I Want To Play

That night, Thomas dressed in his favorite billowy white cotton shirt, jeans, boots, and soft cowboy hat. His parents drove us to the concert hall. The show had begun, and we were brought to the wing of the stage where we watched the various bands perform and saw the audience. His parents and brother sat in the hall near the front. The auditorium was filled, with standing room only. We were touched by all of the wonderful music and heartfelt tributes. Meanwhile, rumors spread through the hall that Thomas might play. No one knew for sure, least of all myself. Then during intermission, Thomas – moved by all of the music and love he felt – said to his band members, “I want to play.”

When the second half of the program started, they called Thomas to the microphone. As he slowly walked across the stage, the audience stood and applauded; many had tears in their eyes. Thomas, too. Most had not seen Thomas for more than a year. He thanked everyone for their support and expressed his love. “I probably have breath for only ten minutes of good sound,” he half-joked, sending his right hand into a downward trajectory motion, as if it could all fall apart. “But we’ll just have to find out the hard way.” He looked very brave. The flute came to his lips and he blew, playing for a full twenty minutes.

That giant spirit, which he had always been onstage, came to life again. With overwhelming power, Thomas played the most exquisite ballad, each note clear and articulated, a melody haunting and soaring. It was one of his favorite compositions, “Aeolus” (God of the Wind). When it was over, everyone stood, breathless, clapping, with tears in their eyes. Thomas looked out as if he were memorizing every single face that was in the hall. Then he smiled, put his hat to his heart, and took a bow.