Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
A little girl of about eight years old is a few seats to my left, but she isn’t seated. She stands through the whole first movement, wearing a red velvet dress with long sleeves and a white collar. I can feel the little girl watching me as I watch the performance–so I aim to appear very intent. Many others have settled in to listen, slumped down with heads back, eyes closed. When the music gets suddenly loud, you see a wave of jolts from people who have fallen asleep–a leg kicks out, a head snaps upright. I feel her eyes looking to the stage, then over at me, so I keep smiling, keep trying to demonstrate that I am enjoying the music.
During intermission, I take out my notebook to write and the little girl tries to read what I’m scrawling, despite the distance and language barrier. I look up and we smile at each other. I notice we’re wearing the same flat shoes–mine are blue and hers are red. So I cross one leg and shake my foot. She watches my ankle, then lights up and gazes down to her own feet. We raise our eyebrows conspiratorially. We could certainly exit the concert hall far more swiftly than the ladies wearing high heels.
As the music resumes, it’s clear the girl must be familiar with the selection. She’s trying hard to keep herself from conducting, sometimes she can’t restrain her joy and must reach out, must set the tempo, must release a section with her hand. Her father tries not to inhibit her, but whispers at her from time to time. She’s giddy, so I wish to be giddy. She lets out a loud sigh, then covers her mouth, then turns her eyes toward me, and I return her glance with a nod of respect. It’s become a totally different experience than I had expected, and a joy to listen to the music under her influence.