Re: log: flower delivery - ella g/mason j
He smiled at her when she proposed that God didn't listen because there were too many prayers to answer. here had been a time when he had believed it himself, not that specific idea, but the concept of a benevolent god. Heathen of heathens, fallen of the fallen, it wasn't possible to sink unless you had once been exalted, and to be the chosen of God came with certain expectations of your Creator. But you had to be an apologist to stand in the sun. "That's nice to think," he said, mildly, fingers traipsing down the keys. When this girl beside him had an empty belly, God didn't hear her, or come calling. So what use was he to his Created, then?
He never crossed over her, or stepped on her melody with his own. He matched her, note for note, until she pulled her hands away and started to sing. She didn't have a voice like an angel. Angels didn't sing that way. Anyway, he liked her kind better - voices not unending held a better tone.
After she finished her first verse, he let his fingers still on the keys, and he watched her, singing alone in the church. Just the two of them, and the air was real and the heat was natural. She was full-throated here, completely alive with the patina or mortality. He had no soft spot for perfection, and she was not that.
He settled his hand on her back, between her shoulderblades, so he could feel the full-throated vibration of her singing through his fingers. He didn't interrupt her.
When she was done, he said, "Did you ever sing to your player that way?"