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Gorecki – Symphony of Sorrowful Songs –written about the Second World War. The second movement, which Dawn Upshaw was performing, always made me cry. It included a prayer to the Virgin Mary inscribed on a cell wall in Zakopane, Poland by an 18-year old girl who was a prisoner.
I was so glad that Drake left me alone for this moment, glad he understood the music had special significance to me. I could tell he didn't like being excluded, but was so relieved that he was willing to go during the performance.
Upshaw entered the concert hall to cheers, the violinists tapping their bows against their music stands. She bowed and took her place. The conductor finally entered after Upshaw, and then, after a brief introduction, the music began.
The opening phrase was simple – three notes, the melody haunting, the strings and piano starting out soft and light, repeating a phrase that was beautiful, almost dreamy. Then the music changed. A darker note taken up by the double bass, the cellos. It repeated, again and again like a funeral bell tolling. Upshaw began, her voice mournful, tearful. She sang in Polish, the lyrics included in both Polish and English in our program.
Emotion built inside me and I tensed, holding my breath, biting my bottom lip as Upshaw sang the lyrics, calling to the girl's mother, asking her not to weep for her daughter. Once, when I used to listen to this, I thought of the family my mother lost in the camps in Poland, but now, I could only think of my own loss, my mother dying after a short battle with aggressive breast cancer. I tried to hold back my tears, but couldn't, and when she sang the last phrase, her voice raised as she called out to her mother, they spilled over and dripped down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes quickly with a hand and then pulled out a tissue from my bag.
I didn't want Drake there beside me, to witness my tears.
My father was so completely clueless as if he couldn't understand how personal and emotional this moment was for me – his own daughter. This was the first time I heard this since my mother died.
When Upshaw finished the piece, the applause was deafening. A standing ovation followed and I glanced around, the tissue to my mouth, trying to get hold o
ver myself. It was then that I saw Drake. Standing in an empty box by himself, he had his opera glasses trained on me.
I leaned back, trying to hide in the shadows, but it was too late. He'd seen me and I wondered how long he'd been watching me.
Bastard!
Everyone stood, clapping, shouts of "Brava!" from the audience. I remained seated, wiping my eyes, struggling to regain my composure.
I could hardly listen to the rest of the music, although it was nice and Upshaw was amazing. At intermission, my father escorted us to the lobby for a drink but I went to the restroom immediately, hoping to fix my makeup before I had to face Drake. When I left the restroom, Drake was already with my father and his wife, a circle of my father's friends surrounding them. He smiled when he saw me. I turned around and went right to the box, refusing to join them.
Barely a moment after I'd been back, Drake arrived and sat beside me, turning towards me, his voice soft.
"How are you?"
I averted my face, looking out over the audience as people began to return to their seats, a tissue twisted in my hands.
"Fine." I said nothing else for a moment, keeping my focus on the audience. "Thank you for understanding and leaving."
"You're welcome." He rested his arm on the back of my seat and turned towards me a bit more. "I've never heard that piece before. It was…" He paused as if thinking of the right word to use. "Devastating."
I glanced at him, checking to see if he meant it, and his face was open, honest. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wetting it with the tip of his tongue. He used the tip to wipe off my cheek. I tried to pull away, but he took my chin in his hand and stopped me, rubbing gently at a spot below my eye.
"Here, let me get this," he said, his voice soft. "Your mascara ran a bit from your tears."
He just had to do that – let me know that he was aware that I'd been crying.
I tried to avoid him, but he turned my face so that I couldn't. Finally I met his eyes and I just stared into them, and there was that connection again, passing between us. My emotions were still so close to the surface, and I felt so vulnerable as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling.
Then, he leaned in and kissed me softly, his hands on either side of my face. Just a brief kiss, lips pressed to lips, mouth on mouth, and it felt as if some barrier between us had broken.
He pulled away, and I felt so confused, scared to my core. We remained like that, his hands cupping my cheeks, him staring into my eyes.
My father and Elaine returned and the moment ended.
Drake pulled his hands away and turned to them, standing up and welcoming them both back, his hand on my dad's shoulder. I remained seated, looking away, trying to hide my emotions from all of them, but I had the sense that Drake knew exactly how I felt.
I sat through the rest of the program but I heard none of it. He spoiled it for me. All I could think was that he kissed me – he kissed me! I didn't know where he got the nerve, except that he was a Dom as he so eagerly reminded me earlier. He was a Dom and he always tried to get his way. Get what he wanted.
I understood completely what he intended by that.
He wanted me as his sub.
I read the literature. A good Dom pushed his sub's limits to ensure she continued to expand her ability to respond, to experience as much as she could, to be as fulfilled in her submission as they could achieve together. The more she yielded to him, the more they were both satisfied – until they found her true hard limits. Only then would she – and he – be completely fulfilled.
