From Our Violinist

A story about a unique type of hero.

Personally, I believe a hero is someone who is not originally brave. Those that naturally possess the ability to remain calm and sane in dangerous situations are the people that do not understand the threat they are facing. This lack of understanding does not make a hero. My definition of a hero is someone who has endured only resistance, but chooses to bravely perceive the resistance as nothing more than a reason to help others.

Of all of the people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, two come to mind that suitably attain the title of my heroes. 

            We met last summer at the Smoky Hills River Festival. Though a normal festival day, there was someone unique leaning on the tree not ten feet from where I watched the punk violinist play her song for the lost audience. Our violinist’s song possessed a soul outside of her own. An absolute beauty. In a way, the violin was more alive than me. She played with all her heart and made me feel mine again in the girl leaning on that tree. Though I knew neither their names, I knew both of these women were destined to change my life. The melodic harmony of the violin replenished me with a certain drive to move toward the stranger leaning on the oak. For this, I thank my violin-wielding hero. Her sound destined me to close that ten-foot wall of music and anxiety that was keeping us apart. So we met. And so we talked. And then we found what both of us needed in that moment. And we grasped it. That gift of conversation and eventual need led to a special type of relationship. We would get to see each other six more times, but I knew from that first musical moment we met she would become my lost hero.

            This girl is my hero because though she had every reason to quit, she never did. She helped others while simultaneously refusing to accept help. She remained a pain-stricken hero until her last day. She lost without giving up. I imagine the other lost heroic applauded her loss. She is my hero because when I was able to visit, she somehow convinced her family to let the teenage boy feel at home in her room. To this day, I still visit because her room is mine when I need to remember how she helped me, her family is mine when I need a home, and her heart is mine whenever I am reminded what it is like to find absolute beauty. Whether it be in somebody else or in music, beauty is an uncontrollable force with the ability to alter destinies. Mine was altered on that festival day and for that, I thank both of my heroes. 

            So I believe that heroes do not have to be friends, family members, or even significant others. For me, the true heroes are the ones that help while in most need of help and are able to alter destinies. 

Reviews

[ruth]

This is a wonderful story. I especially loved how it doesn't really tell us what happened to the girl or her relationship to the narrator.
There were definitely some parts where I was a bit confused. I'm not quite sure I get the "after-the-flash" parts of the story. It was weirdly explained for me and I didn't exactly find it relevant to the story? Also, the part where you describe what a hero is to you. It didn't seem like it described the violinist. I'm not sure I got what you meant when you said "chooses to bravely perceive the resistance as nothing more than an excuse to try to help others because they know what that other person could feel if they do not help them."
Overall, I enjoyed your writing. Violinists are truly beautiful.