Everything was layered and weighted, pressing down and resting heavy.
The underside broke.
There were hot molten tears on an Ikea pillow case. There were beautiful golden strands of hair trapped in her twisted unhappy mouth.
There was a shoulder shudder and a hiccup.
I tell her that as she grows she is gathering new notes.
She was born and handed only a few – a C, an A and maybe a G. With the passing years she now has an octave – melodic and harmonic, major and minor. With the days that pass she is handed more and more, and the scales she plays can change in tune, from mournful to joyous.
But tonight she carries the world in her A melodic minor key, slipping and sliding over the saddest of notes.
I can only sit beside her and marvel at how she’s learning this instrument.
How do you describe the shiny silvery feeling when there’s nothing you can do except watch?