Her fingers are small, white, and bony. They’re quick and alert and do all the things fingers can. They bend and fold and stuff like that. And still they’re special – they dance.
It’s amazing to see the way her fingers can prance and jump and hop over the black and white keys. It’s as if they have a mind of their own – they know where to go!
But the dance isn’t the main part; it’s what comes out of it. Her fingers create a world when they dance, a world not to see, nor feel, but to hear. Her fingers create music.
The area outside my school store was open. In other words, there was no roof, but otherwise it was closed on all four sides. One of the walls had 2 big carved-out circles – created to look good. There were two strong black rods between each circle. It came in handy when we were climbing through the circle. All the students used to climb in and out while playing games, but my friends and I had a different purpose.
We would seat ourselves down on the lower rod, and hold the upper one. And then it would start. Our singing. We were singing buddies. And every lunch break we made it a point to sing our favorite. Alejandro.
My mom would hum the tune again and again. I would listen and try out, stumbling over keys until I found the right one. Sometimes I would keep going late into the night. If you were there, you would have seen a tiny black-haired girl on a piano next to a fireplace, slowly humming to herself. Sooner or later she would be playing a melody on the piano – one that matched the tune she was singing.
It was the only instrument I could get any noise out of. I was aiming for clarinet, or flute, or maybe even saxophone. I got stuck with the oboe.
Trust me, even when I nodded and agreed to join the school band, the only thing I was thinking of was how the instrument sounded like a waling baby.
My parents found the noise funny. My brother laughed too. I was angry too. It wasn’t THAT bad. But I was frustrated. I couldn’t get the ‘F’ note properly.
It took practice, and finally, finally, it worked. I got the note. And I performed. It was awesome.
Songs bring back memories. Memories of going down long smooth roads. Memories of rushing to the car during chilly winters, because my hair had turned to ice after my swim class.
Before the lyrics come to me, the images do. Every single thing related to the song, and me.
When I thought I was leaving everything I had behind in U.S., I was wrong. These songs came with me, and along with them came my whole life.
