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Part 4

“Déjà Vu”

April

The faceless one appeared again in a tuxedo, as always, and we were walking the streets of a city I’ve never been to before. It was definitely European, but I couldn’t put my finger on which country. Most of the scenes were like out of old photographs—a bit blurry and the color was off—but it felt like home. He walked me to the center of an iron bridge that was painted white. As I tried looking at his nonexistent face for any hint as to who he was, he produced a padlock from his pocket and attached it to the bridge…

* * *

“Excuse us,” Isaac says as he leads the way to our seats in the back of the upper balcony of Meymandi Concert Hall on Saturday evening. We walk around two more people, careful not to step on their toes, and arrive at our seats. “Here we are. You want your usual seat, right?”

“Yes, please.” Seat 205 was always my father’s seat when he’d buy us season tickets for the North Carolina Symphony. My mother wasn’t a classical music fan, so it was something my dad and I always did together. I think I was seven or eight when he took me to my first symphony concert. I remember wearing my favorite purple dress with a lace collar. After they died, I continued getting the same seats for the symphony to carry on the tradition. Isaac is usually my “date,” but if he’s not available then Abby or Nate accompany me. Once, I tried bringing Suz, but the only music she likes is soundtracks to video games, so Mozart’s Requiem wasn’t really her thing.

“I forgot to tell you how nice you look this evening. The color of that blouse really sets off your red hair.” Isaac smiles at me then opens his program.

“Thanks,” I reply. I’m wearing a simple black pencil skirt with a frilly green blouse. To this day I still dress up for symphony concerts, even though a lot of people come in more casual clothing. My father always said it was a sign of respect for the artists that you dress up to hear them play. Isaac’s wearing a dark grey suit—perfectly tailored to his well-built frame—which looks really great against his dark skin. Isaac was voted prom king, and for good reason. Nate says he looks like a cross between Jason George and Shemar Moore. Any way you slice it, Isaac is a really good-looking man. And he’s one of the sweetest people you could ever hope to meet. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Tonight, we’re going to hear Beethoven and Mozart, two of my favorite composers. I flip open my program as well to read the conductor’s notes about the pieces we’re about to hear. I’m totally immersed in my reading when the symphony starts tuning. I close my eyes and listen to the familiar sound. I try to hear if anyone is actually out of tune, but don’t detect anything amiss. Sometimes I can pick out that one violin or cello that’s just a little bit sharp or flat.

Isaac leans over and whispers in my ear, “Guess what? I actually remembered my binoculars this time.” He holds them up triumphantly.

I stifle a giggle because he always says he’s going to bring his binoculars and has never once remembered. I was beginning to think he didn’t have any.

Conductor Charles Carew enters the stage, and Isaac immediately starts using the binoculars. He thinks Mr. Carew is incredibly handsome and jokes to Nate sometimes about throwing him over for the conductor. Nate takes it in stride, mostly because I think he’s secretly got a crush as well.

Once the music starts, I steal the binoculars away from Isaac so I can watch the strings play. The string section has always been my favorite part of the symphony. The fluidity of their movements and their notes. The way some of the performers sway when they get to their favorite parts. You can see the gentleness of the softer sections and the fierceness of the more vibrant sections as their bows dance upon the strings.

I scan the violins first and see some familiar faces among them. My parents donated a lot of money to the symphony, so we got to go to a couple cocktail parties with the artists over the years. They even set aside some money in their will for the symphony, so I still get invited to their functions from time to time. I haven’t been to one since they passed away because it’s still too painful.

I tear myself away from the violins to scan the musicians on the other side of the conductor. Scanning the cello section, I’m astonished to see a face more familiar to me than all the others. My heart starts pounding and my hands shake so hard I nearly drop the binoculars. Feeling like I might faint, I lean over to put my head between my legs. I close my eyes and all I can see is the faceless person from my dreams transforming into a female who seriously looks like Abby, then into Roddy, back and forth, until it finally lands on Roddy. Feeling like I can’t catch my breath, I sit upright again. I feel Isaac touching my shoulder and I hear him whispering to me, but I can’t make out the words. I see his pained expression as he tries again to speak to me. I just shake my head, knowing he’s asking if I’m alright. He takes my arm to stand me up. I barely register the people I’m walking—more like stumbling—over on the way to the lobby.

Once we’re out of the concert hall, I settle on a bench and try to collect myself. Slowly, the sounds around me become clear. I hear the music of Beethoven drifting through the balcony doors and the sound of my own breathing.

“Clare? Clare? Are you alright?” I finally hear Isaac say, obviously completely confused as to why I’m having a panic attack at the symphony. He’s kneeling down on the floor in front of me with concern covering his features.

Roddy plays the cello. This means I’ve seen him numerous times before. I’ve seen him from a distance but never been close enough to see his face. My thoughts keep threatening to overwhelm me. I will myself to focus on my breathing, to calm myself down.

In response to Isaac, I nod. My breathing has slowed, and I no longer feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest, but I’m not feeling much like talking. And, anyway, what am I going to tell Isaac? He doesn’t know about the dreams or that I kissed Roddy on the street right after we first met. Abby is the only one who knows all the details. But I have to tell him something. I’ve never had a panic attack in front of him before, and now I’ve had one in a public place with one of my best friends.

“I just…” I begin but still can’t get the words out.

“Is it your dad?” Isaac volunteers. “Was that his favorite piece or something?”

I really don’t want to lie to Isaac, but I just can’t face telling him the truth. Not yet. Not until I figure out what the heck is wrong with me. “Yes,” I say, finally, tears welling up in my eyes, but not for the reason he thinks.

Isaac hugs me and I start to feel calmer. At his suggestion, we sit there until after intermission to go back in so that I won’t have to hear more of my dad’s favorite piece. I hope that when we get back inside, I’m able to enjoy the rest of the concert without having another panic attack. I’ll just have to forget Isaac has binoculars.

* * *

When Isaac drops me off after the concert, I practically run up the three flights stairs to the apartment—because the elevator in her building is pretty slow—anxious to tell Abby everything I couldn’t tell Isaac. I’m completely out of breath when I reach the door and have a hard time finding my keys in my purse. Thankfully, Abby must have heard me panting because she opens the door. I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, only to look up and see she’s holding a frying pan like a baseball bat ready to knock one out of the park.

“It’s…just…me,” I say between gasps.

“Why the heck didn’t you just use your key instead of standing in the hallway panting like a rapist?”

I scrunch up my eyes and shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well? I heard a noise, and it startled me,” she explains, finally lowering the pan and stepping aside to let me in. “Then, when I got to the door, all I could hear was heavy breathing, so I grabbed the frying pan before opening it.”

“Why didn’t you just look through the peephole?” I’m able to stand upright now but still clutching my left side.

She opens her mouth to answer and closes it again. “I don’t know.”

I hang my jacket on the hook near the door, along with my purse. Abby takes the frying pan back to the kitchen, then turns to me. “So, why were you panting anyway?”

“I just ran up the stairs.”

“And why would you do something silly like that?” Abby pretty much lives her life avoiding exercise. Oh, she’s been known to take walks from time to time, but nothing that would count as a full-on workout. She only takes the stairs if she’s forced to, and I don’t think she knows how to do a crunch or sit-up. And, she’s always been thin, which bugs the heck out of me sometimes.

“I had a panic attack at the symphony,” I say bluntly.

“What?” She steps back to take a better look at me. “Hmm… Yeah, you don’t look so hot. Here, come sit down.”

We walk to the living room and sit down in our usual places—her on the couch, me on the chair. “So, Isaac brought his binoculars tonight.”

“Really? I thought you said you didn’t think he had a pair.”

“Not really the point, but he does.” I take a slow breath. “I was looking around the string section and saw a rather familiar face in the cello section.”

“Who?” Abby asks, literally scooting to the edge of her seat.

“Roddy.”

“Roddy?”

“Yes, Roddy. Evidently, he plays the cello for the symphony.” As I say the words out loud, it hits me again how insane this is. How insane I must be. I feel my heart start to beat faster, but I take a cleansing breath and will it to slow down. I’m home and I’m fine. Everything is going to be just fine. “And, when I closed my eyes, I could see the faceless person from my dreams literally turning into Roddy. They turned into a female, briefly, but settled on Roddy in the end.”

“Whoa.”

“I know.”

“I mean… Well, what does this mean ?”

“I have no idea.” I’m telling the complete truth.

Abby slumps back on the couch. “Whoa.”

“You can stop saying that now.”

She shakes her head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I’m just...shocked, is all.”

I shrug. “How do ya think I feel?”

“I can completely understand why you had a panic attack. What did you tell Isaac?”

“That I freaked out ‘cause it was my dad’s favorite piece. He guessed that and I didn’t correct him.”

“Probably for the best.” We sit there in silence for a moment or two, then Abby asks the question I’ve been dreading. “Do you think this is a sign the dreams are coming true?”

I don’t answer her. I can’t physically answer her. For the second time that night, I’m in tears, and my best friend wraps her arms around me while I sob, unsure what’s wrong with me and what I’m going to do about it.