And since this is a Richard Armitage blog, a fantasy

Do you attend concerts of chamber music, Mr. Armitage?

I went often when I was in college and grad school, not often since then, I find now that sitting in a room with music, where I cannot escape or do anything but look at the stage and hear the music and be trapped in my head, responding to the music, I find that sitting in that room, I find that it is something excruciating, I find that I cannot help but cry.

Like chamber music, you trap me in my feelings. I spent an hour this morning replaying my fantasy of you on stage against the day. That fantasy is supposed to be the trigger for flow, but I needed you just to get out of bed against a day I knew would be venomous.

We would decide, you and I, at the last minute, after a wearing day, to attend a concert, Fauré and Dvořák, at a university. We do not want to go out but we are afraid to speak, we would say we want to support the young musicians, but it would be an emotional dodge, we would want mostly to feel and not to speak, as sitting on the sofa with takeout food would demand. It would be raining outside, you would shield us with the umbrella I brought, we would sneak in giggling, then sit somewhere near the back, you would sit down and cross your legs, I would lean away from you, we would immediately be lost in our separate thoughts as the music started. I would hear you breathing with the music, you would see the tension gradually leave my shoulders, the tears falling on my hands as I wiped them away. The music would make us rapt, at the interval we would stand in the auditorium lobby, someone I know would try to speak to us, we would smile vaguely, trying to evade words.

We would listen to the second half, you would lean forward in your chair, your eyes would narrow, you would lean back, your eyes would close. I would see you lift your chin, girding your dignity, at allegro ma non troppo. My eyes would close at lento, I would think of grasping your hand and not. During Scherzo, we would breathe together in time, I would sense your gasp, I would see your fingers move, fingering after the cellist on stage, I would wonder what you really feel about your cello playing, which you always do when I am not there. You would smirk at a playful moment. The final movement would capture us both, leaning forward, leaning back. You would stand quickly, I would stay in my seat, we would eventually leave the auditorium with that reluctant, gangly climb of the still dazed concertgoer. You’d take my hand, and pull me along faster.

Outside, you’d put off our friends, say we wanted no coffee, so we’d walk home, still not speaking. The rain will have stopped. You pull out your key and open the door and put your hand on my shoulder, urge me in. The music still ringing in our ears, we would undress, wash, I’d ask if you were working tomorrow, you’d ask when I had to leave for the office, we’d then go silently to bed. You would pull my head onto your shoulder and your hand over my arm, I would laugh, faintly, deeply in my chest. You would pull the covers over, we would doze, and then I would roll onto my stomach and you would follow, sheltering my back.

~ by Servetus on September 23, 2014.

5 Responses to “And since this is a Richard Armitage blog, a fantasy”

  1. Beautiful. I hope your day was better than expected!

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  2. Genau so! Wunderschön.

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  3. […] of like this. Or like this. It will take me a few paragraphs to get there. Start at the prompt for more direct Armitage […]

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  4. […] be honest I can’t listen to Max Richter, either. So I guess my chamber music concert fantasies — which were originally more centered on composers like Dvorak — may need revision of […]

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