Once more... with passion

The very first sight read was so exhilarating. Every note was there, spelling out a deceptive simplicity in little dots, lines, and sharp tails of ink. The paper smelled better aged, like a fine wine or cheese, when it would delicately tickle his nostrils with a scent of mystery. He subtlety gazed over the identically spaced lines, purposely refusing to read the notes contained with in them. He sighed and bent over to unfasten the clasps of his paint brush, the canvas lying already before him. He eased the locks back gently, lovingly, with a caress he would not even reserve for a loved one. The beautiful aroma of the wood permeated the air, making him almost dizzy with anticipation. He wished deeply to yank the instrument out of its case and sink deeply into the arms of his music but he restrained himself. The violin was an instrument to be treated adoringly, not a barbaric thing to be yanked out and plucked upon with hellish ferocity like a filthy banjo. It had to be treated like a refined lady- no a noble woman. Flattered. Cherished. And the object of his complete and unobstructed attention.

He carried his violin out into the open air. He rested it on his knee and began the meticulous work of tuning the instrument. If it was even the tiniest bit out of tune the musical ears of his peers or teachers would catch it and he would be shamed for the rest of the day. He commenced first softly strumming the A string. It rang shrilly but still beautifully to his ear. He spent a half a minute carefully getting the pitch perfect before moving on to the G, D, and E strings. After a few minutes when he was at last satisfied with his work he set the violin back down in the box.

He slipped his bow out from its hiding place with the same reverence that a fencer or samurai had for their weapon. He was careful in making sure his skin did not touch the long, firm, horse's hair of the bow, for even the slightest bit of vile oil from his fingers could tarnish the bows sound forever. He then removed the rosin for its small pouch and rubbed it gently between his fingers enjoying the ecstasy of the soft chalky substance that would make his strings sing. He then brushed his bow steadily across the rosin until a fine layer evenly fell across the hair.

At last with his tools finely altered to perfection he could finely commence with his unheard performance. He flipped open his book of sheet music and peered at the tempi of the different pieces. Adagio, too slow. Allegro, that was more where he wanted Andante, no. Presto! Yes, presto would play furiously, allow him to play out his anger, his loneliness, on his violin.

He lifted his violin up onto his shoulder and set his left hand on the first note, B sharp on the D string. With his right hand he reached down and picked up his bow, his fingers already unconsciously finding their way into playing position. He had no cello, viola, or bass to hold time for him and he spurned metronomes for there mechanical inelegance. The natural motion of his foot would have to do. It tapped rapidly on the ground and he breathed out deep. His hand thrust downward, his bow followed, and he lost himself in the ebb and flow of the music.

Every twist and turn of piece delighted him. He never knew what the next line would hold and that element of surprise triggered a primal instinct within him. He could play a piece perfectly, hit every note, amaze with every temporary halt of the notes, and then throw himself back into the piece with reckless abandon, a disregard for the mysterious, secretive, nature of the virgin music. Provided of course, no one else was around.

It was in front of the mighty crowd, the stern gaze of his teacher, or the curious eyes of his peers that he would regress. Not to the level of a preoccupied nine year old indiscriminately sawing away at the violin strings of course, but a severe amount of polish would disappear, a sharp would be flat, a rest late. It was his flaw, his fear.

But right now, during that very first sight read by himself, none of that really mattered. There was no crowd, teacher, or fellow student. Only him and his music, Romeo and his singing Juliet, the Master and his Margarita. And as the final note rang out and hung in the air, like lover's parting graces or a farewell kiss; for that short moment all seemed right in the world.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Daniel put away his instrument with sorrow, a twinge of pain racking his heart as he understood that he would now have to return back to his normal school day. Well, what some people would call normal. Daniel went to the MarrisOak Academy for the Naturaly Artitic or 'the Mona' as some of the students less respectful of the school called it. He would never dream of referring to the only place that brought him some true companionship a nickname as simple and crude as Mona. It was a small strip of release from his Ohio upbringing in a hick town where the weekend attraction was the monster truck rally and not the concert pianist. Thus Daniel, starved for a stage on which to prove his rapidly improving skill, as well as a respite from the football players jeers, convinced his parents to scrape together the money to send him to somewhere better.

'MarrisOak?" they had questioned leafing through the brochure, "Honey this is in New York, that's 10 or 12 hours from here. You aren't really considering this are you?"

"That's okay, I don't mind, really! Think of it as an learning experience for me. It can be my birthday present. My next two birthday presents!" He said trying his hardest to assure them.

"It's a little expensive. I don't know if we're in the right financial situation to deal with something like this. I mean we just sent your sister off to tech school, that's a burden enough."

"That's the price before a scholarship, I know I can get one! It includes food and transportation, and we would get to have musicians come in and talk to us and see live performances... I'll get to be around people like me, I'll get to be normal. For once."

Though the debate continued for a few days after this first discussion, that was the point that Daniel made sure to drive home to his parents. Normalcy, it was something every teenager lusted after and perhaps this was the chance to give their son that gift. At last they agreed, on the condition that he get some sort of scholarship to reduce the price and that he pay for half the tuition through a summer job. Daniel leapt at the offer, praising and thanking his parents profusely. He practiced harder and more passionately than he had ever done before, in preparation for his scholarship rehearsal in front of one of MarrisOak's instructors.

The day arrived in which he would have to take the train from Cleveland to New York. Along the hour long drive to the station his mother wept and his father laid out the guidelines of city life. Daniel was rather sheepish. Both of them were acting as though he had already been admitted into the academy when the truth was his stomach was tumbling from many uncertainties. He had never really been away from his parents for this long and he was petrified at not playing well enough to earn a deduction.

As they drove into the city the Cleveland skyline rose imposingly in front of him. A soupy mist shrouded the tops of the tallest buildings, leaving visitors wondering just how loftily they rose. As their station wagon rolled onward into the metropolis the precisely spaced divisions between one stretch of pavement and the next amused Daniel with their rhythmic thumping. Just like a metronome he thought. An omen or a coincidence? He couldn't decide. He felt much like the great skyscrapers shrouded in fog, his mood was apparent in his excitement and nervousness, but there were also thoughts and emotions that were mysterious and out of place.

His fingers tapped restlessly against the window as they got further and further into the city. He felt his palms beginning to sweat and he hastily wiped them against his shirt. Why, why was he so nervous? He had been long preparing for this trip, he believed his skill was as finely tuned as he was going to be able to get it. The trip was long but... the trip. Of course! It was the journey, not the goal that lay beyond it that had him feeling He had never really been away from his parents for anything more than a rare school fieldtrip. Now his was staring a four or five day absence even if he failed, months if he was accepted.

He was not allowed to stew in such feelings any longer though for their car had just pulled up to the train station and his parents were hugging and kissing him goodbye, smattering in praises of confidence and love. They would not be able to wait for the train with him as they both had jobs to attend to back home, and almost as quickly as they had stopped they had left. For the first time in his life, Daniel was all alone.

He strode into the tall double doors of the station, attempting to exude more confidence than he really felt, towing a rolling suitcase in his right hand and his violin in his left. The station was large but not in itself overbearing. It was the tumultuous sea of people chattering, shouting, clicking their shoes across the hard floor. A computerized voice managed to carry over the din, telling passengers to be on the train with their tickets fifteen minutes before departure and not to leave bags unattended among other things. Daniel listened carefully to these instructions until the voice began to repeat them in other languages.

He turned to move toward the ticket counter when a jarring impact into his suitcase tore it from his grasp, and caused him to nearly drop his instrument. A disgruntled man more preoccupied with his cell phone conversation had tripped into his bag and though he did not say he was sorry or offer to help him, he found adequate time to throw a 'Jesus Christ kid, watch it!" over his shoulder before shuffling off. Daniel apologized to no one in particular before pulling his bag off the ground and righting it.

With slightly more savvy and a awareness that rivaled that of antelopes avoiding lions on the Serengeti he managed to wheel his way up to the ticket counter. Or rather the line leading to the ticket counter, for ahead of him stretched a curling snake of a line going this way then that through a maze of queue ropes.

He glanced up at the clock. Though he had time to spare he did not look forward to this long wait. The line moved fast enough to make reading a book awkward but avoiding boredom impossible. Seconds turned to minutes and he found him self only 20 or 30 feet from where he began. It was hot in the building and the masses of people around him did nothing to alleviate that fact. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose and onto his lips. He instinctively licked the moisture off and regretted it. The taste of sweat filled his tongue and he reached for his bottle of water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Slowly oh so slowly he moved closer to the front of the line. When at last by the clock's estimation he had spent 24 minutes and 44 seconds in line a voice called out 'Next!'

He looked up. There was no one ahead of him, it was his turn! He happily grabbed his things accidentally tipping his suitcase over before blushingly going up to the counter. A smiling blond women in a navy blue uniform greeted him,

"Have all your stuff under control maestro?"

"Yes." He replied turning a darker shade of red.

"I'll bet you are going to MarrisOak aren't you."

"I am." He replied a little surprised, "How did you know?"

"The instrument case. Its a dead give away, I've probably seen a couple dozen kids come through here just like you these past few days, all wanted a ticket to MarrisOak." She said counting numbers on her fingers.

A couple dozen, Daniel thought anxiously. He didn't think he would have near that many other kids he would have to compete against. His mood sunk considerably though he hid it well.

"And how much will the ticket there be?" He asked already pulling out the money his parents had given him.

"One or two way?"

"Two," He said at first before shaking his head, "no, I mean one." I might as well prepare for the best now, he thought.

"That'll be forty dollars please." Daniel counted out the requested amount of money carefully before handing it to her. That left him with about 4/5's of his money for the remaining time in MarrisOak. He was not especially eager to spend it as it was given to him with the clause that he had to work back every dollar he spent. She handed him his ticket and he stowed it deeply into his coat pocket.

"Good luck!" She called out to him as he walked away.

"Thank you." And these words were not spoken automatically but truthfully from Daniel's heart because good luck was precisely what he needed the most.

He proceeded through the gate into the busy platform decks, where the trains stop like impatient children, shortly after screech out, and run off again. He checked the clock the same as he had done too often in the time he had spent in the station. He had about an hour to burn. There was a small sandwich shop and Daniel's mouth salivated. He felt his pocket to make sure his money was still safely stashed inside, then wheeled his belongings over and through the door of the crowded cafe.

The din hit him in his gut. He didn't think anywhere could get much louder than the crowded station but the small restaurant truly shocked him. The room was smaller than he had expected and absolutely packed with people. He had to use his elbows to get anywhere in the place. There was a melting pot of impatient travelers waiting in the line: toe tapping businessmen shouting into cell phones and parents trying to quiet rambunctious children, people sitting at the cramped tables scarfing down their food quickly, lest they risk the wrath of the other customers vying for the limited space.

The kitchen whistled and shouted with the cries of machinery and staff alike. Orders were transformed from English to a strange code by the wait staff. Pancakes with maple syrup became 'Roswell and amber', a ham and roast beef sandwich was an 'anti-rabbi'. Beverages all had female names, Lucy, Sally, Andrea, Holly, Erika, and Stephanie were the few Daniel picked up over the span of a minute or so. Though he had stood by the doorway he quickly realized how bad of an idea this was. With the rush of people going out and the rush of people replacing them he found both he and his belonging's were continuously jostled this way and that. He moved himself out of the way as quick as he could and found himself jammed up against the wall.

Daniel remained in this safer, if not tremendously more uncomfortable, position for a while. People generally took much less notice of him this way and he found if he stayed over to the side he could still inch his way up through the line. using this method he gradually, with much contortion, got his body up to the ordering window.

"Whaduyull have sonny?" the pudgy woman behind the counter asked him, fingers tapping on the edge.

What was he going to get? All that time in line he had been so preoccupied by getting to the front and blocking out the din he hadn't thought of what he was going to order. "Um... I'll have a tea please."

"Confuisous says!" She shouted back to the cooks. A thumbs up came over the wall separating the main room from the kitchen. "Anything else?"

"A muffin. Blueberry."

"We're all outta blueberry."

"All right then, chocolate chip."

"'Fraid not."

"What do you have?"

The cashier stooped over and peered under the counter. After a moment she popped up and said, "Bran." Daniel hated bran muffins.

"Well how about a danish?

"Just sold the last danish to the gentleman in front of you, sorry." She snapped her gum impatiently and he could hear people rumbling behind him.

His tea arrived and he was getting frustrated. He'd have to get something on the train, "Okay, maybe I'll just have the tea."

"Smart lad. That'll come to," she punched some numbers into the register, "4.12 with tax. Have a nice day." It was the sort of have a nice day that you knew was repeated so often it lost its authenticity. He handed her his money and grabbed his tea, now needing to find an open seat.

The tea was served in an open topped ceramic mug like one you would sip out of coming out of a frosty cold. It was a pleasant touch a quotation by the Roman Seneca was wrapped around the rim. 'A happy life is one which is in accordance with its own nature.' it read. Fitting, Daniel thought. He carefully balanced the cup in his hand while lugging the rest of his things behind him. The first few empty seats were met by shaking heads from the patrons already seated. As he felt his chances fall, a voice pierced the din.

"Hey you, coffee boy! Have a seat over here!" Daniel swung around trying to locate the source of the voice. A pair of waving arms caught his attention and he slowly found his way to the open seat. He dropped his suitcase with a clatter, but carefully set his violin next to him and sat down. He looked across the table and found he was staring into the gleaming white teeth of a small oriental girl eating a very large omelet. Her long straight black hair fell around simple attire and an instrument case was propped up next to her.

"So coffee boy, where are you headed to with all that stuff?" She asked, her voice pleasantly high.

"Um, its tea actually and I'm going out to uh, MarrisOak, it's out in New York somewhere. Have you heard of it?"

She giggled "Heard of it? I'm going there too! Are you excited? Cause personally I'm really, really, excited."

"Yeah I'm um, definitely excited." He responded.

"Really?" She cocked her head. " You don't sound very enthusiastic to me. If you were really excited you'd scream it out loud like this: I'M REALLY EXCITED TO GO ON THIS AWESOME TRIP!" Daniel sunk down to the table in embarrassment. The girl simply grinned, reached over the table, and pulled his head up to meet hers by his chin. Her hands were cold but soft. She retracted her hand and took another bite of her omelet like it was no big deal. On the contrary it was a very big deal for Daniel who had no physical experience with girls outside of the occasional peck on the cheek from his mother. He blushed furiously and was glad she didn't notice.

"So what's your um, name?" He asked

"Mrgy Ndgr-," a swallow of food, "My Name is Laura. Well, technically its Xiang Li, but most everyone calls me Laura. And how about you coffee boy, what's your name?"

"Um, its tea actually."

"Coffee, tea, what the heck's the difference? Jeez Louise!" She reached across the table and ruffled his hair like he was her little brother. This girl made him uncomfortable, and did she just say jeez louise?

He readjusted his now messy hair and finally overcame his shock enough to manage, "Daniel. My name is Daniel."

"So Danny what's bringing you to MarrisOak?" He winced, no one had ever called him Danny. It sounded so... condescending to him.

"Um... talent?" He responded caught off guard.

"No, no, no." She sighed impatiently. "Why are you going to MarrisOak?" She folded her hands under her chin and leveled her gaze at him inquisitively. It would be a ridiculous gesture if preformed by most people, like the line 'tell me about your father' in the thick Freud accent, but it seemed surprisingly honest from Laura.

"Well, I wanted to be normal. You know part of the gang, around people who share common interests."

"Phff! Boring! Why do you want to be normal?"

Who does she think she is, my psychologist, he thought annoyed; but he found himself answering her question defensivly, "wha-, Are, are, you kidding me? You can't be... Who doesn't want to be normal. That's like every single person's goal ever!"

"Well I don't." She said firmly. "'Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist'"

Emerson. She's quoting Emerson now! Who in the-, girl's her age should be talking about make-up and boys and... girl stuff, not 1800's literary figures!

"Whoso wishes to stay alive in high school shall conform." He retorted back.

She laughed, "I can't place the poet that said that one. Could you maybe refresh my memory?"

"Daniel Mecwitz, 'From the top of my head' " Maybe a joke can let me off the hook this time, he thought. Okay, a bad joke, but hey!

She threw her head back and laughed again. She was still smiling when she looked into his eyes again. "So why did you pick MarrisOak?"

"I don't know, it was kinda the first one I looked at." What a lame answer! You're going to bore her, God, you're so bad at this!

"Danny, you can't just go someplace for that reason, there had to be something that pulled you there. It was destiny!" She told him.

"Why not? Why are you going there?"

"The apple blossom trees!"

"The apple blossom trees?"

"Mhmm. I heard they're really incredibly beautiful in the spring. The perfect setting for a girl to have her heart whisked away by a dashing suitor."" She sighed, Daniel wasn't sure if it was mock or not.

Well, there was femininity in the girl yet, "Why makes you think apple blossoms are more important then normalcy?" He demanded.

She chewed her lip for a moment before exclaiming, "Romance novels! They've warped my mind."

"Really?"

She thought about this longer than before, "I'm not sure." She at last responded with no finality whatsoever. "Hmm, you're cute when you're angry!"

You're not su- Wait, I'm cute when I'm what?!

"See ya on the train Danny!"

He looked up and she was gone. "Yeah, see ya..."

He remained there and sipped on his tea for a while. Does she really... or was it just another joke?

What a weird girl.