Each day after college classes were complete for the day, Jahrae single-mindedly rushed home; barely stopping to acknowledge those friends she scurried by. And day after day, she would feel a keen sense of disappointment at finding no new news on The Concert, a concert that carried interest that went well beyond the music.
She would pester her father to pressure the producer; Djell would laugh good naturedly at the repeated questions and prodding from his suddenly enthusiastic daughter; such a change in a month!
On this day, Jahrae cleared the four entry steps in only two, fumbled for her entry control, and remotely released the latch. Her parents were not home – undoubtedly off tending to their latest community project. Gaining entry, she immediately moved toward the electronic interface, but as she did so, spotted an electronic notepad displaying a written note lying on the interface credenza.
Jahrae,
I spoke with Olterian today, to no avail. He suspects Llhaesa has deliberately chosen seclusion at a retreat for prominent artists, though he did not reveal the name of this retreat. If this suspicion proves correct, it will be several months before he is able to make contact with her.
Wish I had better news for you. We’ll be home soon.
All my love,
Djell
Pfffft. Out went the air yet again from Jahrae’s emotional-balloon, sailing off into oblivion with the emotional-balloons of every other day post discovery of interest in llhaesa, and her subsequent request to obtain tickets to see her play.
Not able to concentrate and tackle the usual course work that awaited her, Jahrae moved on to the interface and activated it, waiting impatiently for five long seconds before it was ready for use. She searched out ‘artist’s special places’ and was greeted with a litany of stories, renderings, and photos of subjects and locations some artist fancied.
Jahrae leaned back on the chair and brushed the black, with streaks of rust, coloured hair out of her eyes, blowing air upward simultaneous with her hand movement. Her mind searched for a possible search term to use, and came up with precisely nothing.
“I may as well get started on my homework’ she groaned, an admission of defeat. Rising from the office type swivel chair that lay claim to the space in front of the interface, Jahrae grabbed her backpack and headed for her room. She activated her portable interface, moved to the math section, and after making quick work of her assignment, moved on into art. She was tasked with reading twenty-five pages on modern art and modern artists. Halfway through, her head began to droop, falling lower until coming to a restful stop atop the portable interface.
Jahrae next conscious thought was in trying to sort out the sound and smells finding a way to her from downstairs. Shaking off an hour of sleep that failed to chase away her disappointment, she audibly remarked to no one, “Ah, dad and mum…”
Jahrae moved to the edge of the bed, dropping her legs over the side, her hands wiping the sleep out of her eyes. Rising, she slowly moved towards the dresser. Grabbing a hair brush, she ran it through only enough times for her hair to follow some like minded and aligned appearance, then hurriedly dropped the brush on the dresser and headed for the stairs.
Reaching the kitchen, she found her mum and dad – Hrilleae and Djellrin –working in tandem, preparing dinner. With most of her friends, dinner preparation was considered the province of their mum. Not so in her own household, and Jahrae loved how her parents tackled major household doings together. You could tell they had been doing this for a long time, for they rarely got in each other’s way, and one immediately picked up what next needed to be done.
“They are a team, a true partnership,” Jahrae thought in admiration. She loved the significance of this, loved how it ran through more than just the need to get things done, right into basic respect and love.
She asked if she could assist, and made it a team of three.
After dinner, including lively conversation on the whereabouts of the mysterious and talented llhaesa, Jahrae returned to her room to complete her homework. Picking up where she left off – with her art reading – she read the first page and moved on to the next. There was a photograph on this page of the metal sculptor N’dellian. He was standing next to a sign which read ‘E’sphara Artists Colony.” Resuming her reading with newfound vigour, she read of the history, of those who were alumni of the colony, of the high regard and lofty status it held with the world’s foremost artists.
Suspecting she now knew where Llhaesa might be, Jahrae bound down the stairs and into the living room, excitedly calling out ahead of her the details of what for her was an exciting find, though in the end it would play little role in the path of her life.
If aware of this dead-end, Jahrae might well have felt yet more angst; what she – and her parents for that matter, who worried their daughter did not share their enthusiasm for social change – would not be aware of was that Jahrae and the musician were on a collision course in life, one that would send them to a place in history matched by no one, ever.
