She plays, her ten fingers running up and down the ivories,
filling the room with music. She stands straight, very straight, it is part of
the technique. I feel a smile growing on me, stupidly happy, as if I am still
surprised to find me there, almost every day near her. I just love this moment:
her keyboard on the stand, Nia totally drawn in herself, in that very same spot,
amidst those empty chairs, and me, watching from nowhere near her sight. It is like a
movie, and I feel part of it.
I quietly sit down in the back. I watch her fingers dance, long and lean with two rings on her index and ring finger, they move along, always graciously, with ever evolving subtleties. Her hands move in as many different ways as a face can express emotions. It is magic. The sounds mingle and trample over themselves. Nia and her board, they are one when she plays, one melody. When I watch for too long, here in the dark, it sometimes make me feel dizzy, it affects me, it carries me away. Only she does that to me. That is what she did, she carried me away even without me able to understand a single note.
As I listen, I try to grasp her mood, try to translate that language I don’t speak. Near the board Nia is inside herself, her world, her head gently moving with the melody, sometimes her hands more aggressively. I like the aggressive parts, they are the most expressive. She can slam a note while still, ever gracious. She is the source, she is a musician. She is the magician. I never know what note will come, how it will come, she feels it. I can’t imagine how the music sounds in her, knowing her, it has to be intense, ridiculously rich. Mostly Nia is ungraspable to me, when she plays, the notes just send me on an undefined journey. The notes connect her, without ever revealing what they connect. Yet, it happens that I can hear her speak, that I can trace the underlying moods through the way she plays. It makes me feel very close to her, privileged in some ways. The first time she played for me, simple notations gracefully moving along the winds of late October nights , I was literally swept. I almost fell down, at least my jaws did. I could feel how every single note caressed me, I could not make out a single note on that sheet but still I felt a part of it, of her. I was amazed. I was speechless, it said it all. But I showed it with least hint of proudness in my face, a slight nod, a small pat on her shoulder and a smile.
This could be one of the last times I could hear Nia play in that room. I can hear how she appreciates every single touch, every single note, how everything here resonates this particular way, as she dedicates herself to every singular tone. I am listening with that same attention, savoring every second. The music is light, the melody almost swinging. I will miss it, she will miss me. I try to capture everything, everything. As if I could put it all in a little box, and bring it with me as to never loose it.
As the notes continue to play, still grasping me in their web of possible endless hours, I stand up and walk away, silently, out of her world into the world of earthly chores. I am happy I found the time to see her play here one more time...
I quietly sit down in the back. I watch her fingers dance, long and lean with two rings on her index and ring finger, they move along, always graciously, with ever evolving subtleties. Her hands move in as many different ways as a face can express emotions. It is magic. The sounds mingle and trample over themselves. Nia and her board, they are one when she plays, one melody. When I watch for too long, here in the dark, it sometimes make me feel dizzy, it affects me, it carries me away. Only she does that to me. That is what she did, she carried me away even without me able to understand a single note.
As I listen, I try to grasp her mood, try to translate that language I don’t speak. Near the board Nia is inside herself, her world, her head gently moving with the melody, sometimes her hands more aggressively. I like the aggressive parts, they are the most expressive. She can slam a note while still, ever gracious. She is the source, she is a musician. She is the magician. I never know what note will come, how it will come, she feels it. I can’t imagine how the music sounds in her, knowing her, it has to be intense, ridiculously rich. Mostly Nia is ungraspable to me, when she plays, the notes just send me on an undefined journey. The notes connect her, without ever revealing what they connect. Yet, it happens that I can hear her speak, that I can trace the underlying moods through the way she plays. It makes me feel very close to her, privileged in some ways. The first time she played for me, simple notations gracefully moving along the winds of late October nights , I was literally swept. I almost fell down, at least my jaws did. I could feel how every single note caressed me, I could not make out a single note on that sheet but still I felt a part of it, of her. I was amazed. I was speechless, it said it all. But I showed it with least hint of proudness in my face, a slight nod, a small pat on her shoulder and a smile.
This could be one of the last times I could hear Nia play in that room. I can hear how she appreciates every single touch, every single note, how everything here resonates this particular way, as she dedicates herself to every singular tone. I am listening with that same attention, savoring every second. The music is light, the melody almost swinging. I will miss it, she will miss me. I try to capture everything, everything. As if I could put it all in a little box, and bring it with me as to never loose it.
As the notes continue to play, still grasping me in their web of possible endless hours, I stand up and walk away, silently, out of her world into the world of earthly chores. I am happy I found the time to see her play here one more time...
