if you wrote the song and not Monsieur Buckley."
Emily corrected him, "not mister Buckley, mister Cohen. That's the Leonard Cohen version. There is a huge difference. There is so much more hope in that version. There is so much more chance of reconciliation."
"Oh yes, yes, sorry," the musician continued in English as Emily was reaching into her bag to pull out her wallet. She dropped a 10 Euro bill into the guitar case.
The musician looked down and said, "oh kind miss, that is not necessary but thank you."
Emily nodded and began to walk away toward the train that was going to begin her destination to Paris Nord Train Station. She paused. Turning around she said, "thank you. You can't even know how necessary that was. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
The doors opened and she stepped on the train with another, small, whispered, "hallelujah."
Chapter Word Count: 1591
Daily Word Count:1591
Total Word Count: 59198
