The only tangible proof he had that just over a year ago she had lived. He closed his eyes and once more started to play, letting his fingers find the familiar notes. Again, he could smell the fain odor of perfume and heard a familiar laugh. He put down the instrument and wondered if he was losing his mind. The door opened, interrupting his thoughts, “It’s time, Mr. Vincent.” Without speaking, Allan handed the borrowed violin to the waiting man and wheeled himself from the room. They all waited in the wings as the orchestra tuned. The applause for the concert master passed. He and the conductor went on stage. The applause swelled around him as the lights reflected harshly off the metal of the chair. Allan could see the first row, but he did not look for the little girl. His mind was too much on Rosa. There was a breathless moment of silence and then the orchestra began to play. He waited. This was the part he hated – the waiting – especially now that Rosa was no longer there to look. They looked so much alike that they could have passed for twins and they came from a small village in Brazil that seemed to produce coffee and nubile females. Their names were Melle and Nina and it was real easy to get them mixed up in a three way conversation. He proposed they all go out on a break to the smoking area and he would let them sample the new king-sized filter on the Marlboro lights that he occasionally smoked when he really needed to relax. They giggled and followed him like they were doing something naughty they would have to confess later.Just by chance, the break area was empty and he got right to brass tacks and told them that they were not being fair to the other girls at the table by making them work harder to keep up with the other tables. Melle started to cry because she was obviously the emotional one of the pair of nineteen year old nubile girls. Nina started to whisper to her in their native language and she did her best to hide her tears because she followed.
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