The Violin Lullaby

It was a night in October, and Nathan Lashire was off at a coffee shop in Chicago, not at home in the suburb Des Plaines. It was boring in Des Plaines. He had spent the whole of his life -- 18 years -- there. Nathan grew up with the same dull faces, seldom meeting new ones. He wanted more than those people, he wanted his good looks to be recognized by the whole of Illinois, and not just some quaint little city. Nathan wanted to be immortalized. And so he was here, drinking an iced cappuccino at a place where the famous frequented. Surely some scout would pick him out of the other losers who sat around. But that was only the reason that he told himself to be there that night. It was something else that drove him there.

Growing tired of the clashing of conversations, Nathan checked his watch. It was nine o'clock, and he decided to slowly make his way home. He paid for his drink and silently glided out onto the sidewalk, loving the way in which the young ladies would stare at him and blush when he gave them a slight smile and a wink.

Walking along the still-busy streets, Nathan was contented. He didn't need anyone else to care for him, as he was always just fine on his own. He got his kicks from toying with those preppy girls' emotions. He knew they always fell for him. He was tall, his brown hair always well groomed, and his warm blue eyes would give off a faint sparkle when he smiled. The girls couldn't resist him. And taking this for granted, he would ask a girl for a date to the movies Friday night at seven sharp, and not show. He'd hide in the bushes and watch the look of disappointment on her face as the movie started and he was nowhere to be found. Then he would walk away, having had his laugh for the night.

He never truly knew what it meant to appreciate things. How could he? His father was a rich stock broker, and his mother a business woman. That's about all he knew of his parents. They were never around the estate. He'd get his allowance every week and fend for himself. It was more than enough money, and Nathan had grown accustomed to it.

He heard music then, a lullaby being played through an open window. Nathan didn't know where he was, he had somehow managed to find his way into the side streets. He would have panicked, but his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know who would live here in this old building and play such wonderful music in the night.

The wooden door gave with Nathan's fourth knock, so he invited himself in. The lullaby grew louder in his ears with each advancing step, and Nathan couldn't help but smile at the lovely violin.

He looked around and discovered he was in a hallway. There were brass lamp fixtures on the walls that gave off just enough light for Nathan to see where he was going. To the right, there was a doorway, but no door. Peeking in, Nathan saw that this room was a kitchen. It was a small, crowded room not large enough for a family of four. The stove ran on gas, and sitting on top of it was a tea kettle. Nathan could smell the herbs through the dust in the air.

Losing interest in the kitchen, and taking up the lullaby again, he strolled back into the hallway, following the violin. Up a flight of creaky stairs he climbed, half expecting these rooms to be as empty as the kitchen had been. But such was not the case. The violin was louder now, it didn't sound recorded, but live. There was humming to it, but Nathan couldn't tell from where it came.

Someone was staring at him. He felt it, and turned around slowly to face the person. Cocking his head to one side, Nathan couldn't believe what he saw there. He could tell that this young woman was a nurse, but she was wearing an old uniform. She looked weary, her dark hair falling out of the bun she had it in.

This was strange enough, but then Nathan surveyed his surroundings. To his dismay, there were bloodstained sheets all about, and lying in the beds were wounded soldiers. All were staring at Nathan except the one with the violin. That one just kept playing and playing.

"Excuse me, miss," Nathan said politely, "but I couldn't help but hear this man's violin from the streets below. The music is exquisite."

Even with this statement, the soldier kept playing. The nurse just looked bewildered and motioned for Nathan to carry on with a wave of her hand. She disappeared down the stairs in a hurry.

Finally, the music stopped. Nathan looked to the violin playing soldier in awe, "You play beautifully, sir."

"And just why do I play so beautifully!" the soldier demanded. "This is it! Everything else was lost! It's all gone! This violin is everything to me. Of course I shall play it beautifully." He was crying now. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his eyes glistened with more.

"What do you mean, that's it? Surely that instrument cannot be all that you own!" exclaimed Nathan, wild with misunderstanding.

"Young man, you are strange. You dress strangely, and you act it. You act as if everything was all right in this world! But it's not, son. And I lost my only brother and family member in that battle. He was the last one alive that I loved. The last one. Now all that's left is this violin. And I cling to it and I play it with all the love that I have yet to give! What do you know about love, son?"

"I know that it is foolish and unimportant, sir. That's all that love is. It's a useless emotion that attaches one's self to another," said Nathan, backing away from the man, and onto the stairs.

"You youngin's today are all too cocky for your own good! Nurse!" called the soldier. The lady in the old uniform appeared just then beside Nathan. "Please remove this child from the hospital. He needs to lose every single thing that he's ever cared about before he can be admitted here."

And Nathan just ran out of the crumbling building before anything more was said. He couldn't take any more that night. He was shaking and needed to be somewhere safe. But safe was at home, in Des Plaines, and Nathan hadn't even an idea of how he had gotten himself into the side streets of Chicago.

He had planned to ask whomever lived in that building for directions, but never got the chance. That soldier just blew up, and Nathan couldn't even begin to understand what had happened. Someone mentioned a battle, didn't they? Was there a war taking place? Nathan didn't know. But everything in that building seemed so old, not at all modern.

Nathan was walking aimlessly through the streets, not caring where he was going because he was too preoccupied with what had happened in that hospital building. Had that man really lost everything? Why was the nurse dressed so oddly? Why were there no sounds but the violin? Chicago was a noisy city, but it was all quiet then.

Coming to think about his current surroundings, Nathan stopped. Yes, it was quiet here, too. The wind was blowing softly, not hard enough to cause sound at all. This was an eerie silence which Nathan hated. His watch had stopped, it still told a quarter after nine as the current time. Nathan hated this, as well.

Finally panicking, Nathan started to run. He ran back the way he came, and finally stopped back at the crumbling building. He walked inside quickly, unsure of what to say to the nurse when she saw him. But he walked up the stairs anyway.

There was no more music, and Nathan saw that it was because that soldier was asleep, as the others were. The nurse wasn't in this room, so Nathan made his way slowly down the stairway to the little kitchen.

The nurse was sitting at a small, wooden table, drinking a cup of steaming tea, which Nathan supposed was the same tea that was brewing earlier on the stove. He didn't make a move when he saw her. She looked exhausted, but she was beautiful. Nathan hadn't noticed it before, but she was. Her brown eyes were misted over, like she had been crying. Her long, slender fingers were wrapped around the mug she was sipping from.

Nathan then found the courage to push himself in further, so that the young nurse may see him. He lightly placed each foot in front of the other, so as to make the least possible sound, but it was too quiet in the room and the nurse looked up quickly. "What do you want, and just who are you, anyway?" she asked quietly.

"I'm just looking for a way home, miss. My name is Nathan Lashire, and I was walking to catch the bus back to Des Plaines. I had come down to get a cappuccino and chill for a while, but I lost my way," Nathan explained.

"I'm Layla, and you're crazy! The bus doesn't run due to the war. You must be making things up," said the nurse, a little louder now.

"What war? It's the year two thousand, and no war has affected Chicago like this for years," Nathan said, bewildered.

"Two thousand? Listen, sweetheart, it's 1942 and we're right in the middle of World War II. My father's in the war, and I haven't heard from him in months. I'm doing my part to help by taking care of these insane and wounded people. You're not making things easier by prancing in here like you know nothing! I'm calling the police. No one's supposed to be out after nine," Layla bursted.

"Police? But I'm just trying to get home!" exclaimed Nathan, running out of the building yet another time. He turned the corner and ran into the very police that Layla had called.



Some days later, Nathan Lashire was found to be insane and was committed to the very hospital at which the young nurse Layla volunteered. He lost everything, including his own time. And his room-mate for the last 34 years of his life was none other than the same soldier who drew him into that hospital that night with the violin lullaby.