My fingers fly across the strings with precision, landing in just the right spots at the right time. My eyes are closed as usual, but the notes are bland and have no life. The rhythm is correct and the pitch, but there lies no emotion behind the melodies. Just notes being played hastily and carelessly.
Whenever I am sad or angry at the world or need to contemplate something, I pick up my violin and bow and compose pieces to match my mood or just to think. It helps me relax and, in a way, helps me focus on what's important without having to really think. But lately I can't seem to play or compose anything that's any good. The notes just hang in the air and don't quite fit together the way they usually do. Everything sounds the same; slow, dull, and sad. I guess it's kind of like a writer with writers' block, except with music.
I need time to think about what happened and a way to find the peace that I once felt when playing my intrument, but my violin sounds scratchy and dull to my ears and my bow is like a club. I give up trying to find peace in my music and put it back in the case. I flop down on my bed and stare at the cieling. Thinking.
I lose track of the time and when my twin comes in to tell me it's time for dinner, I don't move. Food hasn't tasted good for days and meals are awkwardly silent. I know it sounds extreme, but my Granny was very close to me and things haven't been the same since she passed away. She paid daily visits to our house and usually ended up staying for dinner, too. On the weekends, she spent the nights at our house in my room and we would stay awake until midnight telling stories or quietly telling secrets to each other. The huge age gap between us never seemed to get in the way of things. Granny Helen always understood me and I her.
Victor once again knocks on my door and calls for me to come downstairs to dinner. When I don't reply, he pushes open the door and comes over to my bedside where I lie. He sits on the end of it and gives me an understanding look.
"I know you were closer to her than me, but I know how hard it hit you." He says cautiously. He knows me better than anyone and he knows that when I'm in a bad mood, that he should choose his words wisely.
"Thanks, but I just don't know how to let go," I say quietly, "I can't play my violin either." I add.
"Hmm..." He pauses to think. "We'll have to come up with some way to help each other 'cuse cleaning out her attic is just making it worse."
I nod my head in agreement. He knows exactly how I feel. If anyone can help me, it's Victor. He's clever and sly and he will know what will make me feel as though I can let Granny Helen go. How ever he does it, I am positive he will find a way. And if he doesn't, then Robert will. Robert is my oldest brother. He is 17 and is very supportive of our family, unlike the majority of his Junior class. He tries to coax me into trying something new or cheers me on in my soccer games. But there is an age gap between us and he and I will never be as close as Victor and I.
Maybe that's just because we're twins, but somehow I think that even if Victor were the 17-year-old, he would still be more like me and he would still be my best friend.
*******
My little sister, Kendall, doesn't quite understand what happened yet. She is only 4 years old and is constantly asking why Granny doesn't come over anymore and every time she does, a sharp pain stabs my chest and a lump forms in my throat. We tried to tell her that Granny Helen died, but she ran away and cried and wouldn't believe it. Even now I wonder what it's like to be young, innocent, and unknowing of the tragedy in our lives. But maybe she does know and that's her way of dealing with the sorrow; refusing to face it.
Kendall is not the youngest in my family. Our littlest brother, Wynter, just turned 18 months old yesterday. Sometimes it's hard living with the two young ones, but at times like these when every day is a g-minor one, they brighten things up and make it worth living for.
*******
In a few hours, I have my weekly violin lesson at my teacher's house. I am far from ready and haven't even practiced the piece I'm supposed to be working on. I'm sure she'll understand, though. Margret always understands when I don't practice or don't do all of my scales, but she'll make me do them today. Even if they sound bland and dull like they do recently.
Robert's off with some girl, Victor is at a friend's house, Kendall is at her ballet lesson and Wynter is fast asleep in his crib. I have nothing to do, so I try reading. I pick up the book I have been reading lately, but I lose interest after a few pages.
I sigh and place it back on my shelf. I decide to call my friend, Marley, to talk about our science fair project which is due tomorrow and we haven't even started. Usually, I am diligent about doing my schoolwork and I have straight A's. But since my granny died, everything is different and unexpected. I can't concentrate long enough to do any school work and I'm falling behind rapidly. I have B's in all classes except English in which I have an A.
My parents are understanding of my descending grades, but they are still disappointed. They ask me constantly if I have done my homework, and I have to say no every time. Maybe if I found some way to accept the fact that my granny is not here anymore and find peace again, I could work my way back to the top of my classes.
