My Jazz Concert Husband

     Louis Armstrong liquefies me. Brings me to my knees. Melts me into Jnfr-butter. When I hear Louie, I want to make love, to dance slowly, to paint.

     My son Justin is a jazz trumpeter. He loves Louie, too. When Justin solos, I can’t move. Every cell in my body listens. I drink in every note. And this is not just because Justin is my son. Honest! His playing affects people. He has it -- the ability to converse, to transport people to his colorful universe through music.

     Justin has two mouthpieces for his trumpet. One I call “Dark Chocolate.” The tone is rich, conversational, a bit grittier. The other I deem “Milk Chocolate” for its brighter, more sparkly tone.

     Justin’s musical expression is so full of feeling. I like to watch him play almost as much as I like to hear him play. When he is soloing, he is at the height of receptivity, intuition and beauty, at the epicenter of the pulsing heart of creation. He’s one-hundred percent Justin.

     I was helping with Justin’s high school music program’s spring concert. I forewarned my fellow parent-workers that when Justin solos, I quit working and listen and that this was non-negotiable. Parents themselves, they understood completely.

     I stood motionless and listened to Justin’s second solo. The beauty of it was so intense that it was almost painful. A man I had always considered strange and obnoxious walked up, stood by my side and, without a word, put his arm around me. I lay my head on his shoulder. We listened like that for minutes. Perfection. I wrote him an email to thank him for paying attention, for being there.

     And I was humbled. Before the concert, I had judged this man, put him in a nutshell, and even joked about him with my son. But he was the one who paid attention and responded to the moment. (R.S.V.P., n’est-ce pas?) Whereas before I avoided him at all costs, since that concert we have become friends in a howdy-do sort of way.

Excerpt from "A Woman's Mind Half Naked" -- Copyright 2009 -- by Jennifer Ann Gordon. All Rights Reserved.