Who Needs Superheroes?

Chapter 11: Sonata at 7

"What?" the nasally voice of Agnes inquired. She looked extremely annoyed at not only my presence, but my behavior. I was in utter shock: shoulders tense, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar, hand frozen in place when I had reached for the work, fingers splayed in a rigid and awkward position.

"Eby? Are you ready to join us?" Ms. Rodard's clipped and stern voice brought me back to the present. I had not even realized that the whole orchestra was in playing position-except for me. I was still paralyzed in my seat. Ms. Rodard gave me a patient, but slightly annoyed look as I scrambled to raise my instrument to my chin and placed my bow on the string.

Ms. Rodard lifted her arms up and gave a three count before bringing the piano in. A beautiful, yet pained minor melody rang through the air. It's chords could inspired the happiest person in the world to pause and shed a precious tear. With a sweep of her arm, she gestured for the violas to come in, which were promptly succeeded by the cellos. The basses plucked away lamentful notes and soon, it was the violins' turn to contribute their woes.

When that first chord rang out of my instrument, I almost cried. The assembly of the pitches pulled at my heart strings, threatening to snap them. The tempo was slow, almost dance like, but it seemed as if the dancer was without a partner.

The piece had a very strong, hopeful progression, as it grew in volume, but just as the melody was wrapping out, the cellos and violas dropped out, followed by the basses. Us violins hit our last notes and were left with rests in our parts. Though, the piano played on for a few more measures in its desolution, striking a few last lonely chords.

When it had ended, a great silence enveloped the room. I realized we were all holding our breaths, trying to supress tears that crept along the corners of our eyes.

Agnes was the first to break the silence, as though she had not been affected by the tragic tune.

"We're not really going to play that for our concert, are we?"

Ms. Rodard, whose nose I heard sniffling, cleared her throat and answered, "yes, we are. Master Fear insists we make it part of this year's curriculum."

I pulled at a thought. That melody was the saddest, yet most beautiful song I had ever heard. It was absolutely genius and something like that required emotion to write. If Fear had truly written this, he must have been a lot more f*cked up than I had originally thought.

I discreetly wiped at a few stray tears and cleared my throat. Hand raised and poised in my seat, I asked, "may I use the restroom?"

Ms. Rodard gave me a look that displayed her irritation, but gave me a slight nod. I rose out of my place and gently set my violin down in my place, partly just because I needed to put it somewhere and partly because I needed to keep Agnes out of my seat.

Shuffling past Ms. Rodard and out the orchestra room door, I stepped into the hallway and was finally able to breathe. I drew in long and deep breaths, trying to calm my heart rate. I had no idea that Fear even liked music. He had the appearance of someone who did not have any time for entertainment.

I decided to do what I had told Ms. Rodard and use the restroom, but when I rounded the corner and got to the door leading inside, I heard hushed voices arguing. I pressed my ear against the door, hoping to catch their conversation.

"She's not ready yet!" The female voice sounded extremely familiar.

"We don't have a choice. We've let this go on for long enough. He's going to make his next move soon and she needs to be out of the way," a male voice urged in response.

"He said he wouldn't hurt her, but this won't be the first time he breaks his word. What about you though? Are you ready?" the female voice asked, voice softening.