Nearly all of us have experienced the magic and intensity of a live performance. This piece focuses on the joys, sorrows, and beautifully overwhelming experience of music.

Fingers on the piano moved swiftly up and down the keys, improvising like it was the last time they would ever grace the instrument, in a dance of their own. All the while, a smile covered the pianist’s face as he did what he loved most.

I couldn’t have imagined the world waiting for me in that concert, all because my college roommate, Ethan, dragged me to a concert. 

 Heat invaded my chest. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Their speed made me restless, like I needed to get up and walk something off. Watching their deep concentration and talent unsettled me. I was jealous of them. Jealous of how good they were, jealous of their talent, jealous that they were experiencing something I never had. Unrestrained, genuine passion. 

Sax Guy’s eyes were tightly shut as he went higher and higher with his golden instrument, his fingers fluttering quickly. He moved back and forth with the sax, riding an invisible wave that carried him deeper and deeper into the musical ocean. He blew rapidly without stopping, without ever opening his eyes. The other players nodded and beamed at him, just as blown away as I was. What was Sax Guy visualizing? He was so deeply fixated on his instrument that it occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t seeing anything at all, just existing in that time and space. 

The drummer was in conversation with the bass player.  He played a rapid drum fill, his brows wrinkled in deep concentration, sweat pouring down his face. She responded with a bass solo, climbing up and down the strings. The other instruments quieted down a bit as the drum and bass grooved with each other, making steady eye contact and nodding their heads. It was a small and subtle communication I’d never seen before. 

The drummer’s arms moved to each beat so quickly and naturally that all I could do was sit there with my mouth open. The bass notes vibrated in my chest, the piano’s swift keys lifted a heaviness inside me, the drums made my heart pound faster, and the sax carried me into their journey. I wanted to ride that wave with them. I wanted to be part of the language they were speaking with each other, the language they were speaking with their instruments. 

They sounded like they were ascending a flight of stairs. A fiery spiral staircase that took me to an alternate dimension, filling my eyes with different hues of orange, red, and yellow, burning vibrantly. The sax player was one step ahead, the pianist was behind, the drummer was after him, and the bass player was last. With every minute, they helped each other climb with one look. No one was trying to overpower the other. 

 The drummer clicked his symbols, daring each of them to go faster. Laughter overtook the bass player as the drummer matched the rhythm of her bass, carrying all of them to the top of the staircase. 

They finished with deafening drumming, a ringing sax solo, passionate keyboard trilling, and a resounding bass note.

The four people in that theater clapped and cheered, Ethan being the loudest with his whooping. I sat there silently, feeling strangely disoriented. The conductor introduced himself

and the band, saying they were his best students and needed to be showcased. He said some other things too, but I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes couldn’t stop watching them. I couldn’t stop watching the deep breathing of the sax player as he rubbed a sweaty palm against his dark pants. He’d given his all to that piece. Who was I compared to them? A guy who spent his time by himself in a cold dorm, too scared to leave because I didn’t want to run into people. 

 My eyes focused on the stage. A strange unease filled my chest, tempting me to get up and leave. An even bigger anxiety kept me glued to the seat of my chair. The jazz musicians played a few more pieces, each one more powerful than the last. 

Sax Guy looked over at the drummer, who gently clicked his cymbals. He brought the mouthpiece to his lips and gave the sax a new voice. A calming melody contrasted with the intense fire that had previously consumed the theater. Sax Guy’s eyes closed as beads of sweat fell from his head to his shirt. His playing was no longer his own; it told a gentle, melancholy story, but it was up to the audience to fill in the gaps. The pianist’s pensive chords were stepping stones for the narrative. I’d imagined the previous song as a story about passion and excitement. What could I make of this cool, soft melody that brought an unfamiliar feeling to my chest? 

It reminded me of warm spring afternoons with my grandfather. The cool, soft melody brought me back to evenings hanging out in his room, staring at the golden tenor sax he polished as he would talk to me about whatever—the weather, my parents, music. I would ask him to play something for me, and he would do so without hesitation. 

How had I forgotten that? 

Process

Last year, I headed to New York City to watch the movie “Blue Giant,” based on the manga by Shinichi Ishizuka. It’s a movie about the richness of jazz and music in general. Music has always been an influential part of my life, and I wanted to explore that in my writing. I was inspired partly by the movie and my own experiences of enjoying live jazz performances.

I workshopped this story for one of my college classes last semester and was motivated by the professor and class’s feedback to keep working on it. Working on this piece has shown me that there is a lot of dedication, revising rounds, and feedback that goes into polishing a story you are passionate about. It was originally 4,000 words long, but I shortened it for the anthology, which was a fun challenge to do. I am planning on expanding it into a longer work in the future. Although I spent a lot of time on this piece, it was worth it!