Tentacles

8

As I walked through the white wooden door and set my keys on the coffee table, I slumped back on the sofa and kicked my feet up, sheet music in hand, ready to decipher whatever shit the teacher had assigned for homework.

About thirty minutes later, Hailey walked in and handed me a blindfold. "Don't ask questions, love," she said. "Just put it on."

I covered my eyes with the blindfold, which didn't do much at all since the light seeped through and the fabric was so thin, but I pinched my eyes shut, for Hailey's sake.

I heard a bit of grunting, some shuffling, and then Hailey lifted the blindfold.

In the corner of the room, where the rest of my music stuff was, stood a single instrument case, huge and violin-shaped.

I gasped. "Hailey, did you-?"

She squealed and nodded.

I took the case in my arms and opened it up, breathing the scent of dust and polish.

I looked down and was close to tears. There laid a beautiful, black cello, polished to the point where you could see your reflection, strings tightened to the perfect tune. Lifting it out of the box, I set it in my lap and began to play.

In a perfect world, I picked it up and played perfectly, no note out of pitch, no rhythm played incorrectly.

But, of course, this world sucks.

So, therefore, I sucked.

There was squeaking and wrong notes and an attempt to create my own music, and one point our neighbors from across the hall yelled at us.

The next day, I enrolled for off-campus lessons. I was told it would be harder, since I'm not as young as most people are when they pick up the cello, but I managed. I wasn't good, and I was far from great, but, for the time being, I was just on the verge of not-bad.