The Wrong Ocean

Then Opa opened the door.He let go of my hand to use both arms. As the doorway widened, the music swelled like a huge wave. It hurtled onto me. My bones vibrated as Opa grabbed my hand and walked me into the enormous room. We stood on a wood floor between slabs of dark wood barely visible in the dim light. The music got louder and more complicated. Several melodies overlapped as the volume grew larger, and both more diverse and robust."Wunderbar, Ja?" Opa asked, but I could not speak. My body shook from the multiple tonal variations. They twisted and rumbled like rapids on a wild river. They cascaded over each other and tumbled, a waterfall, as the theme suddenly repeated in low, deep vibrations that trembled in the floor."After the music concluded, Opa said, "It's the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.""What?" I asked, shaken when brought back into words. I heard echoes of the fugue in my mind where the music lingered."Bach," he said. "Das ist Johann Sebastian Bach.""Opa, where are we?""North Shore Lutheran Church." He bent toward me and gently put his hands on my shoulders. "Now turn around," he said.I looked toward a balcony. A short woman, dressed in black, collected sheets of music that fluttered in the light and made odd shadows dance around us.Opa said, "Edna."The woman turned around, "Oh. Dad. I didn't know you were here. You brought Peter." My aunt, shoeless, jumped down from the bench built for someone much bigger than she. From the balcony she asked me, "Peter, what do you think of that music? It makes my whole body vibrate. Did you like it?"