The Sexyphonist

Phuc Dao
Phuc Dao
Jul 30, 2017 · 4 min read
Source: Colourbox

From a dark corner of the crowded Wala, I spotted her stylish dyed hair half covering the tender look on the keyboard. The imperfect view added a delicate dose of mystery to my intrigue. When the song ended and everyone was cheering for the lead singer, I was transfixed on that figure at the side.

Then she turned around to pick up a pleasant surprise. The golden saxophone gleamed on the poorly lit stage but couldn’t outshine its musician. Through the wine tears, the misty picture of her swaying to the band’s music appeared like a dream. My eyes had drifted off to an uncharted land of the Sexyphonist. Little did I know, that was only a prelude.

When the song had brought people to a comfortable zone, she lifted her instrument like it was a childhood toy, carefree and effortless. Her notes started slow, as if she was afraid if she hadn’t prepared the people their hearts might explode after. Her music was a lullaby behind the band’s accompanying music. Tender whispering.

Slowly, her presence rose on stage. The crowd went mad when she increased her tempo the first time. The notes were pristine and innocent. There was a tinge of nostalgia in the air. She was telling the story of a first love. There was a glow of purity and hope emanating from where she stood. And my heart was a wounded animal being caressed at that moment, restless but in peace at the same time.

Unexpectedly, she slowed down. It wasn’t for her to catch a breath. It was for the crowd to. The moment we got a quick gasp, she sped up again. I opened my eyes again to steal a look. She had already been taken away to a trance built on those teasing notes. I wondered if she knew her music was toying with our hearts. Hoping to follow her to that Heaven of the Seven Notes, I closed my eyes again.

Then, out of nowhere, she entered her crescendo. This girl was a mysterious creature made by surprises. Nobody expected that smooth transition. We were lost in the sweet childhood story of affection from that saxophone when she turned our seats around to the serenade of one’s true love. The music and she blended in a perfect synergy of passion and it infected the crowd. All other sounds had faded to the background as the saxophone danced on her hands. It felt a little too intimate, like she was revealing too much of her story to us. Or maybe she wasn’t telling it to anyone else but herself. We were simply eavesdroppers.

The warmth in my chest slowly turned into intense heat that drove me crazy. But my body couldn’t move. My spirit had joined the mix on that stage, hoping to relive its moments of true love. Her fingers ran faster and the notes became waves, washing away the What If’s and the If Only’s. At that moment, I believed in love again. And I had hope. Again.

Her musical tsunami kept rising, leaving us hanging hopelessly in anticipation. The room could have been on fire and she’d still be standing there, her vibe overshadowing the flame. I sat there watching the wave rise, secretly wishing for it to keep growing like a kid trying to build the tallest toy tower ever. Inevitably, the crash came down like a storm. The band hit the same note in perfect harmony and the song quickly faded to the void, leaving behind only the sound of people breathing in again for the first time after a long while. I stood up to join the cheers for the mesmerizing Sexyphonist, though I couldn’t see her clearly anymore behind the droplets.

At that moment, the light went out. She probably took away all the energy of that second floor. The room was illuminated at the mercy of nearby buildings’ light. I walked up to the glowing figure of passion on stage who just kept her sax. Any more of such a performance and she might just collapse after. I introduced myself and thanked her for the breath-taking show.

They say not to give yourself away too easily. But at that moment, I took out the little fragment of my heart that she had just fondled and painted magnificently and handed it to her through that warm handshake. That’s the magic of music. You never know when it’ll knock you over with an absolute beauty on a dark sweaty night.

t/p

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