Chapter 2The Disabled Maestro Is My Judge

"Let go of Al!"

"Police! This woman is harassing him!"

Owen Keller, a film student I'd befriended, put away the stunt prop—a leather flogger he’d been using on set—and shouted.

Nearby security personnel and police officers gripped their sidearms, surrounding us with caution.

Savannah raised her hands, her face pale.

I quickly explained the situation to the police, sparing Savannah the indignity of an arrest. It wasn't pity; I simply wanted the entanglement to end.

Owen, a student in directing at the University of Vienna, and I had bonded over a performance. This imaginative young guy and I clicked instantly.

In the car, Owen used every colorful American idiom he knew to curse Savannah and her entire lineage.

Once he'd run out of steam, he spoke quietly.

"Al, you know that psycho?"

I told him calmly, "My ex-wife."

Owen’s eyes widened, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter, as if he were throttling Savannah herself.

"A woman that blind, that ungrateful, who doesn't know what she has? She deserves to regret this for the rest of her life!"

Finally, Owen leaned in and asked, "We still have a little drive. Got any good gossip? I promise, absolute secrecy."

I smiled faintly, considered it for a moment, and then nodded.

As my eyes drifted toward the rushing crowds outside, the memories began to flow.

My freshman year in college, I earned all the applause at the talent show with a performance of "Moonlight Sonata." But two drunk jerks cornered me outside of campus later that night.

"Think you’re so great? My girlfriend left me for you! Now you won't be stealing anyone else!"

"Love playing piano? I’ll make you a cripple. Let’s see you play then!"

They raised a brick, aimed right for my hand.

That was the moment Savannah charged in, her voice trembling as she screamed, "Let him go! I have a bomb strapped to me!"

The thugs laughed, called her crazy, and pushed her against the wall, reaching for her lewdly. It wasn't until they tore her shirt that they saw the "timer"—a makeshift toy.

They fled instantly.

I took off my own shirt, wrapped it around Savannah, and took her to the hospital.

She told me she loved watching me play.

She also told me she was writing a novel about divorce. She'd strapped the toy bomb to herself to truly experience the desperation of a main character cornered by an abusive husband. The toy cost her half a month's living expenses.

It was the first time I realized someone could be so poor—only enough money for instant ramen and day-old bread, sacrificing a month’s savings on a piece of inspiration.

Owen scratched his head. "What did you love about her?"

I thought about it. Was it her artistic talent, her beautiful, cold profile, or those expressive eyes?

Maybe none of that.

It was probably that we both had these blazing, reckless ideals. I wanted to play at the Golden Hall; she wanted to be a world-famous female writer.

And—her courage. Her willingness to bet everything, even when she was stuck in the mud.

From that day on, I used most of my own meager scholarship money to support the struggling writer. Savannah always said I was the only one who truly understood her, and I laughed and said I was the knight sent by fate to protect her.

On a rainy afternoon, Savannah held up a paper rose she’d folded and confessed her love. The affection in her eyes then was absolute, undeniable truth.

"The Little Prince was lost without his rose. I want to cross the entire universe to hold you close now."

We were a couple—stable for four years, the model of campus romance. Before graduation, she gave me a book of poetry that chronicled our bright, happy youth. My eyes stung with tears, and I truly believed life would be this simple, this beautiful, forever.

Owen opened his music app, and a random song, City Moonlight, began to play.

"Seeing all the human comings and goings, can't we have more happy moments..."

We sat in silence for a while. At a red light, Owen couldn't help but ask, "Did things get better for you after graduation?"

I shook my head, unsure how to describe the color of that time.