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writetomyheart2015-08-11 01:03 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-08-11 01:03 pm
Entry tags:
[team five] beacon when I'm gone
Title is from Monument by Rökysopp & Robyn.
The woman in the opera isTilda Swinton . This part one in the inevitable end, followed by the moment before.
Until that day, Zitao had never thought about going to the opera, but his cousin had bemoaned the fact that he was wasting his subscription and that he was really sad about missing it and that Zitao's mom would be sad that her only son didn't appreciate his operatic heritage and Zitao just rolled his eyes, grabbing the ticket and escaping out the front door.
"You have to dress properly!" Zhoumi called, but it was too late, Zitao was out of earshot. I didn't hear anything.
"At least take the car!" The faint words faded into the evening air as Zitao stopped at the coffee shop on the way to the subway, Italian soda in hand as he mentally thumbed his nose at what he considered to be false proprietary and swiped his transit card on the gate. The beep that sounded, green light blinking, was oddly satisfying.
The subway was crowded though, couples sitting side by side, holding hands discreetely or less discreetly turning to share a quick kiss. Zitao wrinkled his nose. Maybe I should have taken the car. But then he thought about having to put on a suit, and his mother's driver asking him about this and that and it just wasn't worth the hassle.
He regretted it when he rode the elevator up into the concert hall though, and saw all the people in their concert-going best queued up in the lobby, arched ceiling overhead, skylights littering stars. Zitao looked down at his clothes, sure they were designer jeans and a graphic tee that probably cost as much as some dress shirts, but casual was still casual, even if it was expensive.
He looked at the ticket in his hand and thought about his mom and Zhoumi making sad faces at him and sighed, pulling out his Wayfarers. Battle march.
With his shades on, Zitao had been able to ignore any possible scandalized glances at his choice of wardrobe, offering his ticket and following the usher's gesture to the right flight of steps leading up from the foyer, magnificent glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling for three whole storeys as the soles of his shoes whispered over the crimson carpet, sinking lushly under his feet. Zitao glances at his ticket and then his watch, walked sadly by the bar and managed to find his seat.
He didn't know much about opera prices, but it seemed to be a pretty good one, centre of the front row of the first balcony, poised in a perfect position to view the stage. Zitao grinned. Nice, Zhoumi. Of course, at all the concerts he'd been to, it had been more about getting into the pit, right in front of the stage, but here he could see the orchestra assembling in a lowered section almost below the stage. The lights dimmed, everyone started applauding for no reason that Zitao could tell, and then the music filled the room.
It was in the second act that he first heard the quiet sounds from the person two seats down from him. Zitao turned slightly, peered in the darkness and in the faint glow of the stage lights he could make out a woman, crying.
He wondered why she was crying.
On the stage, people were laughing, singing, but he'd skimmed through the libretto and he knew they were in for a bloodbath.
Why are you crying? he wanted to ask, but then the voices on the stage rose in harmony, the audience applauded, he looked to see what had happened and she was gone.
After the intermission, where Zitao realized that, because he hadn't pre-ordered his drink, he was going to have to wait in line for almost the entire 20 minutes, so that by the time he got his Stella, the only beer left, he had to chug the huge glass mug, then run to the washroom to make it back to his seat. Eying the line up outside the women's washroom though, he felt just a little fortunate.
The woman wasn't in her seat. The lights dimmed, everyone started clapping again for no reason until Zitao realized that it was the conductor walking in, the music swelled to fill the air and the curtain rose.
The woman still didn't return; Zitao thought perhaps she has been last in line for the washrooms or something but by the time the curtain fell—the audience applauding, rising to their feet, the curtain rose and fell and rose and fell and there were more curtain calls than he could keep straight, some people actually throwing flowers at the stage—the woman was still completely absent and Zitao felt. . .something he couldn't explain, like a bittersweet curiosity, like reading a book only to find that all the pages after the first ten were missing, or scribbled over, or had been dipped into water, the ink blurred into an illegible mess.
"How was the opera?" Zhoumi asked the next moring, and Zitao didn't even ask him, like he usually did, why he spent so much time at Zitao's house and not at his own.
"Do you always have the same seats?" he asked instead, and Zhoumi nodded, confusion written over his face, smoothing into a pleased expression.
"They're good, aren't they?" he said, smiling. Zitao just looked at him.
"Next time I'm going with you," he said, taking a bite of toast and jam as Zhoumi just stared at him, across the kitchen.
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goodbyelover will be going on an indefinite hiatus, so I'm officially tagging nachtegael. jojibear take note I guess?
The woman in the opera is
Until that day, Zitao had never thought about going to the opera, but his cousin had bemoaned the fact that he was wasting his subscription and that he was really sad about missing it and that Zitao's mom would be sad that her only son didn't appreciate his operatic heritage and Zitao just rolled his eyes, grabbing the ticket and escaping out the front door.
"You have to dress properly!" Zhoumi called, but it was too late, Zitao was out of earshot. I didn't hear anything.
"At least take the car!" The faint words faded into the evening air as Zitao stopped at the coffee shop on the way to the subway, Italian soda in hand as he mentally thumbed his nose at what he considered to be false proprietary and swiped his transit card on the gate. The beep that sounded, green light blinking, was oddly satisfying.
The subway was crowded though, couples sitting side by side, holding hands discreetely or less discreetly turning to share a quick kiss. Zitao wrinkled his nose. Maybe I should have taken the car. But then he thought about having to put on a suit, and his mother's driver asking him about this and that and it just wasn't worth the hassle.
He regretted it when he rode the elevator up into the concert hall though, and saw all the people in their concert-going best queued up in the lobby, arched ceiling overhead, skylights littering stars. Zitao looked down at his clothes, sure they were designer jeans and a graphic tee that probably cost as much as some dress shirts, but casual was still casual, even if it was expensive.
He looked at the ticket in his hand and thought about his mom and Zhoumi making sad faces at him and sighed, pulling out his Wayfarers. Battle march.
With his shades on, Zitao had been able to ignore any possible scandalized glances at his choice of wardrobe, offering his ticket and following the usher's gesture to the right flight of steps leading up from the foyer, magnificent glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling for three whole storeys as the soles of his shoes whispered over the crimson carpet, sinking lushly under his feet. Zitao glances at his ticket and then his watch, walked sadly by the bar and managed to find his seat.
He didn't know much about opera prices, but it seemed to be a pretty good one, centre of the front row of the first balcony, poised in a perfect position to view the stage. Zitao grinned. Nice, Zhoumi. Of course, at all the concerts he'd been to, it had been more about getting into the pit, right in front of the stage, but here he could see the orchestra assembling in a lowered section almost below the stage. The lights dimmed, everyone started applauding for no reason that Zitao could tell, and then the music filled the room.
It was in the second act that he first heard the quiet sounds from the person two seats down from him. Zitao turned slightly, peered in the darkness and in the faint glow of the stage lights he could make out a woman, crying.
He wondered why she was crying.
On the stage, people were laughing, singing, but he'd skimmed through the libretto and he knew they were in for a bloodbath.
Why are you crying? he wanted to ask, but then the voices on the stage rose in harmony, the audience applauded, he looked to see what had happened and she was gone.
After the intermission, where Zitao realized that, because he hadn't pre-ordered his drink, he was going to have to wait in line for almost the entire 20 minutes, so that by the time he got his Stella, the only beer left, he had to chug the huge glass mug, then run to the washroom to make it back to his seat. Eying the line up outside the women's washroom though, he felt just a little fortunate.
The woman wasn't in her seat. The lights dimmed, everyone started clapping again for no reason until Zitao realized that it was the conductor walking in, the music swelled to fill the air and the curtain rose.
The woman still didn't return; Zitao thought perhaps she has been last in line for the washrooms or something but by the time the curtain fell—the audience applauding, rising to their feet, the curtain rose and fell and rose and fell and there were more curtain calls than he could keep straight, some people actually throwing flowers at the stage—the woman was still completely absent and Zitao felt. . .something he couldn't explain, like a bittersweet curiosity, like reading a book only to find that all the pages after the first ten were missing, or scribbled over, or had been dipped into water, the ink blurred into an illegible mess.
"How was the opera?" Zhoumi asked the next moring, and Zitao didn't even ask him, like he usually did, why he spent so much time at Zitao's house and not at his own.
"Do you always have the same seats?" he asked instead, and Zhoumi nodded, confusion written over his face, smoothing into a pleased expression.
"They're good, aren't they?" he said, smiling. Zitao just looked at him.
"Next time I'm going with you," he said, taking a bite of toast and jam as Zhoumi just stared at him, across the kitchen.
goodbyelover will be going on an indefinite hiatus, so I'm officially tagging nachtegael. jojibear take note I guess?
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