Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabby
“Where are you today, Gabby?”
I pull my violin off my shoulder, settling it under my right arm, my bow dangling from my finger, and let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Clara’s brow wrinkles in concern. “Is everything okay? It’s not like you to be so distracted.”
Still staring at the music stand in front of me, I bite my lip, trying to decide what and how much to tell her. The closed cover of the Mozart concerto stares back at me. I’m supposed to have it memorized, but I keep botching it. The transition from the exposition to the development. The cadenza. The recapitulation, where it changes from the exposition, staying in the tonic instead of moving to the dominant, the melody just slightly different. Clara’s right. I’m distracted. My head is all over the place.
“I let it go when everything was so crazy a few weeks ago. I had a pretty good idea of why you were distracted and unprepared. But Thanksgiving is next week. There’s only one week of classes after that, then juries are the following week. This is our last lesson without the pianist. You need to be focused. So tell me what’s going on. Maybe if you get it all out, you can play. I know you have this memorized. The sheet music has been more of a crutch than a necessity for weeks. You could play this in your sleep.
“So what’s the deal? I haven’t heard about any new media attention lately. I thought things had settled down.”
With a sigh, I decide to just tell her everything. “They have. I mean, there are still a few photographers hanging around Jonathan’s house, but they only take my picture when I’m going in and out. They don’t follow me around or bother me. The one interview I did last month seemed to satisfy their curiosity enough, and now I’m just a boring fixture. I’m only interesting for my attachment to Jonathan.”
“Okay.” She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “So what’s going on? Family stuff? Romantic trouble? I’m pretty sure it’s not problems with Lauren, or I would’ve heard about it from her. Unless something came up in the last few days?” Her eyebrows go up, inviting a response.
I shake my head. “No. Everything with Lauren is fine.” I wave my free hand dismissively. “And my family’s fine. My parents are happy I’m back in the dorm and not staying at Jonathan’s. They weren’t happy about me staying there, even if it was necessary for a while. They think I’m too young to be living with my boyfriend.”
Clara’s face remains neutral. “So they don’t approve of him?”
“No, that’s not it. They don’t disapprove, they just don’t want me to move too fast.” I give a crooked smile. “I’m the baby. And I just turned nineteen. And I’m not ready to move in with my boyfriend either, anyway.” Taking a deep breath, I look all around. “Things have just been really busy lately. Jonathan’s putting together a demo for the labels he’s meeting with next week. And he leaves Friday and will be gone for over a week. He was supposed to come with me to my brother’s for Thanksgiving, but since his manager set up meetings with three different labels, he has to go to California instead. So I’m bummed about that. And I’ve been helping him finish the songs for the demo, which is a lot of work. And I have homework, and want to spend time with him, and I haven’t been able to practice as much as I would like.”
Clara shifts in her seat, clearing her throat. She opens her mouth, then thinks for a second before clasping her hands around her knee, her fingers laced together. “You’re probably not going to like what I have to say. But I’m going to say it anyway.” Her blue eyes find mine.
“Okay.”
“Your parents are right. You are too young to be moving in with a boyfriend. And you’re too young to give up on your own dreams, your own music, to help him pursue his. You have a lot of talent, a lot of potential, but you need to focus. You need to make your practice, your schedule, a priority. And let him worry about his.” When I open my mouth to respond, she holds up her hand. “If, after you’ve finished your own obligations, you have the time to help him with his music, then go for it. But you can’t let his priorities overrule yours.” She pauses before continuing more slowly. “I don’t want to say that this relationship isn’t worth investing in. Maybe it is. I don’t know. I can’t predict the future. But I will say that most things that start when you’re eighteen years old don’t last forever. And things are really intense at this age. Your feelings are huge, and it seems like nothing will ever be this huge and important again. I remember what that’s like. Hell, it wasn’t that long ago. But you have to keep your eye on your own goals. Because even though you might have the best boyfriend in the world, he’s going to be focused on his own career right now. And rightly so. But you can’t let that take over your whole life, or what will you be left with if and when it ends?”
She gets up, moving to the music stand. “Now. We still have a little over half an hour left. Let’s go through the Mozart with the sheet music once without stopping. And then try it from memory again. I think maybe you just need a little reminder, a little something to help you focus right now, and you’ll have it. The notes are there. Trust your fingers to find them.”
Nodding, I lift the violin to my shoulder once more, sinking into the comforting familiarity of the chin rest cupping my jaw. Clara opens the music, and I start to play, the opening melody falling from my fingers, effortless and beautiful. Soon I’m lost in the flow of the music, peripherally aware of Clara turning the pages for me at the right places, but mostly in tune with the pressure of my fingers on the bow, the way my arm draws it across the strings, the solid feeling of the body of the violin against my hand as I shift to a higher position, the thin strands of metal digging into my fingertips.
When I let go of the last note, the bow lifting away from the string, Clara’s smile takes over her whole face. “Were you even looking at the music?”
“Um, not really. Not after the first page or so.”
“Good.” She pushes the desk of the music stand all the way down then crosses to her chair and resumes her seat. “Now, again. Just like that. That’s how you play.”
That reminder, that vote of confidence, is all I need.
And that is how I play.