John had long been used to closing his eyes from time to time when listening to Stephen when he played a new piece and requested feedback. He had learned a little bit of musical terminology from him—just enough to allow him to provide the kind of feedback Stephen needed from an observant but non-specialist listener.
Listening to Emi was different. It was much closer to a performance than the listening sessions he had participated in with Stephen. He wasn’t being asked for feedback now, so he did not have to listen with a critical ear.
It was more than that, though. In every other performance before now, it had been a single sensory experience. He was only listening to the music, however carefully or however critically he might be listening.
This time, he found himself in a multi-sensory experience. He listened to the music—sensing the technical skill of Emi’s playing along with the emotional tenor she put into the music. He sensed, at a deeper level, her surrendering a portion of herself to the music, blurring the line between the player and what was played.
What was new was watching the player—really watching her. When listening to Stephen play, he was vaguely aware that one of his instructors might have something to say about his posture or finger work. With Emi, however, he was transfixed. He had almost gotten used to the way a simple motion on her part could scatter his thoughts or transfix him—especially when she turned heir attention on him with some kind of an intention.
This was different. As she embraced the music, her beauty was expressed differently. Her movements mingled with her playing, allowing her to become something else—unveiling a different part of her, a part of her that he would not—and could not—have seen before.
She, herself, became a part of the art she was offering.
When she finished, giving a space for the music to depart from the room, John realized he was holding his breath.
She looked at him, perhaps questioningly—waiting for his response.
He took a deep breath, trying to to hold onto the moment for a moment longer.
“Thank you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
He stood and took a step forward.
He smiled.
“I didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you have surprised me again with another overwhelming aspect of yourself.
“Thank you.”