MOVING IN STEREO

Love Song Part 2

The studio where she practiced was not too terribly far from our apartment. It was in a multi-use building and was on the third floor. When the elevator door opened, the hallway was lit only by every other recessed light in the ceiling. The wall in front of the elevator was mainly glass from about the waist up. It was eerily quiet. Several studios inside were all dark. I could see right through to the outer wall of the largest studio. She had keys and quickly disabled the alarm as we went inside. She went immediately to a large panel on the West wall and flipped several switches. Lights came in all colors, which she quickly dimmed to her liking.

"Come on," she said, you can sit over here.

She led me to a small area in the back right corner of the studio, where several chairs were neatly arranged. I could see outside, and the view of that part of the city at night was actually beautiful. Sofi removed her sweatpants and hoodie and tossed them to me, then threw her sneakers to me one at a time. She had a black leotard under the sweats; it shimmered in the colored lighting as she tied on her ballet slippers. I folded her sweats and put them in the chair next to me, and watched as she warmed up a minute. Then she turned on the music from somewhere with a small remote and threw that to me. I missed, and it clacked loudly against the hardwood flooring. We both laughed.

Sofi had her back to me and held onto the wooden barre on the left side of the room. Although dim, the lights were still bright enough for me to make out the rise and fall of her chest from her metered breathing. She stood silent and motionless for a few moments. Softly at first, music began to fill the room from unseen sources. As a crescendo thundered from everywhere, she sprang to life in an aggressive allegro, rising on point and dashing across the room nearly to the windows. As she passed, I could see the muscles in her legs ripple, tense, and relax as she rose and fell to the percussive chaos that apparently was Peer Gynt.

In the short time I had known Sofia, she had taught me a great deal about Classical music. I was becoming quite taken with a good deal of it. Still, as my heavy Punk rock roots dictated, I tended to like the racier, more dynamic symphonic pieces of which there was no shortage. She had taken me to two different performances by the Atlanta Symphony, and they were both fantastic. It was impressive to hear and to watch an orchestra of that size full of men and women come together to produce such magnificent and stirring sound.

I enjoyed the mechanics of the whole process. I watched the bows of the stringed instruments moving in unison, the flutists at rigid attention, the horn sections with the constant rise and fall of their gleaming instruments, and the percussionists always the least kept of the orchestra with their bodies in full view and in motion smashing on cymbals or pounding on the tympani drums. Each individual fixated on their single part only. Each musician is confident in their neighbor's ability to follow through with their own part. Under the complete guidance of the conductor, each individual, with seemingly erratic yet persistent movements of his arms, wove the large group of individual components of perfection into a tapestry of sound. I felt it was spherical clockwork that bordered on sorcery.

The music raged concussively as Sofi leaped into the air repeatedly, landing back on point and then spinning her slender arms as if she were wielding swords slashing purposefully through the air. I could not blink. Her demeanor was immersed, otherworldly. I could not take my eyes off of her. I felt nervous with energy, so I slowly slid out of the chair and onto the floor, pressing myself against the glass wall.

Finally, the music purposefully lulled, and Sofi stopped and became still again. She was facing me now, and she raised her arms slowly into the air over her head, then slowly back down one at a time, her body swaying like a reed in an ornamental pond. Her movements changed altogether, now gliding across the room in large oval patterns as if pursuing someone or something. The piece ended with her back in starting pose, only head down and one delicate hand extended to someone not there.