Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Universal Opera
Practically every evening, a woman who lives in the apartment building across from me will sing opera songs (arias?) in a beautiful soprano voice. Though I can't see her, I can hear her quite well from my bedroom window, and I'm always filled with a wistful, homesick feeling whenever I'm audience to her mournful laments. I look forward to hearing her every day when I get home from work, and I'm sort of disappointed when she's not around.
One day I'll muster up the courage to go over there and thank her, tell her how much I appreciate her singing. Some old man will answer the door and I'll ask him if the woman who sings so beautifully is around. At first he'll be confused, but the more I ask about her, the more agitated he'll become. Finally, he'll tell me in a shaky voice, "But it can't be... this woman you speak of was my daughter... and she died 14 years ago! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
So maybe I won't go over there. Perhaps some things are best appreciated from afar.
One day I'll muster up the courage to go over there and thank her, tell her how much I appreciate her singing. Some old man will answer the door and I'll ask him if the woman who sings so beautifully is around. At first he'll be confused, but the more I ask about her, the more agitated he'll become. Finally, he'll tell me in a shaky voice, "But it can't be... this woman you speak of was my daughter... and she died 14 years ago! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
So maybe I won't go over there. Perhaps some things are best appreciated from afar.
