Maestro

by Auden Dar

A symphony is like a love affair. It’s a journey that takes your heart to many places.

The boy who not only captured my heart but also became a master at breaking it.

“I was thirteen when I met my one and only muse. All my compositions and all the music I perform are inspired by her. She’s in every note, melody, and phrase.”

Chad said to play for myself, but I’m playing for Mom, who also loves this heart-wrenching composition. I’m playing for the woman who gave up her family, her past, her homeland, for me. The woman who works tirelessly so I can pursue my dreams. I’m playing with Pablo, the keeper of all my secrets. I’m playing music that makes me feel beauty in pain.

“I always wanted a muse.” He unlocks a soft smile. “I found her in you.” I found her in you brings me an unfamiliar feeling of pride and happiness. We resume our walk to the subway station, side by side, and I’m grinning the entire time. I’m Chad’s muse.

I love you. I’ll always remember this day because it’s the first time I understand what it means to love a boy.

No, I will never forget this day. It’s the first time I understand what brokenhearted means.

“That girl is all I see, Aurelia,” Chad says. “The girl with the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. The cellist whose talent never ceases to amaze me. The generous soul who always gives spare change to people in need or spends Sunday mornings at the church’s food shelter. The girl who still treks to Forest Hills a few times a month to play for senior citizens. The girl I’ve wanted to kiss since the first time I met her. “I want to be with you all the time,” he continues, and I’m putty. “When I’m out and about, all I can think of is you. In the middle of practice, I stop and wonder what you’re doing. Every piece I play, I want to play with you. Every book I read, I want to read with you.”

Every kiss becomes a note added to a composition. Every touch and caress, every sigh and moan and whispered word, creating a sonata. Then a concerto. Then a symphony. I never want Chad to stop orchestrating the rhythm of my heart.

“Aurelia, Aurelia, Aurelia.” His voice is teasing. “But I’ve never been in love… Until you.”

“Aurelia, you’re more than my forever friend. You’re more than my girlfriend. You are and will always be her. The person I love the most. No matter where we are in our lives, you’ll always be her. Never forget that,” Chad says, his eyes filled with promise. “I love you.”

Your heart knows when it’s about to break, but it clings to hope, lying to itself.

The pit is empty save for the girl whose grief seems to grow. How is it possible to grieve for someone whose heart still beats? How is it possible my heart is barely beating?

And listen, Aurelia, it hurts now and it’ll continue to hurt. That’s what love does. It can feel like something jabbing your heart. But you’ll move on. So many more loves are waiting for you.”

“Yes.” He raises my chin so I can see his eyes. “I still love you. I’ll always love you. You’ll always be her—the only girl I want.”

No one ever said ambition could take away the most important person in my life. I’d give anything to let you know how much I want you back. I want to hold you close and never let you go. I want to kiss you so hard, even if it means losing my breath. I want to tell you I love you and only you. I want you to know I’d give everything up to be with you again. Everything.

“You broke my heart.” “Yes, I broke your heart. But you broke all of me. To wake up one day, and not see you or hear your voice.”

Breaking someone else’s heart broke mine.

“You’re still her,” he says. “You’ll always be her. The one I love the most.”

I wrote this while you were sleeping. You will always be my muse. My only muse.

“I need to go,” I croak, dumbfounded and broken inside. No one can hear me. No one can see the tears streaming down my face. I don’t wait for them to return from the kitchen. I don’t wait for the man who said earlier today, “Never forget how much I love you.” I’d do anything to forget his love. His betrayal. Him.

I am a survivor. I will be fine. With a pillow over my head, I scream out loud. I scream with hate and sadness until my throat burns. My mind yields to the resignation while I wait for my heart to follow.

I read somewhere that every person is meant to be with someone. God placed us on Earth to love, to be loved, and to create. In this equation, God forgot about me. If I’m to love and to be loved, then why am I in front of a man I’d imagined an unimaginable future with? A man who consumes my heart even after his betrayal.

A word we often say daily. A word I’ve become too familiar with. Goodbye. I refused to say mine until now. I had refused to let go … … of the boy who gave me my first kiss. … of the man I gave myself to. … of the man who broke me into pieces.

Sophomore year at LaGuardia, we studied the heart in biology class. I learned terms such as “cardiovascular disease,” “heart attacks,” “blocked vessels,” and other conditions that prevented the heart from functioning properly. Mr. Henler never mentioned the heart could stop beating from loss. Not of blood or circulation, but from losing the love of one’s life.

Love has a way of transforming itself without your knowledge. Without your permission. Seeping its way into the deep crevices of my heart,

“Did you ever consider that maybe our destiny wasn’t about music… that maybe it was as simple as us being together?”

My almost thirty-year-old self has learned it’s easy to let go of those who were a blip in my life. But it’s impossible to part with those who you love, even when they’ve broken your heart.

When I was a little girl, in tears, Mom would stroke my hair and whisper, “This too shall pass.” But this—whatever this is—will never pass. Heartbreak is an incurable disease. At times, it’s dormant. Quiet. But you know it’s there, taunting as it lingers. Occasional flare-ups that intensify after periods of remission. I’m living with this disease, learning how to manage it. Own it.

Genuine love is unconditional. You want your love to fulfill his dreams and have the best possible life, even if you’re playing a different role in it.

“Make sure you have control over your life. Some dictated it for years, but moving forward, be the conductor of your own life.”

Then I’m filled with sadness, because I’ve learned Away isn’t a place. You can go around the world, but whatever you’re trying to get away from comes with you in your suitcase.

Chad will always be in my life, but he’s no longer playing first chair in my soul’s orchestra. He’s no longer the concertmaster. The stain he left on my heart fades day by day.

“Forgiveness is one of the greatest acts of love.”

“But that’s not who I am,” he tells me. “I’m the boy who fell in love with you at thirteen, loves you at thirty-three, and who will love you until his last dying breath.”

Grief lingers. It never fully goes away. It appears in unexpected moments. When I’m reading a book or listening to a song, or just the simple act of opening the door to my apartment. I’ll reach for the phone, not realizing I’m dialing Chad’s number, then remember I’m the one who asked to be let go. No one ever told me we can grieve for the living.

If you don’t love with all your heart, then heartache just becomes an ache. A dull pain subsiding, as if we’ve never loved.

“It was never the destination. It was always the journey. And what’s a journey without the one you love?”

“What is it?” I ask. “Don’t you get it?” “Get what?” “My greatest performance was hiding a broken heart.”

He nods and the smile has yet to leave his face. “I never let you go, Aurelia. Never. I needed you to discover what I’ve always known.” “Which is?” “We belong together. And no obstacles could ever take away our love.”

Love? Love is too tame a word. Webster’s Dictionary doesn’t have a word that defines the longing, the aching, the all-encompassing emotions coursing through me for Aurelia Preston.

The moment when I met the boy who would change my life.

I look over at Chad, peaceful. I’m playing the music I love, but this time, I’m playing for you. The man I love. An avalanche of tears streams down my face as I play Rachmaninoff’s Élégie. Each note reminds me of him—our love. The wonder in first love, the unexpected heartbreak, loss, and most of all, the beauty in pain.

In my almost thirty-six years of living, I’ve learned home isn’t a physical place. It’s a feeling of shelter. Of being surrounded not by items but by love. Home has always been with Chad, and now it includes another resident. Astor.

Memories become baggage. We carry them from place to place, even when we’re desperate to drop them off. And then there are memories we wish to hold on to; a constant reminder of who we once were. Who we desire to be again.

The melody was still inside me, refusing to abandon me. I fought to keep the music in me alive. It was the most beautiful, deep tone Pablo had ever carried. It also sang, “You will be fine.” I felt the beauty in pain. I cried, allowing myself to let go. I let go of the baby I lost. I let go of my first love.

Loss is such a short word, but its effects are tremendous. Time doesn’t heal loss. It only changes it.

“Yes, I fell in love with a child prodigy. A virtuoso who astounded me with his musical brilliance. I also fell in love with a boy who believed in me. In us. I fell in love with a man who continued to love me even after I broke his heart. A man who broke his own heart to keep his son. You are and will always be more than a world-renowned violinist and conductor. I’m not asking you to give up music. I’m asking you to see who I see.” Placing my hand on his chest, I appreciate the rise and fall of life. “The man I will always love.

In loss, there is hope. For years, grief, regret, and anger accompanied my loss. The pain never lessens. It’s permanent. But as each day goes by, the loss becomes a part of us. One we learn to live with. And what is life without hope?

We can only move forward when we accept our past. Our mistakes. Our regrets. All those memories, no matter how painful at times, are a gift. They’ve shaped our hearts.