In modest rooms in the great city of High Gotham, there lived a woman named Midge Besselman. She was a kind woman, but of the variety that occasionally demands the right of feeling ill-used for that kindness. She lived with her husband, Vernon, a peaceful soul who went to work each day hoping to dispatch cases of portable folding charcoal grills to retail outlets but usually got distracted helping the boss's son learn the ropes. Midge had raised two children who had grown and learned and left. She had friends and just enough of a job to keep home from being depressing - doing the books for her friend Roxanne's brother-in-law's deli.
Thus, though she complained to Vernon once in a while for practice, Midge's life was contented enough: except for one thing. Midge loved music. Not any music, nor especially the music she and Vernon had grown up with (which was what Vernon thought was music). Midge loved classical music. She enjoyed the sound, but that was only part of it. As the music would play she would see the glitter of the city in the evening, here the bustle of cultured people, and smell the romantic smell of rain on asphalt. Her dream was of the symphony, of Vernon in formal attire, of casual glances around the concert hall, of all the musicians playing just for her. This was one thing she longed for - to be "The Besselmans ... going to the symphony."
But Vernon was difficult. He went with her to Citrus City every February; he took her to visit the kids; he even went dancing with her. But he avoided the symphony. She would ask and he would pretend not to hear. She would ask again and he would say he wasn't interested. She would press and he would say it was too expensive, or that she should go with one of her friends. She did not want to go with one of her friends; when she heard the music and dreamed the dream it was Vernon sitting beside her, not Roxanne.
One day it happened that she remembered her niece Phyllis's birthday was approaching just as she passed an on-line sign for the lottery; so she chose numbers based on Phyllis's birthday; she won $565, before taxes. This emboldened her, and Vernon found himself in fancy clothes, heading out to the symphony to make Midge's dream come true. They were going to the symphony - with the great Tookus Fotz as guest soloist, no less.
Now Vernon was an agreeable fellow, and now understood how important it was to his wife, so he had given in. But he was also mischievous, and when Midge took too long fussing over her dress and didn't leave enough time to sit down at a nice restaurant, he teased her and took her to a street vendor for hot dogs. She was embarrassed at first, but the sight of Vernon in dapper formal wear holding a frank smothered in onions made her laugh, and she realized it didn't matter where they ate, so long as they were on time.
Everything was as she dreamed. The people were breathtaking. Vernon was lovely. And the orchestra seemed to tune up with a special flair. The program began with Mozart's Overture to Cosi fan Tutti, and quickly proceeded to Saint-Seans' Dance Macabre. Then the great Fotz appeared. It was not often that the violin virtuoso performed in High Gotham, and Midge felt her dream expanding to hold more joy than she thought possible. Through the first movement of Mozart's Sinfonia for Violin and Viola (K. 364), Midge fancied herself in heaven.
Beside her, Vernon was wondering why he had put up such a fuss, when the onion-laden hot dog within him began to make its presence felt. Vernon rarely worried about such things, and he knew he could tease his wife, because she would be the only one to hear the impending burp and would grow all red from embarrassment. He let a strong, healthy belch escape, expecting it to be drowned out by the Sinfonia for Violin and Viola (K. 364). But as luck would have it, the first movement ended just at that very moment, and Vernon's belch rose above the smattering of coughs and throat-clearings to dominate the otherwise silent pause. The trauma was so surprising that Midge emitted a long bleat, a noise only partially covered by the opening of the second movement.
Though people in the audience were so polite as to take no notice, Midge felt as if she must be consumed by the fire of her embarrassment at any moment ... and hoped very much that she might be. Vernon listened on blithely, still surprised at how pleasant a classical concert was, all things considered. His happy oblivious expression didn't help his wife's mood, though even without it, the concert would have been just as ruined. First there was the shame, and then there was the dream shattered.
And yet, strangely, by the end of the evening the music had soothed her a little, and she hoped she might forget that horrible moment. After all, no one there knew them, and no one she knew would know of the incident.
But the next day she learned just how amusing Vernon thought the whole thing was, when Roxanne and her husband Mac came over for a drink. "I thought Midge would strangle me," Vernon said after recalling the incident. Then be recalled it a second time, and seeing his wife's reddened face added: "See? Still fit to be tied!"
All Midge could do was deny this accusation, and then try to ignore the whole thing - which did nothing to discourage Vernon, who managed to tell all their friends (and no doubt the boss's son at the portable charcoal grill warehouse, though Midge couldn't be sure of this and didn't ask). Her outlook grew bleak and her interest in things diminished, especially in music.
But as the story aged it grew less interesting to Vernon, and Midge was allowed to forget the incident as much as she could. She listened to her music again, and even entertained the idea of going to the symphony again some time (though she did not mention this to Vernon).
Then one day Vernon came home with a new LP. The jacket was filled with titles and subtitles mentioning the great Tookus Fotz and the fact that the program was recorded live at the High Gotham Concert Hall. Midge put the record on and began to read the literature on the jacket when Vernon, who was pouring himself a highball, asked: "Do you think we might be on it?"
Midge realized they were listening to Mozart's Sinfonia for Violin and Viola (K. 364). She checked the liner for the date of the recording and gave a bleat of anguish.
"No, no," said Vernon appraisingly. "It was a little higher," he added just as the first movement came to a close.
Midge Besselman stepped to the stereo, pulled the LP off the turntable and never listened to classical music again.
C.P. Stancich is a P.R. hack at Tacoma Community College and Director of the Tacoma Writers Conference. His prose have appeared here and there - most recently in Sou'wester, Sign of the Times and Kingfisher.
For other stories by C.P. Stancich, click here.
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