Short Story: Jazz soothed souls
Words: Nataša Cordeaux
Image: Lynne Mapp Drexler, Grass Symphony, 1962 (oil on canvas).
The shortly pressed grass, sponged and moulded, rather caressed the heavily jazz soothed souls that lay across the green. Some sat, a child stumbled holding the oversized tartan umbrella. The sun warmed the air as the sell of coffee and the hiss of the symbol surrounded the seven.
A baby sat greedily and satisfied upon the father’s hairy belly, arms flaying gently with tomato sauce redrawing her lips. Her eyes were wide, inquisitive of the smooth double bass which danced upon invisible pages.
Hands tightly cusped the wooden sticks, the wrists fell and straightened upon the make shift drum kit. The softness and hush stumbled, to a still – as the hands ceased, others followed in recognition. A gentle applause from the summer evening’s trio induced bodies, heavy in slumber and willingly carried away.
The white clouds slowly drifted, as if seamlessly entering the blue bar sky, comfortable and smooth above the dotted, smiling smudges below. Like content stains upon the world’s bar surface, liquered in rhythm.
“shr” began with the piano’s crescendo which fell and rose, reaching a point of tiptoeing, fingers tapping and pressing the tinged white key surface – signifiers of each musical breath being spoken by the young pianist soul, guised by his black trimmed spikes erect on his bent head. His shoulders bent forward, leaning, as if embracing, the pale red keyboard, and his chest caving into the rushing and slowing notes that fingerprints familiarly made.