Reserved

Michelle Grade 9

Reserved.

The entirety of the seats was booked by a singular individual. The janitor swept the dust off of the seats and from the sides of the wooden platform. Music stands were rubbed down until they shone like glittering stars. Silence enveloped him from where he worked, and only the dull sweep of the broom and the thud of heavy footsteps were heard through the empty enclosure.

7:25 am. The alarm beeped on the wrist of the frowning conductor who peered out of the velvet curtains to glance at the empty seats.

“How peculiar,” he murmured, “I was sure it was a full house this morning!”

The early days of January were ridden with frost, and it laughed through the dark sky, visible from the open stage of the concert hall. Soft melodies of instruments, wind, brass, percussion, strings, hummed together like bees. The mere press, strum, pick, and hit of a musical note and rhythm brought warmth to the shivering hands of the musicians.

But soaring tunes sank down, pulled by the lead weight of gravity, matching a low, heartless meander among endless moorlands.

“Now, now! Let us not get discouraged. I am sure that the audience will show up, we have…“ The conductor checked his wristwatch.

7:30 am.

“We have around 30 minutes, and I am sure that that is enough time to practice before the audience start’s piling in. Why don’t we play the Dance of the Hours to lift our spirits?” He smiled at his musicians. They sat bundled up like polar bears, with doubled scarves, woolen coats wrapped around layers of clothing, and thick pants, hiding the fluffy socks underneath.

A whisper of rustling paper sounded through the stadium as the pages of music books flipped to the song, the ‘Dance of the Hours’, by Amilcare Ponchielli.

Soft pulses of the strings rang through the night, rattling the fading stars, and making the luminous moon smile. A harp joined in, it’s owner plucking the feathery strings of the instrument as her hair swept up in a dance with the wind. And as the echoes of the last strum from the golden instrument blew into the horizon, the winds picked up. Trilles of flutes giggled through the night, purring to the leaves that lay scattered on the floor. The janitor’s work had been disturbed by the gust of wind that had blown into the chambers of the hall.

The deep and rich echo of clarinets stirred the air as if it was swimming through syrupy fondue, bellowing rich chocolatey notes melting against the airy chirp of the flute. And a triangle rang into the night, rattling the moon that still shone faintly in the sky.

The sound died off, absorbed into the breathless mouths of the musicians, and the tendrils of chill that swept around them. But an explosion of sound rang around the stage as the airy, rich, deep, and harmonious sounds combined with the pulse that rang out from the mallets hitting the drums. The trombone blew out with a resonant rumble, and the bassoon sounded in vivid darkness, as the strings purred their soft melody, pouring out of little wooden instruments like stars out of the basin of the sky.

The conductor checked his watch. It was 7:58 am. It blinked eerie yellow lights onto his wrist. Peeping out of the billowing curtains once more, he glanced around the empty assembly, looking wistfully at the crimson seats, the marble floor, and the stairs that went round between the chairs, leading to the 3 doors that led outside. One in the middle, and one on both sides.

Deep in thought, the conductor didn’t realize that the mellow tune had abruptly ceased. A few seconds of silence followed the wind instrument’s soft hum echoing through the air. With staccato notes, they played the beginning of a playful dance, and time swirled through hours, minutes, seconds.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The conductor checked his wristwatch.

8:00 am.

The curtains were drawn, and the musicians started out with beating hearts at empty seats all around the chamber. The sky was dull, and the seats empty, leaves were scattered about on the once pristine floor, and the only remnant of human activity was the janitor’s hastily left cloth, at the edge of the stage.

Flutes faltered, clarinets stuttered, violins stalled. Their melody was blighted by the unexpected change of scenery. Thousands of chairs blankly stared at the orchestra, and the instruments began to die off. One by one, fading into the breath of its owner.

But a single shrill note rang, piercing the dumbfounded gloom of the departure of static joy and adrenaline. A trill of a flute, towards the back of the stage, revealed a determined participant, eyes glued to the sheet music, smiling at his peers. The tune of the dance of the hours was revived, by a single flute.

A clarinet from the opposite side of the room joined in, playing the accompanying part to the flute, oscillating with the rise and fall of the melody. The conductor raised his downcast head, gazing at his orchestra. Straightening his back and tailcoat, never minding the chill bombarding the back of his head, he turned to face his crew and raised his nimble baton into the sky. The crescendo of sound hushed in an instant, expectant faces greeted him and he nodded slightly.

With the first wave of his magical stick, a surge of sound flooded the arena, dipping into every crevice of the chairs, puddling on the marble floor, and welling in the hearts of the musicians.

And with the first note of sound, the clouds broke open letting down heaven itself, as the vivid, dazzling light shone into the chairs. It dripped down the stairs, filling every seat, leaving nothing uncovered.

8:05 am.

The music stalled, but only for a second, as the musicians beamed at the flowing light, patiently waiting for the melody to commence.

The conductor frowned, the back of his cold head was starting to heat up, and he thought that he heard ringing laughter fill the empty space behind him. And as the song drew to an end, he turned to face the stream of light that had filled up the stadium. There were no seats left at all, and as the final note resonated out, whistles and chimes seemed to pack the air with ample applause from the strange audience that had descended from the sky.

The sun smiled down from space, its light illuminating the seats, occupying every single one. It was a full house of light.