Life_of_Music...

The conductor’s hands rose… The audience held its breath, the silence echoing through the Opera House. My stomach suddenly fell, my fingers shook, and sweat began to form above my upper lip. The heat had become unbearable. The sweet singing of the violin came from the front desk. The vibrato echoed and the soloist’s body swayed. The sound gave me goosebumps all over my body. The violin’s solo sang, reaching in and grabbing every heart. My violin struggled to stay in tune, strings stretching and the pegs slowly unravelling the wire that gripped them. The conductor turned to the rest of the orchestra and nodded. Violins and bows began to swing in unison… I shuffled towards the edge of my seat. My feet struggled to reach the ground for balance. I strained to see above the audience in front of me. Daddy had led me to the back row earlier, forgetting about my lack of height. Mum had washed and combed my hair into a tight bun and picked out my most favoured pale pink dress. I was thrilled. I couldn’t wait until the concert started. My heartbeat began to race. My head began to spin as the room filled with doubles and duplicates of elegantly-thin players dressed in black. Out of the silence came a voice; it was not the smooth voice of a person, but a vibrating hum that stretched beyond its natural limits. She sat on the edge of her seat. Her graceful hands lightly and effortlessly held onto the violin’s neck, her long, bony fingers creeping all over the strings. Her eyes remained closed as her body swayed. The rest of the orchestra had been blocked out. All I wanted to hear was the sound coming from that one violin. That’s when I tugged on my Dad’s shirt and said, “Daddy, can I pretty please play the violin'” * * * The phrases began to shorten and mutes were put on, muffling the sound… * * * I threw my violin down on my bed. My mother had been on my back for the past hour, insisting on a half hour practice before my upcoming concert. I was furious, I didn’t want to. I wanted to quit. I had been playing for four years too long. I just hated it. I couldn’t read the music, nor could I even play and keep up, I just wasn’t good enough. I knew I could never belong… My thoughts went back to the time when I almost gave up on my music, my dad had convinced me to keep going and persevere… My body swayed with each bow, mimicking the surrounding musicians. Vivaldi’s ‘Summer Storms’ sang in the hall and the quavers became rustic and jarring as the tempo rose. White dust of resin filtered the air. I didn’t want to finish playing. Crotchet, quaver, quaver, minim, rest… and then the last note, stealing the silence away from the pause.