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Racing With The Moon
by
John Faucett


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She looked around, no one in the room had noticed him walk on the stage.

He held the trumpet, tenderly, for what seemed like an eternity then he placed his fingers on the keys and lifted it gently to his lips and started to softly play. The sound penetrated her ear, like an arrow shot straight in to her heart. The crowd hushed, the old black blues horn player turned to see, someone dimmed the house lights as Catch continued to play the old horn.

The deep sound was like a woman moaning in a deep voice. Never before had she heard such a deep moaning sound. She loved the voice of his female trumpet, that he held the way she wished he would hold her. His lips pressed to the trumpet like he was french kissing, the way she longed him to kiss her, she noticed the old man on stage pick up a shiny flute, bright as spring day, just after a rain storm, you know, like when a rainbow appears.

He walked over and sat on an old beat up stool next to Catch and began to play with him, the moaning trumpets sound and the bright sound of the flute filled the club. She turned to look around to see the crowds reaction and noticed the waitress Crystal was standing next to her holding her coffee in mid air, the small crowd had hushed, a golden silence shattered only by the moaning trumpet and the shrill sound of the shiny flute.

The old man played the same notes as Catch, only slightly after he did. It sounded like the horns were calling each other in a mating call, suddenly, Catch lowered his head and stopped. The old man continued to play, the flute called over and over to it's mate, lifting his head and opening his eyes. Catch pressed his lips to the trumpet and this loud shrill sound answered. The trumpet calling a scream to it' mate, fast high notes, a cold blasting sound, the old man stopped, mesmerized by the sound. The waitress Crystal all but dropped the coffee she was still holding. Then there was just silence, as Catch lowered his hand once more and released his love hold on the trumpet, and lowered it to the crate once again, the crowd exploded with applause and the house lights were raised brighter.

Catch walked towards the stage steps and slowly left the stage, he walked past her and continued towards the front door Throwing down a five, Jordonna grabbed her jacket and followed him out of the door. Catch, she called, had he turned around he would have seen that she was two steps behind. Outside he stopped and she was able to catch up to him. "My god", she cried, I didn't know you could play. I didn't know!

he stood still in silence.

a skinny man with a hat and gotee yelled, "Steve! Steve Lambert!" running up he said, "Steve I was upstairs in my office and heard this beautiful sound! your sound! I knew it was you. I haven't seen you in at least two years. It's like you fell off the face of the earth."

Catch backed up.

"Steve," the man said, "I've been looking for you." as he grabbed Catch's arm like a long lost sibling.

"Get away from me, I don't know you!" he said.

"Steve, it's me, Nick, Nick Tartell from Tartell Music," holding his arm even tighter so as not to loose him again.

Catch reacted pulling his arm away with a violent jerk, "I told you, I don't know you!," he said as he pushed Nick, the man with the hat and gotee backwards with such force that he lost his footing and fell backwards onto the ground. Catch started walking down the sidewalk, she followed silently.


After silence,
That which comes nearest to
Expressing the inexpressible,
Is music
Well said to be the speech of angels
The only language in which you
Cannot say a mean or sarcastic thing
Our dream, music, harmony, perfection
The dream is heaven
A communion with the primitive soul
Sweetest of all sounds
The voice of the woman we love
An organ to the soul

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