The City Sleeps for Me

4 - Emily

Emily

I yank on my sneakers and my coat and pull my hair up in a messy ponytail, pushing my blonde bangs out of my eyes. I need to get a haircut soon.

I haven't been practicing for the last two days because my father and I had a fight. He grounded me for a week because I forgot to empty the dishwasher. But earlier today, he apologized and took it back. Said work was stressing him out. Said he lost his temper.

He seems to do that a lot, lose his temper.

Whenever I haven't played in awhile, my fingers twitch, and I start to get antsy. I'm desperate to be back in study room two. Maybe green rain jacket will be there again.

School has been getting harder, and the homework keeps piling up, but I go to the library anyway. I think I would go crazy if I didn't. I hate school - the fluorescent lights, ugly maroon lockers, bored teachers handing out thick packets. At lunch, I sit with a bunch of musical theater kids - Steven and Chloe and James and Riley - but I'm not that close with any of them. I just sit with them so I don't have to sit alone. Friends by default. That's kinda sad.

I step out of the empty apartment and lock the door behind me, then run down the stairs to catch the bus. We have an elevator, but it's incredibly slow, and we're only on the fifth floor anyway.

"Hello," I say to the bus driver as I step on, and I make my way down the aisle. The sky outside is a brilliant, cloudless blue, and brown and yellow leaves scatter across the sidewalks. Everyone is starting to wear knit scarves and gloves, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, soft leather boots that click on the concrete. I love autumn in the city. 

I sit towards the back by the window and hug my violin case on my lap. There's no Beatrice on the bus today. Just an older man sitting diagonal from me, staring at me creepily. Great. I look out the window, watch skyscrapers and pedestrians and cars and taxis and newspaper stands and dogs on leashes and baby strollers and storefronts fly by, a mix of muted colors.

Exactly seven minutes after I got on the bus, it squeaks to a stop in front of the library and I'm hurrying up the white-washed steps.

Inside, warmth starts to seep through my skin. Mrs. Summers is behind her desk, smiling and talking with two other students, but she glances at me and waves hello. Her curly brown hair is pulled back with a sunflower clip that matches the one on her sweater.

I walk up the steps, take in the warm yellow lighting, other students comfortably sprawled out across the chairs and tables. Study room two is tucked behind bookshelves, crammed with colorful textbooks and the flashy plastic of audiobook covers.

I turn the corner and stop. Green rain jacket is running her fingers over a row of books, except today, she's wearing a navy coat. So I guess I can't call her that anymore. She seems to freeze, too.

"Hi," I say, shifting my violin case in my arms.

She turns to me, brushes a strand of dark hair behind her ears. I can't look away from her eyes. They seem to be looking right past me. I have a strange urge to wave my hand, see if her eyes will follow, but that's stupid.  I do not do that.

"Hi," she says. Her voice is soft and kind. "Are you the musician? Who plays the violin?"

 I feel my face heat up. "I guess so. I mean, yeah, that's me."

She smiles. "You sound young. I thought the person would be older."

"I'm eighteen."

"I'm seventeen."

"I'm Emily."

"I'm Rebecca." Rebecca adjusts her backpack on her shoulders. "I accidentally listened to you play the other day. I mean, it was an accident at first, but then I stayed."

"I know. You want to stay again?"

She looks surprised. I'm surprised that I said that, too. I never offer to play for people. 

"Okay," she says. I open the door to study room number two and she walks inside. She has a white cane in her hand, but she's not walking like I kind of thought blind people did. You know, slowly, tapping their cane on the ground everywhere... she just walks normally. 

I clear my throat and pull out my violin, my hands getting sweaty. Rebecca sits down on the desk chair and runs her hands over her blue jeans. Her sneakers are red and much cooler than mine. 

"Um, have you ever played an instrument before?" I ask as I tune the violin, plucking the strings gently. God, why am I so awkward?

"No," she says. "I wish."

I smoothly slide my bow across the violin neck, testing out the sound, and glance up at her. It's like her eyes are clouded by a thin veil. Like her gaze is turned towards another world of sound and music. A world of music. Wouldn't that be nice?

"I'm just going to play some songs I know," I say. "Okay?"

"Okay. I'll just sit. Pretend like I'm not even here." She smiles and rests her hands on her lap.

I clear my throat and start to play. A few classical, upbeat songs at first. I would normally feel way more nervous, playing in such close proximity to someone, but maybe it's the blindness that makes me feel better. Okay, that sounded horrible. But it's like there's a wall between her and I, the only thing slipping through the cracks being my violin. 

Her deep green eyes don't move, and she sits perfectly still, but I watch her face subtly change emotions. 

After awhile, I start to let go a little. Play some harder songs. Things start to blur in the background, I feel myself swaying on my feet as my arm glides across the violin, feel something pound in my heart. 

I exhale. Let my hand drop to my side.

"That was really good," says Rebecca quietly. It's the first she's spoken in... what, forty-five minutes? More? 

My face heats up again. "Thank you," I say, running my palms across my jeans. "Alright, well, it's getting kinda late. I should start heading home. But -"

"What about the song?"

"What song?"

"The song that you played a few days ago. The sad one."

I bite my lip and shrug, then remember she can't see me. "I don't know..."

"Please? At least tell me the name of it."

"I haven't come up with a name for it yet."

"You wrote the piece yourself? Now you have to play it again."

I don't know why I'm so hesitant to play it for her. She's heard it before. But it's different now that I know she's listening. 

She tilts her head slightly and pushes hair behind her ears, waiting for me to start.

"Fine," I say, and close my eyes and breathe deeply, positioning the violin underneath my chin.