DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything related to Twilighted or the wonderful Stephenie Meyer. I do however, own a cat who just had kittens tonight.
Please enjoy my thoughts; and would appreciate a review of what you as a reader think of my strange, inspired mind.
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"MOVEMENT IN MUSIC"
(or well, movement in any performance...and emotion)
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I adore coming into the heart of city for its theatre and music…but most of all, to see if she will be in the audience a few seats away from my own. The way she sits throughout the performances are…exquisite, excruciating.
A few years ago I was sitting beside my date, Kate, and looking around for local faces is when I noticed her. Enchanting. Simple. Sitting alone at the end of the aisle, with her head bowed down and thumb tracing over each nail as she waited for the concert to begin.
Intermission happened and I looked over as Kate opened her phone and said she needed to leave, as she was on call that night for the hospital and would be needed in two hours for a surgery. I shook hands with a few people sitting around us and, looking over to the girl, realized all of the people around her had given her space. Sitting alone, with the closest seats to her empty; she was sitting still with a light smile in her eyes. During the next piece, I gently moved her into my eyesight. What I saw next was breathtaking. Her face…lit up, a half grin on her features.
About a year after that I attended, alone, a theatre presentation of Fiddler on the Roof. Again, an aisle ahead and to the left of me this time, was the same enchanting girl, seeming a few years older than before. A young woman now, her hair up in a twist; but still, thumb tracing over her nails. Weeks after that, jazz performances and classical pianists; dances, operas, concertos.
I learned her quirks, then. Each performance I saw her stumble a bit into her seat, slight clumsyness; her left thumb would caress all of the nails on her right hand, before leaning back in her seat as if in tradition to calm nerves. Moments into the performance I would see a tick come to her right cheek, and after a few songs, a full blown smile would bloom on her lips. Her eyes were the most expressive, though, almost leeching, seeing through the performer until the end of the section where her eyes would close lightly and her smile, although would become dim, would seem to offer a secret to the world.
Each time at the end of these nights I would attempt to get near to meet her, but..she would seem to disappear into thin air; never to be seen from again. I scoured the papers, looking for new shows and unique, cultural experiences to find her again.
Then, one night, I looked over to a girl stumbling into the seat next to me. The house lights were beginning to dim as I looked over and noticed first, the small hard tear tracks on her face, most likely from recently as twenty minutes ago. I stared away towards the stage, not wanting to intrude, and then noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. A left thumb, shakily caressing the fingers – no the nails! – of a right hand. Hat off, I could see clearly now that she was the girl.
I made a split second decision then, feeling pain radiate through her, I wanted to offer what comfort I could. My left hand came slowly over her right, and staring forward, I began to caress her fingernails myself; and when finished, silently held her hand in mine for the rest of the show.
"Bella," she stated as the house lights went up, "nice to meet you…"
"Jasper," I replied.