Your story is about a composer in a tree house kissing in dreams. (Short story generator idea I chose for contest)
His knees shook as he placed a timid foot on the first rung of the ladder. He licked his lips and chuckled softly to himself. Cane in hand, Cecil cautiously worked his way up the ladder.
Cecil was getting older. It had been fifty years since his first performance at Carnegie Hall. He had been the whirlwind twenty year old composer fresh in from the streets; no college experience, just pure talent.
He continued to inch up the ladder, stopping occasionally to catch his breath and center himself. He sang softly. His hands shook, his knees wobbled, but his voice stayed strong; a solid bass flowing from his mouth, straight from his gut.
The cane hit the wooden floor with a dull thud. Cecil’s feeble hands searched blindly for the two handholds that had been carved into the floor years ago, back when his father had first built the tree house. Back when he hadn’t needed handholds.
He pulled himself into the safety of the enclosure and closed his eyes. Cecil panted heavily for a few moments.
“I’m getting old aren’t I, my sweet?” He laughed to himself and reached for the side table. He felt the slick feel of a photograph under his fingertips and smiled.
“Wait a minute darling. I almost forgot. It’s so dark in here.” He chuckled again. His laugh was like long forgotten bubbles safely secured under a rock in a fish bowl.
He worked his fingers in between a small crack in the floor and pulled up. The floorboard creaked and gave way. Cecil fumbled until he felt the smooth waxiness of a candle and the worn cover of a matchbox.
“There we go.” He struck the side of the matchbox and lit the candle.
“Don’t think for a second I’ve forgot about how beautiful you are. Remember the first time I brought you here? That was some time ago.” Cecil touched the photograph with a gentle shaking finger.
He closed his eyes, pressed the picture to his chest, and let one solitary tear slide down his cheek as he lay there on the floor of the tree house.
“Cecil! Cecil come here! Dance with me, darling!” Rosie took his hands in hers. Her dress was almost as red as her lips. She swayed to and fro on the dance floor. The jazz trumpets wailed, the trombones worked magic and the bass carried them to heaven and back with each melodic cord.
Cecil stared at Rosie. Her hair fell in beautiful curls around her face, a fiery halo around a face as soft as silk and as white as morning snow. Her eyes were a hypnotic green that held his attention just as closely as he held her to his chest.
Their bodies moved together in a rhythmic beat as they danced around the room. The pianist pounded out hip swaying melodies with thick black fingers.
“I don’t see why you want to become a classical composer when you love jazz!” Rosie laughed brightly.
Cecil slowed down until eventually he came to a stop. He held Rosie by the hand. “Come with me,” he said softly. His eyes twinkled as a small sideways smile played on the corners of his lips.
Cecil led Rosie out of the night club, the jazz music trailed softly behind them until all that could be heard was the crunch of small stones under their feet.
“Cecil, where are we going?” Rosie giggled.
“You’ll see.”
“If anyone sees us we’ll be the gossip of the town!” she whispered, still unable to control her laughter.
Cecil stopped walking and turned to face her. He put a gentle finger to her lips. “For what I’m about to show you, you must be absolutely quiet. Can you do that for me?” he asked her.
She quit giggling at once, seeing the sincere and heartfelt look on Cecil’s face. She nodded. Her eyes were beautiful opalescent pools that reflected the very same emotion that she saw as she gazed at Cecil.
Cecil gripped her hand and ran with her then until they came across the small instrument store that Cecil had began to work at three summers ago. He pulled the key out of his pocket, stuck it into the lock, and turned the key until they heard a light click.
“Close your eyes, love,” Cecil whispered softly against Rosie’s ear. His breath was warm against her and she closed her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering for a moment.
Cecil led Rosie by the hand and sat her down on what she assumed to be a plastic bin that he had turned upside down.
Rosie heard light clinks and thunks as Cecil moved about the room.
And then she heard music, the gentle heartfelt splendor of a violin. She gasped lightly upon hearing the mournful melody. The bow met strings with passion. The violin whined, moaned, screamed, and laughed as Rosie carried out the same emotions.
She opened her eyes and saw that Cecil too was in tears. He held the violin as if it were a lover, he caressed the violin’s neck with gentle fingers and grazed the bow upon its body. She could almost feel gentle hands moving softly against her skin as the serenade continued.
When it was done and Cecil had said everything he needed to say without saying a word, he put down his bow, put the violin in the case, and sat perfectly still.
Rosie lifted herself from her plastic overturned bin, and walked to him. She sat down in his lap, wrapped her hands round his neck and kissed him ever so softly.
“I love you too.” She smiled, letting her tears soak Cecil’s cheek.
Cecil awoke with tears in his eyes and the taste of honey and love on his lips. He looked down at the photograph that he held in his hand, at the ring glistening on his finger. He smiled.
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