Off to the Concert

It was February; the snow lay packed under minus zero temperatures. A year had passed since Thomas had fallen ill. Musicians from his home state planned a benefit concert for him in his parents’ hometown. For weeks the event was written about in the local papers and announced over the radio. By now Thomas had grown quite weak. “I want to attend the concert,” he told me and the doctors. They weren’t sure that being three hours away from them was a good idea. But on the day of the concert, the doctors agreed to let him go.

Thomas, who had not been anywhere in months, was overjoyed. A friend came to drive us. Before we left the apartment, Thomas tucked into his bag the silver flute his parents had given him for graduation. He went downstairs to see Moi. She wiggled playfully under his embrace. “Goodbye, Moi,” he said, hugging her close. “Be a good girl while I’m gone.”

We left the concrete sidewalks and dense surroundings of our city dwelling and breathed in the fresh, cool air and wide, open spaces of the approaching countryside. It was Thomas’ first trip north since he’d fallen ill.

Arriving in the Connecticut neighborhood of his childhood, Thomas perked up at the sight of the familiar scenery: snow-covered fields where he cross-country skied as a child, hills and woods full of tall trees, winding trails and icy brooks. He had hiked there often and found treasured solitude among the birds, the squirrels, and the deer. When we arrived at his parents’ house, he didn’t go in immediately, but walked on the frozen ground and among the trees in the yard. He stopped and listened to the song of a bird. I think Thomas could have stood there forever.