"Ever since I was a child, you are what I've heard in my dreams..."

Erik, the Phantom of the Opera

"Maestro!"

I turned quickly to see my little student come flying into the room, her hood blown back, her bright hair tumbled about her flushed face.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, "rehearsal ran over, and the costumes were everywhere...and I had to put them away by myself because Jeanette was ill and could not work..." Her slender fingers tugged at the cords at her throat, trying in vain to loosen them. I stepped forward, shaking my head.

"Oh, but that will never do, Christine," I murmured, covering her hands with my own. She froze at my touch and my words, her eyes widening. "You're going to strangle yourself," I continued by way of explanation, deftly untying her cloak. "And don't worry about being late, I understand perfectly."

She smiled, and I caught my breath, wonder so sharp it was painful knifing through me. Christine, I thought, my Christine... For a brief, unguarded moment I looked at her, searching her brilliant blue eyes for something I hoped - no, prayed - to see.

Someday.

My hands lingered for the space of a heartbeat, savoring the bittersweet pleasure of her delicate fingers under mine. Then she looked down, and the moment was irretrievably lost. I pulled away abruptly, drawing back into my role of the patient, objective teacher and advisor. If that was who she wanted me to be, that was who I would be...

"Well then." I paused for a moment. "Shall we have your lesson?"

"Yes please." Her voice was soft and rather subdued; I stole a glance at her. She was twisting a pleat in her gown absently, her eyes still directed at the floor. I suddenly felt sick. Had I revealed too much? Had she seen...did she know I...

No. She couldn't...could she? Wrestling with my inner demons, it took a tremendous effort to maintain my calm, fatherly facade. I sat down beside her on the seat, thought of taking her hand, and decided against it.

"Christine, what's wrong?"

I don't want any more lessons...I don't want to see you again...I know you've been following me around the opera house...I know who you are.... all these thoughts and more raced through my mind when she hesitated, biting her lip. This panic was almost overwhelming...she couldn't leave me yet! I hadn't told her a thing!

"Maestro, I - " she faltered yet again, finally looking up. I tilted my head slightly, puzzled and - yes, truly frightened by her reticence.

"Tell me, Christine," I prompted softly, "I will not be angry, you know that." Don't you? Don't you trust me by now...I thought you trusted me...

Christine nodded, shortly, and began again. "Maestro, I've been...I've been taking lessons from you for a month already, and I was wondering..." she met my eyes, pleading silently, and I steeled myself for the worst. I would be right, I knew; she didn't want my guidance any longer. Very understandable, actually...even after all this time, she didn't really know me. I hadn't even had the courage to give her my name...

"...I was wondering if I am worth them." Her voice dropped to a timid whisper. "I mean, do you think I'll ever have a good voice? I don't wish to waste your time..." she bowed her head humble, her golden hair falling like a curtain between us. With a silent prayer of thanks I reached out...hesitated...and with a tentative hand brushed her hair back from her face.

"How could you ever waste my time?" I said tenderly, earnestly, putting all the emotion I could risk exposing into my voice. "You are worth it...never doubt that for a moment." She shook her head sadly, and I made a soft sound of exasperation. "Listen to me, Christine! You have an exquisite voice now, far better than...any I have ever heard. Ever. Don't you see? It is not that you don't deserve these lessons, you deserve more! So much more..." Looking down I discovered that, in my desperation to have her believe me, I had taken her hand after all. In the silence that followed my outburst, I stared at our joined hands, lying peacefully in her lap. When had that happened? And why hadn't she pulled away?

Then as I watched, her hand turned in my loose grasp, fingers slowly lacing with mine.

"I believe you," she said simply.

I sighed in relief, realizing, just now, that I had been holding my breath. I stood, actually smiling, and drew her up with me. "Shall we sing now?" I asked. She nodded, the familiar, eager look in her eyes...the yearning for the music which only I could give her. I seated myself at the piano, caressing the keys while she moved to her favorite position in front of the instrument.

"All right," I played a chord, and nodded, "we begin. Singing on the syllable la..."

The lesson progressed as usual, but I like to think - I fancy that there was a new depth in her voice that night, a different timbre that touched me far deeper than ever before. She was singing flawlessly, effortlessly...singing with her heart.

And it was her heart that I wanted.

Oh, Christine, can't you understand, can't you see how important your voice is to me... How to tell her, show her once and for all that her voice was all I had ever dreamed of, and more? I sifted through the music in my memory, searching for the one song with the proper range; high enough to be challenging, yet easy enough to build her confidence. Nothing from Faust...not tonight. And not the arias from Norma either. It was a fine opera, but it did not suit my mood. No, I needed something light, and flowing, and...meaningful. Something that would tell her my feelings without...really telling her.

I stopped playing abruptly, my hands literally refusing to move. That song? Dare I ask her to sing that song for me? Somehow I was aware of Christine gently inquiring if something was wrong, and did her voice not please... I responded automatically, of course it did, why would you think otherwise... but that song was your mother's, Erik, what if she doesn't understand at all? Could you bear it if she didn't? Do you truly want to put her to that test, now?

Yes I did.

"You think I am ready to audition for the company?"

Had I said that? "Of course I do. You are exactly what this opera needs." I could sing it throught once for her, she would catch on quickly, wouldn't she? Yes she would, she always did...

"Christine." She looked up, instantly alert. "I have...a new song for you to sing, if you would like. It's fairly easy, so you needn't worry...just follow me and everything will be well." If only that were true. Follow me, Christine; trust me, and all our problems will be solved...

"A new song?" Her eyes lit up. "Yes of course

Do re me fa so, fa re, fa me...

Caught up in the sound of the music - my music - I soared into the dramatic chorus, putting everything I felt into the words, willing her to understand with every breath I took.

You are music...

Her eyes locked onto mine, blue fixed on gray-green with an intensity that I would not have dreamed possible. Then suddenly a miracle occurred.

She joined me!

Emboldened, intoxicated by the sound of her voice, blending so naturally, so beautifully with mine, I sang with a new energy, filling the song with every emotion I had not the courage to speak. Her lips curved into a smile, her eyes shining as she followed every crescendo and diminuendo, every passion...she was perfect...so incredibly perfect...and oh, how I loved her!!

Bringing the song to its end, I rose from the piano, too shaken to speak. I could feel her gaze on me, but I could not turn around, not yet. If by some terrible mischance she did not share my feelings, I did not want to know. If this is a dream, let me enjoy the dream a little while longer, please...

"Maestro?"

I nodded wordlessly, acknowledging her questioning tone. I did not trust my voice as of that moment...

"Where do you live?

Where do I... I met her eyes in the mirror, faintly puzzled. "Where do I live?" I murmured. What could I say? Where did I live, or did I? Did I even exist without her presence, without her voice?

No. LIfe without her was not living, it was hell. But life with her...ah, it was the closest I would even come to heaven...

"...and when you are silent, I live...below." It was the only thing I could say without giving her the complete and incombrehensible truth. In the glass I could see her approaching me, a soft and almost...loving? smile on her face.

"How can I ever repay you for this?" She whispered, taking my arm and pressing her cheek against my shoulder. I went rigid at her openly affectionate gesture, staring at our reflection in astonishment, then slowly turning to look down into her smiling face.

She was touching me? Me?

A shiver went through me in that instant, and she felt it. Blushing profusely, she snatched her hand away, her head drooping. She thought she had over-stepped her boundaries, when in reality it was me...my own disbelief...and suddenly I wanted nothing more then for her to touch me again. True, it hadn't been a real embrace, but so very close....

"Christine." Her name was no more than a breath on my lips, but she heard it, and raised her head slowly.

What do you fear my love...

"Christine, I..." No words. I had no words. Swallowing hard, I held my hand out to her and waited, my eyes imploring. Then there was the unimagineable thrill as she smiled shyly and slipped her hand into mine....

Christine...oh Christine, please...

And standing there before the mirror, I looked...and saw, dimly, an image of what could be, if I hoped hard enough. Prayed hard enough.

Someday.

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