Historical note: “A Musical Interlude” was written as an exercise. Normally, I don’t like to write stories with multiple points of view, and when I do, I limit them to one point of view per scene. In this case, I wrote the same scene twice, from different points of view. Point of View 1 is from the viewpoint of a young Georgina Lewis, Point of View 2 from the viewpoint of Jeremy Boulder.
I later used a similar technique in the stories “Telepathic Ghosts” and “Mistakes”.
A Musical Interlude
by EstiRose
Point of View 1 (Georgina Lewis)
She’d seen him die. She’d seen him come to life again. It still amazed her, this dying-but-not-dead business that the Immortals were into.
Georgina Lewis sat patiently out of sight while the man revived. Close enough to still see but not be seen, she started singing to herself. And then stopped, as he revived. As if the gasp itself was frightening; as if it surprised him so to come back to life. Georgina wondered how it felt to die again and again, come back to life again and again.
He stumbled out of the alley, his trenchcoat neatly around him, hiding the chest wound. Nothing would hide the bullet hole in his back, but it was late enough that people maybe wouldn’t notice it. Maybe.
His eyes blearily focussed on her. She’d nervously started to sing again, hoping that he’d mistake her for a streetcorner evangelist. The tune was one that she’d been taught as a child by a music teacher whose name she had long forgotten. A kindly old man with a narrow face. She wished she had the ability of the Immortals to remember everything.
“That’s a beautiful song, sister. Are you an angel?”
She gaped at him. He’d been drunk, all right, and she wondered if he’d even registered that he’d been dead. Those street punks had really not needed to shoot him after they’d robbed him.
“Just a lost soul, my friend,” she replied slowly, trying to seem like a runaway. She looked young enough. “Singing one of my favourite tunes.”
“You’ve gone to church lately?”
“Sometimes,” she replied. “Sometimes not. I did, as a kid. That’s where I learned it.”
“How old are you?”
She looked fiercely at him. “Nineteen.” That part was true.
“I’d say younger, sister. I gotta list of shelters somewhere.”
“Don’t need one.”
“You do.”
She brushed her hand through her hair nervously, praying that he would just go away so that she could get home. “I got a home, mister. I just don’t want to be there right now. I want to sing to the world, hope God forgives me.”
He smiled. “You’ve got a beautiful voice, sister. Maybe you could go to church more regular, sing in the choir.”
“I don’t like the choir. I sing by myself.”
He chuckled. “But see what they’re missing? You’ve got a voice, sister. Real potential, in so many ways. Sing to God in church, seek what you’re looking for, there.”
“I’m not one for church. I prefer my own ways.”
“Trust me, sister. Trust me, I used to direct a large choir, we needed all the voices we could get. So few people have a good voice now, you do. You’re needed.”
She sighed. It was a compliment, in a way. He had been a choir director in that time, and for such as he to say one had potential…well, that wasn’t to be ignored. “I don’t know.”
“Trust me, sister. I know what I’m seeing. Go home. Be at peace. Sing. Life’s too short to waste it.”
Georgina smiled wanly. She looked into the man’s eyes, and suppressed a shiver. Death. One saw it in so many ways. Here was a man that would soon die. She, a mortal, would likely outlive him. “I’ll try. I’ll go home. Thank you, mister. Would you like bus change? I mean, not everyone has the change they need.”
“That would be fine. Thank you, sister. And may I never see you on these streets again.”
She smiled and turned away. Time to sleep. And then, time to get reassigned. Somewhere with a choir. Life was, indeed, too short. And somehow, she was glad not to live forever.
Point of View 2 (Jeremy Boulder)
He gasped.
Jeremy Boulder looked around, bewildered, and tried to recall where he was. Then he remembered the thugs, the masks, the robbery…the gun. He knew that he’d have to go home and change clothes. Quietly, in case anyone had reported a dead body.
He could see no one. He could hear the soft song, a hymn sung by a female voice, coming from the street ahead.
Jeremy walked out of the alley to find a young woman, looking barely out of her teens and most likely younger. She wore a warm coat, heavy jeans and a surprised expression, almost guilty.
He cursed at himself for being drunk, and hoping that he was being encouraging, said, “That’s a beautiful song, sister. Are you an angel?”
The teenager gaped at him and seemed to fold into herself. “Just a lost soul, my friend,” she replied slowly, looking less bold than she was trying to be. “Singing one of my favourite tunes.”
She was definitely no older than her teens. A lost soul, how sad. A mortal doomed to spend her days lost. But yet- no, it couldn’t be. He knew what she was, what she would become. She’d need all the help she could get. “You’ve gone to church lately?”
“Sometimes,” she replied. “Sometimes not. I did, as a kid. That’s where I learned it.”
In other words, not lately. It was a shame, that lately so few kids had faith in God. Sometimes it was the only constant in a long life. “How old are you?” he asked her.
The teenager glared at him, but he thought he heard a soft sigh. “Nineteen.”
Nineteen. Not possible. She was surely younger. “I’d say younger, sister. I gotta list of shelters somewhere.” If the thugs hadn’t taken it along with his wallet.
She gave the tiniest shake of her head. “Don’t need one.”
The impudence of youth. She’d know all too soon something more complex than the streets. “You do.”
She brushed her hair back and looked defiantly at him. “I got a home, mister. I just don’t want to be there right now. I want to sing to the world, hope God forgives me.”
He smiled. Definitely a runaway. But maybe he had a chance to turn her world around for the better, before she found out her reality. “You’ve got a beautiful voice, sister. Maybe you could go to church more regular, sing in the choir.”
The young face pouted. “I don’t like the choir. I sing by myself.”
He chuckled, trying to remember when he was that young. “But see what they’re missing? You’ve got a voice, sister. Real potential, in so many ways. Sing to God in church, seek what you’re looking for, there.”
“I’m not one for church. I prefer my own ways.”
“Trust me, sister. Trust me, I used to direct a large choir, we needed all the voices we could get. So few people have a good voice now, you do. You’re needed.”
She sighed. He felt hope rise as she pondered his advice. Finally she looked up, doubtful. “I don’t know.”
He smiled gently, knowing he had won. She’d have a few more years of normal life, and then at least she’d have a foundation for the future. And she did have some talent. He didn’t know if he’d live to see it, but she had a musical soul. “Trust me, sister. I know what I’m seeing. Go home. Be at peace. Sing. Life’s too short to waste it.”
She smiled wanly at him, and he tried smiling ever more encouragingly, noting a small shiver in her shoulders. “I’ll try. I’ll go home. Thank you, mister. Would you like bus change? I mean, not everyone has the change they need.”
A true Christian. He’d been right to speak to her, to encourage her on a better path. “That would be fine. Thank you, sister. And may I never see you on these streets again.”
He smiled as he accepted the change, and waved at her as she walked off towards another bus stop. She smiled back. He hoped he’d see her again some day, off the streets.
Jeremy made a decision to go back to church himself. It was the least he could do.