THE LAST CONCERT

New York, October 20, 2021. Wednesday, 5 p.m. The day was cloudy, and the trees swayed

gently from the cold wind outside. Seven days and three hours ago, I was in that same place, sitting in

the hospital room while I stared my only chance of life inserted into my veins: the chemotherapy I.V.

On that day, I was in my fourth session of the month for lung cancer treatment. It started in November

of the previous year.

Last Wednesday was overwhelming. Quick footsteps came through the door, and the sound of

voices turned to desperation. I stood up, pulled my I.V. with me, and walked to the door. The nurses

were running, and the doctors were holding the defibrillator in their hands, all heading toward Daniel's

room.

Daniel was my best friend. The most optimistic and funny guy in the world. He had been

suffering from terminal bone cancer for four years now, and we attended the treatment room together

every day. He was a cello player and a lover of sunsets. Daniel kept saying that playing during sunsets

made him feel like a big star, and I agreed. The shadow the sun formed on the ground suggested that

he was bigger, and he used to contemplate himself with that, making the touch of his cello sound even

softer in the ears of those who listened to him. His dream was to play in the Chicago Symphony

Orchestra. He was always teaching me new music from his idol Bach, which he wanted to play at his

dream audition.

That day, we did not see each other. He was feeling a lot of pain in his body and had to be

treated in his room. “What happened, mom? Why is everyone going to Daniel's room?” I asked my

mother as she came towards me. “Gabriel,” she said, her eyes watering, unable to say any other word,

only running her hand over my bald head and hugging me. Immediately after that, I went straight

toward Daniel's room, where nurses and doctors were coming and going all the time. My heart was

racing. “Please let me in, he's my best friend!” I said as I tried unsuccessfully to push the nurse who

was barring me at the door. After my lung could no longer take such fatigue, I needed to sit with my

mom on the bench next to all of that situation. The serum was still flowing in my veins; there were 200

ml left.
 Today, I was again in the treatment room. But, this time, without Daniel here or in his room to

make me laugh or teach me to play the cello, that every time I missed the same “C” chord. This

afternoon, it seemed the serum was falling slower and slower into my veins. I wondered if it would

really take effect. Time seemed to pass more slowly, and the trees outside seemed motionless, without

a hint of wind. I was afraid. Losing my friend took away my hope for treatment. All I thought was “If

it didn't work with him, why would it work with me?” We already knew what the end would be

anyway, the difference was that now I was sure it would come quicker.

“Gabriel, I brought broccoli stroganoff for you, your favorite.” My mother said, walking into

the room as I received into my veins what was supposed to save me. I thanked her for the food, but I

wasn't hungry, so I settled myself in the chair, which I couldn't bear to stay in. I looked at my mother,

who was staring at me with a sad look on her face. I didn't know if it was because of me, her, or

Daniel. I gave her back a smile and turned to the window, looking out at the view of Washington

Square Park, full of dry cold trees.

After a few seconds of observing people living a normal life outside, I spotted a boy playing

cello in front of the central fountain. Amidst the noise, I recognized it as “Allermande” by Bach. It

was one of the favorite pieces Daniel dreamed of playing in the symphony orchestra. His touch

resounded softly in my ears and sensitized me as I remembered my late friend. I wondered how come

no one was watching him. People just walked by as if they were not seeing it. I was stunned by such a

scenario, so I waited to finish the last 20 ml of my IV and stood up, putting only my sneakers and a

jacket over my hospital pajamas. “I'm going downstairs, mom, I'll be right back.” My mother hesitated

but soon cracked a smile as she longed for that moment. It was my first time leaving the hospital after

Daniel's death.

As I walked, the sound intensified in my ears, and the wind came in through my jacket sleeves,

freezing my arms. But finally, I reached the cellist and could contemplate the magnificent sound that

Daniel would’ve admired so much. He was sitting on a concrete bench with no backrest—just him, his

cello, and a hat on the floor, which there was nothing inside. A few minutes later, I decided to give him

some coins I had in my pocket.

was the only one standing there. “You,” he giggled. “Come play with me,” he continued. “I'm not very

good with instruments, mate. Thanks a lot,” I said. “Come on, I know a cellist up close!” he said,

laughing. I thought for a few seconds and remembered everything Daniel had taught me. He would be

happy if he saw me playing what he had taught me, with so much work. So I accepted his invitation

and sat down beside him. I held the instrument with trembling hands. I had never played for anyone

but my friend. “Relax your hands and feel the melody,” he said, in a tone similar to the one Daniel

spoke. “Could it be Bach's Prelude?” I asked. It was the music I had practiced the most. “That's my

favorite,” he replied. I cracked a smile, adjusted the bow in my hands, and began to play.

With each note, it seemed as if my sick lungs opened and were filled with the melody. The icy

air entered my body and transformed into harmony with the notes of the cello, bringing me, in those

miserable minutes, the hope of life again. Suddenly, the sound of clapping spread through the park.

“They're clapping for me, is that right?” I asked the cellist. However, he was no longer there.

I quickly got up, looking for him, but I didn't understand what was happening. I looked around

but couldn't find him. People continued to applaud, looking at me, and the sky opened up. The sun's

rays touched my body for the first time that week, and a large shadow of my body formed on the

ground, bringing through it memories of my big star, Daniel. My brain didn't understand, but my lungs

filled with the pure air of hope that I hadn't felt in a long time. On the bench, there was a note:

“Thank you so much for performing my last concert, my friend, note 'C! ' Hahaha”

Was it what I was thinking? It couldn't be! Could it? I could only be going crazy… In the midst

of the crowd, my mother appeared, giggling. “I don't believe it, my son, where did you get that cello?”.

At that exact moment, I looked at my shadow, suggesting I was bigger, and then at the note again. I

contemplated deeply that moment, and I felt alive as never before. “Don't worry, Mom, it's from a very

special friend,” I said, giggling back at her.