The Flautist

This post was meant to be posted at some point in April, a few days after getting my haircut. It was a very nice story that just somehow relegated to the “Drafts” folder and was never shown until now, when I’m trying to write about something else.

I had a few last-minute cancellations at the tutoring service. Since I’ve been pretty tired from work, I decided to take the night off to quietly walk around the Distillery District in the evening. I went past a church with a small sign saying “Flute Recital Tonight”, and thought, oh hell, why not? I grabbed a copy of the concert programme at the door, and lo and behold, it’s a flautist that I’ve known for years. Only she doesn’t know Kate.

Anyway, the recital went really well, and it was definitely a treat to hear the flute outside of its usual role in an orchestra. To say that my long-lost friend is a fantastic flautist would be an understatement. I sat in the back of the church, out of everyone’s way (sight?). At the end of the recital, I went downstairs to the reception in the church basement. My friend was already there, mingling with friends and relatives and guests. She looked towards my general direction…and stared directly at me. She frowned for a second, then her eyes lit up. She walked (ran?) towards me, grabbing my hands.

“Oh my god! I almost didn’t recognize you!” she exclaimed. Apparently she heard through the grapevine that I am now, well, a woman. “You’re so beautiful!” she added, stroking my hair. Knowing full well that I’m not at all “beautiful”, I was uncertain if she was just being polite. (You see, she’s the one who’s drop-dead gorgeous.) But judging from her enthusiasm, I felt that she genuinely meant it. In the back of my mind, I hoped that my new haircut made a difference.

We chatted a bit more before I left. I had a feeling that it wouldn’t take another 6 years before I speak to her again.

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