Sonata (North Security 3)

“Thinking.”

“Oh good,” she says. “I thought maybe you were in a staring contest with an inanimate object. That would be concerning.”

“First of all, a violin isn’t exactly inanimate. It’s very animated when I’m playing it.” I sigh at myself. “And second of all, I’m winning the staring contest.”

She slides into the seat next to me. “I’ll keep you company.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see her wide silk skirt in deep emerald. Does she always dress like a queen? “I’m trying to figure out the longest I ever went without playing. Well, once I started. I suppose the longest time was when I was a baby.”

“I thought you were one of those genius freaks who could play before you opened your eyes. Isn’t that what Fransisco said? You were a child prodigy?”

“I could open my eyes. I could walk and talk.”

“So who sets the bar? Who says, this kid is good enough to be a prodigy?”

The music community could be fickle. It could also eat its own. “There’s usually disagreement. But then people disagree about the level of talent in adults, too.”

“Did anyone dare to say that Samantha Brooks wasn’t a prodigy?”

That makes me laugh. “My violin teacher. She hated me, I think. Or she hated the violin. She used to make me put my fingers in these positions that only made sense for bigger hands. Then the music would come out bad. If she just let me play, it would sound perfect.”

“Maybe she was jealous.”

“I used to sneak into the music room at lunchtime to play. Lucky for me the history teacher heard me playing. She played the piano, but not at a professional level. Still, she knew what she heard. She got the principal involved, and the music teacher had to give me more advanced music after that.”

“I bet that pissed her off.”

“So much. She started using a ruler on my knuckles if I didn’t do it her way. I spent a lot of that year with red lines imprinted on the backs of my hands.” It was a weird kind of conditioning. It never bothered me later when my hands would ache or bleed. I learned to play that way. “Then we moved away.”

“Ugh. I hope she sees your concert at the Palais Garnier and cries.”

“She was old back then. She might be dead now.”

“That’s inconsiderate of her, being dead before you can get your comeuppance.”

“People have a way of coming back from the dead around me,” I mutter, my thoughts turning dark as I stare at the shape of the violin. It’s always been a contrast of lines and curves, of soft wood and taut strings. It looks the same as it always did, and somehow foreign, too.

The door opens and closes again. Sunlight spills across the room at a diagonal. It had been a direct shot through the window when I started. The day is passing. No notes have been played.

Bethany sits beside me. “Why are you watching your violin?”

“Staring contest,” Isa says from the other side of the sofa.

“Who’s winning?”

Isa snorts. “Not Samantha.”

Probably accurate. The violin can wait all day. All year. All century. I’m the one who’s running out of time. “How long have you gone without dancing?” I ask Bethany.

“Oh, this one time I was on the silks. Someone had misplaced a beam. My ankle shattered. I wasn’t even supposed to walk for weeks, much less dance. I almost died.” She sounds very earnest, not like someone exaggerating to make a point. And I already know she isn’t prone to drama.

“Was it scary to start again?”

“No, I couldn’t actually stop. I kept dancing in my room. I’d tell myself I’d only use my left leg, that I’d be so careful, but I’d always end up re-injuring myself. Romeo actually tied me to the bed so I’d stop making it worse.”

“Kinky,” Isa says.

I stop glaring at the violin long enough to glance at Bethany. Liam’s constant movement, his continual re-injuring of himself, had seemed pointless. Irrational. I’m not so conceited to think everything he does is about me, but using his pain as a way to punish me had been the only explanation that made sense. “You did it even though you knew it would take longer to heal.”