Sunday, 12 July 2015

The Dancer

On my way into a delicate-looking shop with fairy lights hanging from the ceiling and roses decorating the window from the inside, I briefly noticed a man with a little keyboard perched on his lap. It may be little, but as the man let his fingers glide over the tiny keys, it left me wondering whether he really was playing it. It's just, it was really something; the sound coming from it, I mean. Like a prestigious, complete with an orchestra piece. But it was coming from a tiny set of music-making keys. As I was about to step into the shop, I hear an off note and turn to see the man cringe. It was enough to convince me he’s playing, and I smiled at him. Whether he sees or not, I don’t know.

As I look idly around the shop, I find it hard to truly appreciate the little bird ornaments and pretty plaques with sweet sayings on. I can only picture the man with the green bobble hat, unshaven face, big jumper playing a little keyboard like it was the only thing that mattered. And then I can see vividly the scene outside. I imagine it hasn’t changed. People simply didn’t notice him. People carried on with their lives- maybe rightly so, but I couldn’t imagine that scenario at that point. I simply wanted to get out of the darling little shop and admire the man’s playing again.
And so, I exited the shop, and to my absolute astonishment – not that the attention was undeserved – found a crowd of roughly one hundred, maybe one hundred and twenty (I never was good at estimating) people gathered round the man with the keyboard, watching with the type of glee you see at Christmas when children buzz around the streets with little red gloves on and big warm boots as big as their big, gleeful smiles. I managed to get to the front, guiding my direction with the sound of a piano piece I had never heard of before but loved immediately nonetheless.
Now, though, he was merely background music. I didn’t like that.
But I had to watch what everyone else was watching.

I wanted to shout; I wanted to wave my hands; everyone, watch the man! With despair, I realised, my eyes were only focused on the main event I wanted with all of my heart to protest. Or did I?
There, almost blocking the man with the keyboard, was a dancer. Dressed in a red leotard and sparkly shoes, her body made shapes in the air that seemed almost impossible to me, and I couldn’t deny her of her beauty. But she was angry. For the man with the keyboard. On his behalf. She understood what I once did. What was that I understood again? Her face was beautifully carved with the most elegant rage I had ever seen.

For a moment I saw his face, and he was smiling. Almost immediately I looked straight back at the dancer. Something forced me to. Forced, maybe not. I definitely knew that I wanted to look back. 

There was a buzz going around the audience, I realised. They felt exactly the same as I did, I just knew it! Complete mesmerised and absorbed with her. But they heard the music, they did! I could tell! A little girl next to me was humming along but equally as entranced by the dancer. A man nearby was tapping his foot in time with the melody, but none of us - not one of us - understood where the music was coming from.

I didn't know where the music was coming from.

I vaguely remember a man- a man with a little keyboard, but as soon as I do, my mind becomes completely obsessed with the dancer. The dancer who dances with honesty, with reason. With anger. The dancer who promotes that beautiful music; the dancer who understands that music more than the rest of us. But, most of all, the dancer captivated our eyes. Our hearts. Our understanding. Beautiful. Delicate. 

Her dancing was inhuman, I knew it now. At first, I thought it was only me who really couldn't capture its reality. But my heart heard everyone else's hearts' awe. Her back seemed almost boneless. Flexible, yes. Bizarre, yes. Stunning, yes. Her spinning made my eyes clap. Her posture made my mouth whisper, "Wow!" Her dancing was like nothing I'd ever seen before; bizarre; incredible; strange; perfect. 

Her dancing was the only thing that mattered anymore. 

But the music was there. I didn't forget that. The beautifully delicate and sweet; angry but true song. I never didn't hear the music, even if I forget - even if I didn't care of - its origins. That music really was something.

Sometimes subversity is the only way to make background music shine.

Music & Dance,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...