Karis plays the bass
Today’s post continues the story from yesterday (“A String Bass Leaves Home, Part I: Back Story“). As we begin, Judy and her husband, Allan, have arrived at the home of Karis Samson, the woman who purchased Allan’s bass.
Part II: The Visit (Reunion)
We walk into the living room and there it is: Allan’s bass, silent and waiting, wood gleaming. Allan goes to it immediately and begins holding it, touching it, examining it, plucking strings, fingering the neck. “Ah yes,” he says, as he listens and feels what is different. He is both remembering and discovering.
Allan examines the bass
I stand off to the side watching Karis and Allan talk bass talk. I take pictures—my way of experiencing an event that I am not quite part of—and become aware of memories taking hold.
The first time I saw Allan play (our first date after a meet-and-greet for coffee); the concerts where I sat high in the balcony, meditating and listening and daydreaming through long Requiem Masses; the sound of his practicing, strings of lonely bass notes separated from the orchestra layers; the memorable Handel’s Messiah performance (amazing bass part!), where people in the audience asked admiringly, “are you with the bass player?”; the physical labor involved in simply moving that bass from home to car to concert hall and back again; the Fourth of July concert by the lake, where Allan played and I watched fireworks with Bev, then just eight years old.
Karis plays for us. I am used to hearing the crunch-crunch-crunch of an orchestra bass line, but she plays the instrument as if a cello—melodious and fluid. She seems to fit the instrument perfectly, folding herself over it, cradling it.
Karis plays for us
When Karis and Allan first exchanged e-mails, she wrote, “Holy moly do I love this instrument!” (How can you not love someone who says holy moly?) Now, watching her play, I can see this was true, and I feel deep satisfaction and comfort. The moment is unbearably sad and sweet, full of memory and change and gratitude.
This may not have been my instrument, but it was a part of Allan and a part of us together. It was once in our life and our space, and now it is elsewhere, restored and renewed.
As if speaking to me, the bass says:
Time passes, some things are lost, we age, many things continue, we experience love and music and life in new ways.
Questions for Reflection: What reactions or feelings do you identify with in this story? How attached are you to objects and the memories they represent? What kind of losses do you see in this story?
Writing Prompts: “I remember giving away my _______” (then keep writing); “The hardest thing about giving something away is ______” (then keep writing); “This post reminds me of when I ______” (then keep writing); “The losses I an experiencing now are ______” (then keep writing).
Read the conclusion, A String Bass Leaves Home, Part III (Coda): Saying Good Bye.
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