Melody (Frerard)

Just as im playing my guitar, i hear the voices of two men conversing. Coming closer and closer towards my window. Though, only one was familiar.
"What is that sound?" The familiar one asks.
"Its not a sound.. Its a the love song on a guitar." The other man states.
"Wait.."
"I know that song. I've heard it before." There was a small pause. "Not too long ago too."
"Do you know who plays it?"
"I know that there was once a family who lived around this area.." The familiar one began with the story i knew too well. The story of my ill fated family and how i became more mythical legend than man. Actually, more rumor than man, to be more correct. Nonetheless, a ghost.
No matter how many times ive heard the story being told, or how many times ive remembered it myself, it always seemed more cruel than it really is. To be honest, the reality of it isnt even half as bad as the fantasy i pretended it was...
I used to think my parents threw away everything we had so that they could keep on performing, just for the fun of it. When in reality, they did it so they could keep us alive. When dad came home every night, scratching his genitals from the women he'd laid with after their performance, i thought it was because he was disgusted with my mother. And i hated him for it, until i found out that my mother was ill and he needed money for the medicine. It didnt take long for the scratching to become fatal, and he died within a few months of whoring around. Performances never seemed to come as often after his death. Which is why mother had to pick up after my father in the same position. Not too long after, she ended up dying the same way.
No one really knew the truth, except for me of course. Letting people believe starvation took them was just the easiest part of the horrible rumor that is my life.
The worst part of it is, i'm most definitely destined to die just as young as my parents were. except, completely alone. Because the children my dearest Jamia has and soon plans to bear are destined to grow and live in the new world, in the colony of New York. Where i know they're better off. Who would want to live as a peasant like me? Absolutely no one.
"I'm going to head back to the estate now. Do you think you-"
"I'll be fine mikey, go home. Get some rest." The unfamiliar one commands, leaving his soothing voice to linger in my ears.
There is a longer pause in the conversation and i hesitate my playing a bit to figure out if they'd gone. "And we meet again." The unfamiliar one states, letting his somehow reassuring voice calm my aching stomach.
Moments pass and the man is humming along with the sounds of my guitar as if he knew it by heart.
It made me wonder who he was, and why he was lurking below my balcony.
More or less, why he would be on this side of Venice? Everyone knows its not a safe place to be. Unless he was already a peasant.
Maybe he was. I dont really know.
Theres a small part of me that wants to go down there and see who this lovely sounding man is. But im afraid if I do, he'll mock me and run like every other who's managed to lay their eyes on me. Aside from my departed wife Jamia. The only person who saw more than just my peasant nature and short stature.
"I am not sure you could hear me, but your music is simply exquisite." I could hear the smile in his calm tone. "Though, i'd like to praise you personally."
Every word he said made me want to smile.
It's been soo long since anyone wanted to speak to me. Even if its just a simple praise for something I wrote in a matter of minutes.
I immediately stopped my playing and stood up. It was only seconds after trying to fix my clothes and my appearance that i realized the truth.
I wanted so badly to rush down and greet him. But the only thing stopping me is.. well.. me.
I look like a street rat who bathed in the tunnels. Even if I hadn't bathed in several months. My skin was that of a ghost, and my hair was long and pesky. My posture isnt very pleasing either.
I'm in no shape to meet a man interested in my music. Let alone greet him up close. He'd run away shouting he saw a rotting monster.
I wouldnt want him to leave.
So I take a small deep breath and sit back down in the corner of the dark empty room. I begin playing the melody again, as if I hadn't heard him.
"I see, i'm a stranger to you. You cant trust me. I understand, dear phantom." He sighs. "May I atleast know your name?"
I remain silent, in fear that he'll try and come to me.
"Fine. Who said I never liked a little mystery." He lets out the slightest chuckle, which made me smile wide. "I shall call you phantom."

Notes