Page 85 of Share with Me

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And so Ivanexplained on his 1850 Vuillaume with an improvisation that pushed and pulled at Brinley’s heart, a mournful dirge entombed in his small basement studio, diminuendo measures fading into the old walls, then accelerating to a rabid presto that gnashed at her before it fell again into a sorrowful remorse.

Brinley listened, sniffled, and listened some more at Ivan’s acute enumeration of things past, things lost, things gone, and things never to come. She hoped she wasn’t somewhere in the recital, interlaced into his emotions of pain and fear and longing. The bow and string tore at her heart. Then finally it died away, repeats exhausted, the end of the pages in Ivan’s mind accomplished.

He put down his violin. “That is my life on earth.”

Brinley’s impuissant arms, body, and mind all suspended in a vortex of opacity, imploding into a heavy chest constricted with agonies she had not known since the day they buried Grandpa Brooks. She understood now that Ivan had opened up a window into his personal space, letting her in to see the difficulties of his life that she had never ever known or hoped to ever experience.

Poverty.

Adversity.

Suffering.

Loss.

Yet somewhere in there were strands of hope, measures in the key and time signature where bright silver linings had erupted, short-lived staccatos that fell back into the maddeningly funereal march toward death, that ending on earth that no human could avoid.

Ivan carefully placed the violin back into its case. “Don’t get me wrong. There is a grand finale in heaven, a rapturous joy like we will never know on earth.”

“But until then, this is how you view your life on earth?” Brinley asked.

“That was how my lifeison earth.”

“What about the crescendos of hopefulness in there?” Brinley stepped forward and snuggled into Ivan’s flannel plaid shirt. And stayed there. She loved the warmth of his chest, the smell of fresh laundry and dryer sheets. She closed her eyes and tried to commit to memory this moment with him.

“Those are the times when I’m reminded that I have peace with God even if I don’t always have peace on earth. Someday when I get to heaven everything will be fine. No more troubles, no more losses.”

“No more termites or broken toilets.” Brinley’s voice cracked.

The light in Ivan’s eyes returned. “I have hope for the future. Do you, Brin?”

“Only for the here and now.” She understood now where Ivan was coming from. All the inheritance in the world could not compare to the promise of heaven in his heart. That space was reserved for God alone.

“But you can have hope for the future too, Brin.” Ivan kissed her forehead, accepting, welcoming.

“Maybe we can help each other.”

“We can?”

“Yes, Ivan. You tell me about the peace of God, and I help you with your peace on earth.”

Ivan groaned. “You want to fix my porch.”

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