Paying Her Dues

The words, they fill my body with a weight and a sadness.

I press my fingertips into the velvet liner of the case.

What if people do think that?

I press my eyes shut, feeling an awful rollercoastery sinking in my belly. And I feel myself start to stumble off Cloud 9.

* * *

The rideto the symphony is capital-A awkward. I’m in the back, behind Mike, and every time I look at the back of his head all I can think about is how good it felt to run my fingers through his hair as he made me come again and again.

But the more I think about it, the wetter I get, and the more aware I am that my best friend is right there in the passenger’s seat and none of this is okay, none of it.

Mike’s eyes meet mine in the rearview and he hits me with a dreamy wink.

So simple. So small. But more powerful than all the cannon fire in the 1812 Overture.

My phone, tucked between my legs, begins to buzz. And I see it’s messages from Sam. From right there in the front seat.

Sam: WTF is happening in this car?

Sam: WTF is this energy, girl?

Sam: Did my Dad give you that necklace?

Sam: Did you and my Dad…?????

A sting of tears pinches my nose. Never has a row of question marks said so much.

Because yes we did. And yes, I wanted to, and yes I want to again and again. But what if it means losing my best friend in the process?

I’m spared from answering those question marks by Mike pulling up in front of the orchestra building. But my silence, it says everything, and Sam gets out of the passenger’s seat in an angry huff.

“You two? Seriously?” he says, looking back and forth between us, leaning in the passenger’s side.

When neither of say a word—me out of embarrassment, Mike out of his natural quiet calm—Sam growls out a dramatic, “Gross!” and slams the door, stomping off for the front door, furious and without a backwards glance.

I let my head slump down, pressing my forehead against the back of Mike’s leather headrest. “Well that was awful.”

“Hey, hey,” he says softly. “Come here.”

I sniffle and scootch over a little so I can lean closer. He turns, his eyes nothing but certainty and calm. “It’s fine. We’ll work it out. You just focus on the tryout. The rest of this shit can wait.”

The thing is, looking deep into his eyes, I believe him. Because I trust him. Because I love him with my whole heart. I push down my emotions and nod, smiling a little, almost in spite of myself. He winks at me again and then leans in for a kiss. A long, dreamy, sexy, yummy kiss.

A rapid angry knocking on the window ruins the moment.

My eyes pop open and I pull away. And in that instant, I tumble down to Cloud Negative Nine.

Because there, looking outraged and angry, stands not Sam but…

…my mom.

* * *

The one thingI’ve always been able to do, as soon as I pick up my violin, is focus. No matter how I was feeling or how I was doing or what was going on in my life.

Until today.

My tryout goes by in a messy blur. I play the notes, I turn the pages, but my mind isn’t on the music at all. And then, just like that, it’s over. The new conductor and the deputy directors take notes, tell me thank you, say the nice soothing things.

Walking out of the audition, I don’t know if I did well or badly. I don’t know if I hit every note or none of them at all.

And now I am sitting in the back of my parents’ car again. My mom isn’t speaking to me. My dad is distant. Mike didn’t say a word after I finished. And Sam won’t reply to my texts.

I have a made of a mess of everything. And I don’t know what to do.

And so I put in my earbuds, find Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor. And let the tears slip down my cheeks.