The girl felt the strings of the ukelele underneath the pads of her fingers. With a delicate movement, one of her fingers plucked the first string. A beautifully tuned G echoed from the depths of the wood, followed by an E and then a C and finally an A, each note rolling into the air to quickly fade away. Her left hand fingered a C chord, and, as her right glazed over the strings by the fret, the C chord rang out clear and strong. A smile scrambled up the side of the girl’s face.
Placing his mouth to his mouthpiece, the boy put one hand on the slide and the other around a chipping brass handle close to the mouthpiece. The slide shot down the instrument as his breath blew into it. A loud blast emitted from the bell of the instrument, the trombone, the note blown resonating in the band room, splitting the air in the room in two as the note tumbled through it at the highest speed possible. The side of the boy’s mouth turned upward as he sat back from the mouthpiece and admired his new instrument.
The woman ran her fingers over the ivory keys. Set her left hand on a lower C sharp octave, her right on an middle A chord. Gently, ever so gently, she rolled her hands up and down the keys, evoked harmonies long lost in the world of popular radio music and loud stereos. The notes crashed together happily, laughing in a crescendo, simpering in a diminuendo. She closed her eyes and took in the music created under her fingers.
Chopin, Mendelssohn, Beethoven. Louis Armstrong, Stéphane Grappelli, George Gershwin. Jack Johnson, Paula Fuga, Iz Kamakawiole. Whoever says humanity is bad never met these guys.