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tkd
1Q84 World. 5/2015

Friday, October 7, 2011

A Singer and a Worker: a short story

"I'm a singer," she told me, staring at me deep in the eyes.

We were sitting at a coffee shop. I took a sip of my cappucino and carefully placed it on the table. I wrapped both my hands on the coffee as the steam slowly billowed in the air like a spirit. I imagined a singing co-worker.  "A singer..." I said. "What do you sing?"

She traced the tip of the coffee mug with her fingertips. "All sorts," she said, staring at her mug. "I sing a variety of genres."

"Can you tell me some?" 

She stopped tracing the tip midway, and stared at me. "What kind of music do you like to listen to?"

I paused. Then smiled. Then quickly looked down, and back up in her eyes. I blushed, but I couldn't really tell. "Well... I like to listen to smooth jazz."

"Oh, come on!" she blurted. "Nobody could sing that! We're getting off topic here!"

"Right," I said.

"So? What kind of music do you like to listen to, besides smooth jazz?" 

I thought about this for a while. In fact I didn't really listen to music all that much. The last time I listened to music was when I was at a pharmacy buying essentials. After much thought, I came up with an answer. "I like Tony Bennett."

"Tony Bennett?" 

"Any problem?" I said. I think it was him that I heard at the pharmacy. 

"No..." she said. "Just so random." She took a sip of her coffee, then sighed without opening her mouth, settling in the warmth that just entered her body. "Any others besides smooth jazz and Tony Bennett?"

"Give me a break!" 

"Tell me," she said. It seemed like she was playing with me. "it's important."

"It's not like you're going to sing for me my favorite genre or artist right?" I was curious.

She stared at her mug. "I guess I won't anymore."

I made sure to choose the right words. "No, please sing for me. I love it when people sing. Whenever anyone sings for me, doesn't matter if it's sung by a boy or a girl, it always soothes my heart. I don't have a legitimate reason why, but that's how it just feels to me."

"Then how come you won't tell me your favorite type of music?"

"It's because I only like listening to people I know," I said. "Listening to people I don't know sing is like listening to a stranger sing. If I know that person, I can connect more with that person, or understand him. It's just natural for me. That's why I don't listen to a lot of music that are on the charts. I mostly listen to the songs my friends sing."

She sat there silently. 

"To me, you aren't a stranger anymore," I continued. "Although this is the first time we've met, I feel that you told me enough about you." 

"That I'm a singer?"

"Yep." 

I could tell that she was gripping her mug tightly. We didn't say a word. She took her time, almost to the point where I would've forgotten what I said. Suddenly, she recrossed her legs and finally seemed settled. "You want me to sing to you any song then?"

"Yes."

"Here? In this coffee shop?"

"Uh-huh"

She nodded a few times. "Okay." 

Surrounding us was the sound of coffee blenders and other office workers talking among themselves. She took a sip of her coffee and gently placed it down. She swept her hair back from her eyes with her fingertips and sat there innocent, silent, like a balloon that freely floated in the air. She took a breath and began to sing to her heart's content. 

The purity of her voice came so freely that it muted the background noise. For a minute I couldn't hear anything but her beautiful voice. I couldn't pay attention to which genre she was singing. I couldn't tell which song. Her voice echoed in my mind, and blocked out all the excess noise. I felt like I was in a dream. I sat there, listening to her beauty. 

to be continued...






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