In the course of that evening I am sure Steve committed many faux pas, but in a sense both he and Cecilia were oblivious to the stricter requirements of social convention. What mattered to each of them was the genuineness of the other. There was nothing fawning about the way they treated each other. Steve’s almost paralyzing awe of her became a different kind of awe in her disarming presence. There was nothing ill-at-ease about it from the very first moments of their being together.
As they walked down the arbored lane to the concert hall arm in arm, Steve felt very proud, very unworthy, and very happy. They said almost nothing until they came to a little clearing in the trees. There Cecilia stopped and pointed to a small bright constellation off to the northeast of them. Leaning close to Steve she said, “That’s my favorite formation. Folks call it Cassiopeia, but I call it Tiny Dipper. No matter what time of the year or what time of the night you look into the stars, you always see it.”
Steve caught the wonder in her voice.
“I’ve noticed that too. Isn’t it wonderful?”
They walked on.
In the gaily-lighted auditorium, one of Steve’s friends from his physics class ushered them into a couple of seats halfway down the center aisle. As he handed Steve their program, he winked at him and Steve winked back.
Soon the lights dimmed and the curtain rose on the orchestra. A tingle of excitement rippled over Steve. This was going to bring joy to his Cecilia and that alone, with or without the music, would bring him joy. The conductor strode to the podium, greeted by a respectful ovation. On the downbeat the orchestra broke into Brahm’s “Symphony Number One.”
The first movement sustained Steve’s mood of anticipation. It was a good work on which to begin the program. He could see that Cecilia was really getting into it, and he dearly appreciated all the time it gave him to sit next to her. It felt so good being so close to her surrounded by this glorious music.
Somewhere in the middle of the second movement, Steve and Cecilia happened to shift around at the same time so that their shoulders and upper arms pressed against each other. Neither of them moved. Steve could now feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He closed his eyes and let his head slump slightly forward. It was almost too much for him, this miracle. This was no phantom, no apparition. He was touching the real her, close and warm and alive.
During the third movement, an overpowering urge timidly lifted his hand to the armrest close to Cecilia’s. It lay there palm down for two or three minutes. Then, in a lull in the music, he felt her soft strong hand gliding smoothly towards his, also palm down. Lifting his hand ever so slightly, she slid hers under his. Their fingers interlocked. They almost stopped breathing. The mere touching of one another in this simple way mysteriously portended to each of them a hint of a wondrous future in which they could be forever connected, forever one. Neither of them had ever been even close to this place before. This was wholly new territory for them. They remained interlocked like this until the very end of the symphony and only released each other reluctantly when they stood up for the applause. They looked at each other during the applause, began to understand, and were totally dumbfounded.
During the next section of the program consisting of a number of smaller lyrical works by Brahms, their hands came together all by themselves.
The final section of the program was the magnificent “Variations on a Theme by Haydn” in whose soaring interwoven melodies and harmonies their quickened hearts took flight. In the resounding affirmation with which this work closes, all they could think of was where this new and untested love of theirs was leading them, to a climax that would fulfill their lives for time and for eternity.
There was not much time to loiter after the long concert. The girls had to report into the dormitory within fifteen minutes of its conclusion. Steve and Cecilia spent fourteen and a half minutes strolling hand in hand under the stars. They said almost nothing. The current flowing through their fingers said it all. Accompanying her all the way up to the front door, Steve faced Cecilia and took both of her hands in his.
“Good night, Cecilia,” he choked out.
“Good night, Steve,” she whispered.
They squeezed their hands very tightly and Cecilia ducked into the door at the last second.
And each of them went their separate ways that night with their heads spinning.