Gemotions

Eliza held her breath as Mrs. Gable, a woman known for her icy glare, knocked on the door. Eliza had been practicing the cello, the rich notes echoing through her small apartment. "The noise," Mrs. Gable began, her lips a thin line, "It's… well, it's just too much."

Eliza's fingers, usually so deft on the strings, felt suddenly clumsy. A tremor ran through her arms. She had no idea the sound was escaping her apartment at all. The acoustics were so perfect in her mind.

“I… I’m so sorry,” Eliza managed, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at the cello, its polished surface reflecting the afternoon sun. She saw it with new eyes, as something that could be heard. She wanted to explain the feeling of the bow against the strings, the resonance, the sheer, breathtaking beauty of the sound as she perceived it.