Surfacing Fields

Beyond the dark skies, into yesterday, racing white lights. He felt it, saw it, could almost taste it. When it was finally there. ‘Good morning professor Fieldmann. Can I ask you something in private?’ Michael suddenly asked him. He was the newly appointed dean and at times over eager to make known his new rank. Norman hoped right now wasn’t one of those times. Fearing he’d been caught daydreaming again. ‘The faculty would have a good laugh’ he thought. ”Do you drink?” “Huh?” “Just kidding. Just relax. Have a seat.” “Okay.” He eased into the chair worried about what was so important that he had to call him out of a review for finals testing. “You know Norm, I like you. So please explain the me why on earth I keep hearing whispers that you...well, zone out during lectures. Lectures none the less that you are giving?” Ending with a sharp frustration. “Wow, thought you called me in here to discuss budget cuts. Wow. I, uh...where is this coming from?” “I can’t tell you that. So the rumors are true?” “Okay, I’m I being punked? You can come out now Ashton!” “No, you’re not.” “Well you know how these kids can be! There just mad because of push them to be their best Mike.” Michael looked down unconvinced. “ I saw you.” “Excuse me?” “Yea, I saw you Norm! Look if teaching isn’t what you want to do anymore..if I recall accurately...you were on the honor roll for making mu..” “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Norman cut him off. But he knew he was right. Teaching wasn’t his real passion. Then again his real passion had grown dim. Like an ember in a vast forest. An almost lost possibility. But no matter how much he’d distance himself from it it followed him like a shadow. A shadow resounding louder and louder with each passing day.

He walked home that day instead of the usual taxi. A sobering thought of losing his job absorbed his thoughts. Then he heard it. Coming from 10th Avenue and Cardinal lane. It was a jazz group. A sort of symphonic fusion he’d never heard before. It was rush hour and some cars were honking, drivers were rushing home, street vendors were shouting ‘Last call’ for the catch of the day. But all Norman could hear was the resounding bluesy, robust and then settle sounds from the nearly hidden talent performing in a pub outside. He envied them because their hands, breath and whirling mind and heart could touch only what most people could only hear.

Once home he met with his silence. Existing in a back room was a dusty old piano. Just seeing it brought instant memories. Some happy, some sad and some....never worth mentioning. “Do you realize how much your family has sacrificed for you and this fascination to seem to have for Rocmonninoff, Mozart, Chopin? Your sister with her ballet, your mother to make new clothes for you children, and me! Or did you think money grows on trees?” His Father would say coldly to hear him tell him endlessly how grateful he was. As he excitably was, but when his dream seemed to become a punishment it welted away over the coming years. Today music was alive again. Colors were vibrant again. And his heart was singing.