My downstairs neighbor, whom I’ll call Kathy, moved in last fall. She didn’t seem entirely happy with the move and, for whatever reason, she turned down an invitation for a potluck supper with the rest of us on the property. I must admit she scared me a bit.
Shortly after the new year, Kathy began practicing guitar and playing later into the evening than I would prefer. I hesitated to speak up; in fact, my imagination took over to picture the worst possible outcome if I did. She’d get defensive, the conversation would turn sour, and tension would hang in the air until one of us moved out. [My theater background has me well trained.]
One night, though Kathy was playing quietly, I couldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t have her number, so I emailed to ask if we could chat the next day. The next afternoon while warming up my car in the parking lot, Kathy drove in. Here was my moment. I’d planned what to say. Since I play guitar and love to sing with other musicians, I thought I’d invite her to play together—and at the same time make a request that she stop practicing by 10pm. This would take finesse.
Kathy got out of her car with a wary look when I called her name and asked if she’d gotten my e-mail. You play guitar, I said as an opener. Yes, she answered somewhat guardedly, you can hear? I commented that the walls are thin, and she mentioned being able to hear my cat howling at times. She said she didn’t mind since she has a loud-meowing cat named Tally, but I apologized nonetheless.
I shared with Kathy how her playing was inspiring me to pick up my mostly sedentary guitar. She asked about my musical background, and in the next several minutes, a veritable miracle opened up. It turned out we both had spent time in the worlds of theater and music. We’d worked with some of the same directors and actors. When she mentioned a particular theater company, I showed her a tax document in the mail I’d just picked up—from that theater.
Kathy went on to talk about open mic nights in the area, how she wanted to get back to playing out and was looking for someone to sing back-up vocals. I said I’d be happy to harmonize and suggested we get together on the weekend.
As the conversation waned, Kathy asked for my cat’s name. Belle, I said. Belle and Tally, she replied. That sounds like a duo. We laughed, and I gave her a high five. As I walked back to my car, I promised to check in on Sunday afternoon.
What great relief I felt as I drove to the grocery store! Once again, the mind had played its tricks with fear. Yet once again, a gift moment opened like a flower to sunlight—in this case, bringing literal harmony.