Music From Standing Waves by Johanna Craven Read Free Book Online Page B

Andrew’s violin and my
melody line soared above the piano’s wide tremolos. I felt a
shudder of excitement down my back.
    “I got shivers,” I told Andrew. “I never got
shivers from my own playing before.”
    He turned on the piano seat and smiled.
“You’re sounding fantastic. Very expressive.”
    I plucked slowly through the last page again.
“I love this bit,” I said. “It’s so dramatic.”
    Andrew nodded. “It’s beautiful, right?”
    I told him about the way the music made me
long for things I couldn’t see.
    “That’s interesting,” he said. “It sounds
angry to me. Full of confusion and regret.” He smiled. “Don’t you
wish you could tell all these dead composers what their music does
to you? Imagine being able to move someone like that.”
    I turned to the opening of the second
movement. I knew that if anyone was responsible for my love of
music, it was Andrew. The dead composers were only along for the
ride.

EIGHT
     
     
    I practised in the music room before and
after school. On weekends, I used empty caravans at the back of the
park. Music gave me a reason to get up in the morning. It gave me a
glimpse of freedom that Shipwreck never had. My fingers flew over
the strings as though they could think for themselves. I began to
believe Andrew when he told me I had talent. Sometimes, I would
hear the music as though someone else was playing it, then stop in
disbelief when I realised it was me. Surely, the things I could do
would be enough to lift me out of this life. I felt a new sense of
hope and independence. I could do it without my mother. I didn’t
need her.
    I sent for the Arts College application
again. “Please Dad, just sign it. Just let me audition.”
    “You know I can’t,” he always said. “You know
what your mother would say.”
    I hated how passive my dad could be.
    “What?” I pushed. “What would she say?”
    For all her hatred of my violin, Sarah had
never given a reason. Dad couldn’t answer either. He just shoved
his hands in his pockets and started whistling so he could pretend
he hadn’t heard the question.
     
    I hid my practice from my mother for months.
Then one day, I walked deliberately into the lounge, clutching my
violin. I still don’t know what possessed me. Something about
standing up to her, I suppose. Something about showing her what I
was capable of, despite her. I had just turned fifteen and felt as
though my whole life was being whittled and wasted away. I had to
make someone pay for it.
    Sarah was in the kitchen slicing vegetables.
The knife hit the chopping board with a sharp, glassy crack. I
launched into the opening bars of the Elgar. She continued to chop
furiously. Finally, she dropped her knife and stood in the doorway
of the lounge. Waited until I reached the end of a phrase.
    “So you’re teaching yourself are you?”
    I repeated the phrase slowly. Sarah raised
her thin grey eyebrows. She stood behind me and looked over my
shoulder at the music. As I drew my bow down, I elbowed her
arm.
    Her dark eyes lit up. “Stop it! I don’t want
to hear you play any more!” She picked up my violin case and flung
it into the hallway. It landed with a thud on the floorboards. “Do
you understand, Abigail? No more!”
    My anger erupted. “You can’t stop me! I want
to play and I’m going to! And I’m going to the city to study and
I’m going to make it to the concert hall!”
    Sarah laughed with a cold, machine gun burst.
“You can’t be a concert violinist without a teacher!”
    “I have a teacher,” I snapped. “Andrew
doesn’t care that I can’t pay him. He’s been teaching me all
along.”
    She pursed her lips until they were narrow
white lines. “What does he think you are, a charity case?”
    “I am a charity case,” I hissed. “To have a
mother like you.”
    Sarah sucked in her breath and slapped me
across the face. My eyes widened in shock. I felt the sting against
my cheek, but refused to give her the satisfaction of