STATIC (LGBT)

Chapter 23

I don’t remember how old I was when I really got interested in music. When it actually appeared in my life. Ever since I can remember I’ve been surrounded by it so my guess is that maybe it had always been there. I do remember, however, how I’d go to my grandparent’s house almost every weekend when we lived close to the Sierra Nevada, in California. It was such a peaceful place, perfect for old people to retire I guess. Sonora, I think it was called. Not sure anymore though.

It was my favorite place in the world. When I was around 2 until I was about 10 my parents would decide that they wanted time for themselves so I’d spent that time there. My grandpa and my grandma, I’d call them Clah and Vi, basically because grandpa and grandma were too long of words, and Clarinet and Violin where still hard to pronounce.

They were two old looking people who’d had children in their 30s despite the tendencies of having them when younger in their time. So you can expect that by now, when their grandchild is 2 years old their probably heading out of life rather than being somewhere in it.

Anyways, I’d get there, put my stuff into the room in front of theirs, leave my small black bag there with my tiny sized clothes, and I’d go to the terrace which was surrounded by glass. It was basically like a studio but that you could open to be outside or leave it closed if it was cold. But its location and surroundings made it feel as if it was nature itself.

Before I’d go in though, I’d stand by the door and stare into the room. Staring is not that precise though. It was more like I wouldn’t use my eyesight and solely focus on my ears. I’d listen to them and after they’d finish my grandpa, Clah, would head to the door and open it for me, only to greet me with a slight smile.

I’d sit on the small couch, at that time big, in front of the piano and they’d stand or sit next to each other and play a song. At first they’d read the music sheet but as time went by and as they lost their sight they played either by memory or improvised. Watching them was probably the best of things I can remember.

Despite their exclusiveness of specializing on the violin and the clarinet, they were inclusive in the availability of instruments for their children and grandchildren. Now it was only me though, because they’d lost my uncle who died way before I was born, so only me and my dad were left to use them.

 My dad was never the kind to go into these kinds of arts but at least I was. Because I just knew that I was in presence, ever since I was 2 years old, of one of the most beautiful ways of expressing love among many other things. How Vi and Clah would look at each other, look at their house, watch their son and his family.

They’d never really say much, but when they did they’d say something simple and meaningful like:“Alex,  when you grow up just remember that life is much more than a simple game. It’s a place where you can play.”

And Vi would hold up her violin, the black one that was now hanging in my room, and smile a wicked smile which brought one out of me as well.

To me, they were the purest representation of what a person is possible to be.

That’s why the only thing that has ever really hurt me was their death, consecutive deaths. It was right before what happened in L.A. four years ago. A few months afterwards to be exact, was the concert. During that concert, the beautifulness of the sounds I produced didn’t seem to match the pressure I felt. That whatever I played defined the… quality of their night. It seemed so unnatural, so unlike… so unlike what Vi and Clah were. Everyone in the audience seems false in music… so unlike them…

So unlike them… because there was really no one in the audience, that…. I actually loved that seemed to understand what this natural quality, way of expression, is like…