A few weeks after Pesci-Fest, Alex invited me to an aural concert in Section 7. Even though we were early in our friendship, I knew how rare it was for her to move from the section she lived in outside of her official duties. From the event information, I learned the concert was unique, featuring four pieces composed almost four hundred years ago in a five-year span by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. (1) The concert would take place with authentic acoustic instruments, a rare experience.

I noticed the event had several dates scheduled, so I asked if we could meet on a different day. Renee and I had been seeing each other frequently, and we were meeting habitually on Saturdays. I wanted to see Alex, but I didn't want to disappoint Renee or have it thought I was choosing Alex over her. Renee and I were learning about one another and finding compatible areas of our lives, and I wanted to continue doing so.

Alex told me she would be going into one of her overwork phases while she conducted a listening tour and would have no time for anything but her mandatory tasks until the tour was complete. The date she offered was the only concert date she could make.  I felt a hard knot in my stomach. The thought of turning down the one night I might have with her and not seeing her for an unknown amount of time made my chest hurt. I couldn't do it. I agreed to go with her and steeled myself to tell Rene, who surprised me. Once I told her, we messaged back and forth, and she told me she was happy I was going to the concert, telling me it wasn't Kevin's thing either.

On the evening of the concert, I met her on Section 7's entertainment floor. Alex looked lovely in a long, sleek dress colored in seafoam green interlaced with various shades of yellow and small lines of blues and purples tracing through. Her hair was loose, smooth and wavy, held back from her face with the help of hair combs, dark enough to be invisible, even in bright light. I could barely take my eyes off her as we walked into the auditorium. The room we were in held about three hundred, with a stage large enough to handle an interpretive dance. Seven musicians were on the stage, each melding with the others through their identically colored clothing, all a deep and dark black.

Two were seated on small benches before similar large, irregularly shaped instruments. The instruments were skewed, facing half toward each other and half toward the audience. Between them were another five musicians arranged in a half circle. Each of the five held a similar instrument, differing only in size. Each instrument was made of wood, sporting a long handle with strings attached to the top, running across the elongated and curved box and fastened to the other end. The performers held the instruments with one hand, wielding a long, tightly tensioned bowed rod with the other. How each held it depended on the instrument's size and shape. Four were seated. Three held their instrument horizontally under the chin, though one was larger. Another sat with the instrument held in front of their legs used to steady it. The last stood, the long handle of their instrument resting gently on their shoulder, supporting the whole.

As we settled in to listen, Alex advised me to close my eyes and experience the music solely through my other senses, to hear the music and feel the vibrations. "Let it take you where it will, stirring your emotions without visual cues." So I did, and in doing so, I experienced the concert in a way that completely engulfed me.

The first piece began with the two smallest instruments, the violins, playing together, joined in by the larger viola and the cello, held vertically while seated. I felt my spirits rise as I embarked on a journey filled with lilting melodies. The instruments began to answer each other, a flowing and blithe conversation moving into a synchronization, almost uncomfortable in its conformity. The music changed again, the different instruments flowing lyrically around one another, rising and taking me with it. I gave up even trying to understand what I was hearing and instead let the music and vibrations sink into me and floated away lost to anything but my internal experiences.

The second piece was provided by the two large instruments called pianos. They played in perfect timing with each other, chasing the notes emitting from the other and layering their own onto it. It was stirring and evoked the complexities of my current situation. I was falling in love with Renee, but I also felt something I identified as love for Alex. When we touched, I felt something, even though there was no sexual desire involved. Honesty compels me to add I was also beginning to build a friendship with Kevin different from what I had ever experienced with another male.

I didn't want to choose, but if I had to, I would choose Renee. I would never be anything other than a small part of Alex's life, but I could create something more with Renee. Sleeping next to her, eating meals together, snuggling in the evening, and living a full life with her was a much more realistic goal. And even if something could happen with Alex, I didn't want to jeopardize what I had with Renee or Kevin. I'd just have to be happy with seeing Alex and Kevin occasionally and being a part of their larger family through Renee, just like her former partner had.

Thankfully, the music changed, shaking me out of my thoughtful mood. One of the pianos teamed up with a violin. The music they played tugged at my heart, taking me back down into my grief. Even as the music urged me to soar, the grief it brought held me close. I finally surrendered and rode the music. I descended into my sadness and let the music help me rise through it, even dare I hoped, putting some of it to rest.

The last offering took my breath away as all the stringed instruments came together joyfully. The beginning stirred me out of the remains of my grief, allowing me to release even more in the process. I felt the music surrounding me, lifting me. I felt light and happy, and I never wanted it to end. It truly had been an amazing concert, something new for me, and it spoke of genius managing to rise no matter the obstacles of the age.

But end it must, and once I came out of my happy daze, we went to Culinary and found a quiet restaurant serving variations on southern foods. After placing our orders, we settled back and began discussing the concert. I was interested in the instruments; the only string instruments I knew of were more modern and never made of wood. Even though trees surrounded us, the wood wasn't used for much of anything. "I can't imagine the amount of practice they had to put in to achieve that level of mastery," I marveled.

Alex took a bite of the chicken etoufee she had ordered before replying. "They practice on similar instruments which are more modern and can be repaired or replaced with recyclable materials. But our modern versions lack the warmth and tone the wooden instruments have. Even though the instruments used tonight are now considered museum pieces, they aren't from the same time as Mozart. They were brought in a few decades before the Catastrophe. The instruments are why there have been very few performances similar to what we heard tonight. They are made from woods we do not grow here, so we work to preserve the instruments until we can replace them with woods from the surface."

I thought about her words as I savored my chicken pieces, covered with a crisp fried batter, cornbread with butter and honey I could drizzle, and tender greens. Knowing those instruments were rarely played made the evening even more special. Suddenly, knowing the music I heard was so rare and fleeting, I wanted to listen to it again, even though I knew my experience wouldn't be the same. I believe my perception is similar to many people and circumstances; we don't always appreciate what we have experienced until it's over.

The meal was lovely and the company even lovelier. As our plates were cleared, we chatted amiably about nothing in particular, and then we each had an after-dinner drink placed in front of us. I toyed with mine, not knowing how to break the silence the drinks had brought with them. I wanted to know more about her and the beginnings of her story. But I didn't know how to start. Finally I asked her what she missed on the surface. She sat there for a while, silently gazing at something not in the room. Her eyes focused as she came back and began speaking.

"What I miss, truly miss, are three things: the true warmth of the sun on my skin in the summer, the capricious winds presenting as a welcome breeze on a warm day or something strong enough to bring destruction where it goes. But the experience I miss the most is the ocean, the large bodies of water separating the continents. I miss the tang of salt and kelp blown onto the shore by the wind. I miss the sounds and vibrations of the waves crashing onto the shore and the regularity they break onto the beach. I miss the water, holding me up as the waves swell beneath me before crashing further into shore.

"I guess you can say I miss the natural aspects. But I don’t miss much else. The one hundred and fifty years we've spent here in the habitats have certainly been an improvement on the surface. Everyone in all the habitats worked before and after the Catastrophe to create a broad base for you, their descendants, to utilize. We've learned to value each other in a way never before achieved in human history.  We're moving forward with a focus on balancing the needs of individuals and humanity, not trying to hang onto imaginary, glorious pasts. By the time we came down the first time, the darker aspects of humanity were starting to peek out in ways no one had been expecting." (2)

The first time? That made me curious; I hadn't ever heard about anyone coming down more than once, so I asked her.

She told me, "Until the pandemic hit in 2020, roughly four years before the Catastrophe, it had been a fairly common practice to invite someone being recruited to the habitats to take a tour before making a decision. It's what happened to us; we accepted a mysterious invitation that led us down here."

And she told me the story of their visit.