"Hon, are you okay?" Dad asks one morning on the dinner table.
I nod dumbly. "Why?"
He points at my fingers, which are not so silently tapping the wooden table, as if it is the neck of a violin. Grimacing, I close them in a fist and place them on my lap, completely out of sight. Mom would never live it down if she sees that.
My fingers itch to touch a violin again and I'd find myself moving my fingers, as if they are on the fingerboard. Its sound haunts me, invading my thoughts the way the usual tune in my mind never did.
It's crazy. There would be the sound of the violin playing in my head without me noticing and when I kick it out, it would be back again.
It is driving me insane. When I came home yesterday, I ran for my room and never came out. I didn't do anything. I lain on the bed and stared at the ceiling, not moving. Even when Mom came to tell me dinner was ready, I didn't move. I didn't eat.
Next thing I know, it is the start of a new day, a Friday morning, the so called "best day" of the week. But I don't feel it. I feel like shit.
When I see Mom standing by the bed, I realize why. I have no idea when, or how, but my room is torn to shreds. The papers and pencils that were once on my desk are lying dead on the floor. My stuffed animals are ripped, with the cotton-filling sticking out. My clothes are everywhere, hanging in places I don't even know are there.
The only place that remains untouched, however, is the closet. Not because it is locked or something, but because the one thing that drove me to the edge like this is standing there, acting as if it did nothing wrong.
"Melody," she says after a long time, looking me in the eye, "just stay home for today. I'll call the school."
"No, Mom," I say, my voice devoid of emotion. "I'll go. It's a Friday. Best day of the week, right?"
"But -"
"I'm fine. Let me just get ready."
Mom sees through that lie though like I am glass. Dad is the same; he watches me as I eat a bowl of oats on the table, while Mom prepares my lunch.
"I'll drive you to school," Mom says before Dad could offer. It is his day off today and seeing the bags underneath his eyes, he needs all the sleep he could get. "Mine starts late today, so I have time."
I nod, immediately looking away from their bearing eyes. I could feel them eyeing me though.
"I'm fine," I say again.
When we finish, we get in the car after Dad kisses us goodbye and she drives me to school. The drive is silent. She doesn't try to talk to me, nor I to her.
Only when we arrive at school, however, she does the rarity once more. "Did you play the violin?" I don't reply. She sighs, displeased, and runs her long, fat fingers through her black hair. "I saw the way your fingers moved yesterday. I told you, you need to stop with that thing. You're deaf. There's no need to keep on doing things you can't do. Just move on, be a doctor or something, hang out with Julian, be a normal kid. Give it up."
I bite back a grimace. "Whatever." Without another word, I leave the car.
It is like that with her. What she says must be the way. Do otherwise and she goes at you for hours, dictating how it's entirely your fault and how she's right and how you should always do what she tells you. After all, like her favourite saying, "Mother knows best."
The bell rings as I make my way to class, but I don't care. It's English and my teacher wouldn't notice me anyways.
I slip in silently and head for the empty seat at the very back, for once, far away from New Kid. I meet his eyes just before I sit. That seems to be the norm today.
