My friend and I were sitting on the lawn at her home on the outskirts of Laurel, Indiana, in the late summer of 1984. It was a night like any other, or so we thought. We were enjoying the last rays of the evening sun as it slowly sank into the far horizon. Together we sighed, staring into the gathering dusk. One by one the stars winked their tiny beams of light.
Suddenly, from nowhere it seemed, the wind whooshed by, blowing up our hair. A fierce gust swirled around our heads. A huge, brilliant ball of light emerged from the starry sky, coming to a stop but a few feet from us. Lazily it swung to and fro, as though dangling from a chandelier. We sat together, my friend and I, star-struck, motionless, not daring to breathe.
My friend leaned over to me, barely whispering: “Did you hear anything?”
“No,” I choked out. “Did you?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, she nodded her head. “I hear music, coming from inside me.”
I put my ear close to my friend’s face and listened in silence. She opened her mouth to say something more, and then I heard it. Soft, sweet strains of the loveliest music ever to touch my ears. The sounds were so hauntingly beautiful I sobbed inside myself. We sat together, listening to the music as we held hands, our cheeks awash in tears. I do not know how long we sat there, drinking it all in. Then my friend slowly closed her mouth – and the music stopped. Abruptly. Her head swung toward me as she opened her mouth. Again, that strange, delicious music issued forth.
My dear, sweet friend, who could not tell a lie if her life depended on it, turned to me and with a tiny quirk of a smile in the corner of her lips, said: “I think it’s coming from my teeth, because I feel them tingling!” I kept a straight face, because I’ve never had the pleasure of the sensation of my teeth tingling. Oh, I’ve had toothaches. When my wisdom teeth were removed, my head buzzed with the effects of the dentist’s prescription for pain medication. But, somehow, I don’t think that’s the tingle my friend was feeling. She was in complete control of herself and not in a mood to make jokes.
We leaned back in our chairs and continued to enjoy the strains, hoping they would not leave. But, as all good and wonderful things must come to an end, the sounds of the music slowly faded into the night air, leaving us joyful, yet sad that it had come to an end. It was then we noticed that the brilliant light had also faded. It still hovered, a glowing aura surrounding us in our chairs. Then it, too, was gone. We knew we had witnessed sights and sounds we would probably never experience again; nor would we ever be able to tell the tale to anyone. After all, who would believe us? Do you?