She stands and disappears downstairs, reappearing shortly with her battered cello case. She sits on the edge of the chaise longue, facing me, and rests her cello between her legs. She looks up at me, smiles a small smile, and starts to play as I close my eyes. The tune is rich but sad, at once haunting and yet totally unfamiliar. I'm too sore to try to puzzle out the composer or period; for once my brain lets me just listen. The music fills me, driving out the unbelievable strangeness of the morning I've just experienced, allowing me to unwind and, for a moment, forget the pain in my head and the ache between my legs. I open my eyes again and watch her as she plays, her eyes closed as she feels the music, moving in time, dancing her dance with the instrument.
Sunlight through my bedroom w
