Joining the Dots

Chapter 4

It's mid-afternoon by the time I finish my harp lesson with Gramps. After the walk home I'm feeling pretty good. I tumble into my room and switch the radio on. Plucking my hairbrush from the dresser, I dance around singing Symphony by Clean Bandit. My microphone, the brush. People always assume that being a musician, I can sing. They couldn't be further from the truth - I sound like a dying cat. My dress from last night lies in a heap on the floor. I pick it up, holding it at arms distance; It smells repugnant and has an ominous brown stain down one side. I don't even want to know what that is. I sling it across the room, aiming for the laundry basket and missing, nearly knocking my mirror down in the process. I leave it on the floor.

"I should really practice." I mutter to myself, finding the willpower to grab the sheet music, harp and music stand. I start working on my audition piece. My fingers move to the correct positions. I consider the style and articulation and dynamics and notes and positions and pedals and speed. But I don't feel the piece. It's too technical and I can't bring myself to attach any kind of emotion to it. My lecturer picked the piece for me. I play it, but it isn't me.

After an hour working on a 30 second section of my audition piece, my mind starts wondering. You might compare it to daydreaming where you become blind to the world surrounding you and let go. I begin to play what I'm drawn to. Before I know it, I'm mixing folk, classical, modern, pop and improvised melodies together.

Even after 14 years of practice, I rarely get the chance to play like myself, where I can forget the rules for a little while and all the emotion building in my chest can be released into the strings. That is how I'm playing now, I'm just being me. Not overthinking, just feeling. I think I was hard-wired to play music like this.

After some time, I start to become aware of how dark it has got. I return my harp to its case, running my hand down the swirling wood engravings before locking the case. I glance out the window and see movement along the hedges. I'm curious now. I grab a blanket to wrap around me and step out into the frigid air. The breath is knocked from my lungs as the wind swirls and churns. I draw the blanket closer around me and make my way down the path and find ... a fox? No, now I'm closer I can see that it's just a slightly-chubby cat. I laugh to myself and bend down to him. His purrs resound through his body. I run my hand along his spine, feeling the silky fur under my fingertips. He moves lithely around me, movements graceful and calculated. I, however, am not so graceful and as I twist to stroke the kitty, I tumble backwards landing in a heap on the grass.

I can see the stars from this angle. They are beautiful. No, they are more than beautiful, they are unexplainable with the English language. The sky is endless but not the type of endless that you can be frightened of, but one that you can gaze up at and just wonder.

And so, I get lost in that infinite inky black. The stars, only little flecks of light yet so powerful. And I am comforted, happy to ponder for a while. And even when the cat moves away, I'm happy to lie on the grass and look with awe up to the stars.

Cam finds me like that. I'm unaware of him at first until I feel the blanket tug and him perch next to me.

"It's fucking freezing."

I just laugh and sit up. He is holding something behind his back.

"What have you got?" I ask grinning.

"Taa-daa." He brings forward two pizza boxes.

My life is complete.

"You are a star!" I say grabbing for a box.

"I know babe." He says passing it over. "Only the best for my favourite person."

I open the lid and breathe it in. Margarita, simple. Just how I like it. Cam however, chooses to put pineapple on his. PINEAPPLE! The thought makes me shudder. I don't dare say anything, we have had this debate before and Cam is not one to argue with. And so, we sit and eat. Comfortable in silence. I wish time had just stopped there.