Free Running Barefoot by Amy Harmon Page B

Eve service.
    “When was I supposed to tell you?” I asked, stumped. “We’ve never discussed music. Do you play an instrument?”
    “No. We have traditional songs – but I don’t really know anyone that plays an instrument.” Samuel looked at me in wonder. “But you.... you play like ....like no one I’ve ever heard.”
    “Thank you.” Samuel’s words washed me in pleasure. “And thank you for clapping,” I said softly. “It was the most beautiful moment of my life.” I realized I sounded a little overdramatic, and I felt my cheeks turn pink. But it was true. I had never experienced anything like it. The music, the applause, the beauty of the church, and the people I loved looking at me and listening to me. I had never in my life been the center of attention, and I knew now why people performed. I had learned to play simply for the love of music and for the joy it gave me. But performing definitely had its perks. Just thinking of Samuel, of the expression on his face as he stood and clapped - for me! - I would never forget it for as long as I lived.
    “It was for me, too.” Samuel’s voice was gruff, and I could see he was embarrassed by his admission. “I have never heard music like that.”
    “Did you know you weren’t supposed to clap?” I asked shyly, smiling at him.
    “Yes. But I couldn’t help myself.”
    “Someday I’m going to travel the world, playing beautiful music, making people happy, hearing people clap,” I said dreamily, and for a moment we sat together in companionable silence, contemplating my future.
    “Would you like to hear something?” I asked him suddenly, reaching for my cassette player and my headphones. Sonja and Doc had given them to me for Christmas, and I had spent the remainder of the holidays making tapes from my favorite music in Sonja’s collection.
    I pulled out my Sony Walkman and popped it open, looking at the music inside. ‘Beethoven’ it read, in careful print. I pushed play and Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony filled my ears. I rewound it to the beginning and placed the earphones on Samuel’s ears. I listened to music loudly - you can’t really appreciate classical music, the rises, the individual notes and trills, if you don’t turn it up and give it your complete attention. I pushed play and held my breath a little.
    I don’t know why I cared so much. But I did. I felt like I was revealing something very private about myself, and his approval and appreciation of this music was paramount to me. I had come to care deeply about his opinion, and I wasn’t quite sure how I would react if he rejected my music. It might feel like a rejection of me. If he said, “It’s okay” or “Hmmm, interesting” it might also affect the way I felt about him. Realizing this, I regretted my spontaneous gesture, and tried to remove the headphones from his head - I suddenly didn’t want to know what he thought.
    His hands flew up and covered mine, and his eyes met mine fiercely as he pulled his head away. My hands fell to my lap, and I looked out the window dejectedly, waiting until he was finished. Every once in a while I sneaked looks at him. His eyes were cast downward, and his hands were locked over the earphones where he’d left them after my attempt to take them. There was a rigidity to his posture that I couldn’t decipher. The music was loud enough that I could faintly hear when ‘Ode to Joy’ ended. I clicked the stop button, and Samuel slowly pulled the earphones from his head.
    “What is it called?” He asked, and there was reverence in his voice.
    “It’s Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. It’s also known as ’Ode to Joy.” Samuel looked at me as if he wanted to hear more.
    “Beethoven first heard the poem called “To Joy” more than 30 years before he set it to music with his Ninth Symphony. The ninth symphony was his last. By the time it was completed, Beethoven was deaf and sick. It had taken him ten years to complete it - he changed the