Marimba Magic | Magia de Marimba
"A marimba player and her biggest fan discover that some music creates connections that last"
Marimba Magic
Magia de Marimba
The marimba had been in my family for four generations. I was the first woman to play it publicly.
"You're amazing," she said after my performance.
"I'm traditional. Different thing."
"Same result—my heart is racing."
Her name was Jimena. She'd never heard marimba live before—had discovered it by accident at a cultural festival.
"Where is this from?" she asked.
"Guatemala. Chiapas. The ancient Maya."
"It sounds like water falling."
"That's exactly what my grandmother used to say."
She came to every performance. Front row, eyes closed, swaying like the music moved through her.
"You're my best audience member," I told her.
"I'm your only regular."
"That makes you the best."
I taught her to play. Simple melodies at first, then more complex.
"It vibrates through your whole body," she discovered.
"The wood absorbs feeling. Then releases it."
"Like a heart."
"Exactly like a heart."
She kissed me over the marimba, her hands still on the keys.
"I've wanted to do that since the first performance," she admitted.
"Why didn't you?"
"I was afraid you'd stop playing."
"For that? Never."
We play together now. Duets that our ancestors would have recognized—woman and woman, making music older than memory.
"To the marimba," we toast.
"To whatever magic brought us together," she adds.
Marimba magic—where wood becomes voice, and music connects hearts.