Wunderkind

"Play more, Mari. Play more." The woman with the curled, newly dyed blond hair insisted. Her face was plastered with makeup, any sign of humanity gone, drenched in powder. To the melancholy tune of the violin, she tapped her glossed pink nails, weary not to chip them.

Mari played more. It was a sad song. One that even made a prodigy like her feel pain in both her finger tips and her heart. She wasn't sure who composed the song, but she knew that the composer was indebted with a tired heart. She was playing a song that was probably written with tears and a heart-break. It was in the music, she could just feel it. She could feel the notes, sixteenths, eights, halves, whatever the note may be, compress and repel against each other. While she chose each string and bowed, she couldn't help but wonder why someone would write such a sad song. Death? Mourning? Loss? What?

As the song went on, gradually changing tempos, legatos turned into detaches and then into a son file. The tune transcended more intense, louder and louder and louder. The eerie blissfulness of it made the song even more melancholy. She struck the strings heavier and heavier, her back still straight and aching, arms in the same position forever, but musicality still unremitting and optimistic to make this tragedy the best pessimistic song ever heard.

And it ended. Mari didn't like the ending. It wasn't like most. Instead of making the major crescendos during the last few bars the piece, they occurred consistently throughout the whole tune. Instead of ending loud, it ended suddenly soft. The notes didn't slow down in tempo. There was no repetitive pattern. It just ended.

Perhaps the composer decided that the piece wasn't worthy of a final goodbye. The ending was just as sad and pitiful as the piece, in a sense. Mari wanted to cry, after creating something so beautiful, yet so sad. She had her mother in tears; she could tell by black smudges on her mother's cheeks. The ending wasn't worthy of the song. That's what the compose was going at. The beautiful story gets an ending that isn't deserved. Well, great job, Mr. Composer. You did great, Mari thought.

"That was beautiful Mari. You'll be ready for tonight." Her mother stood up, hustling away from the chair, embarrassed to see the indenture her weight put on it. She strutted away, her five-inch heels leaving a sound trail of echoes.

That was right. Tonight. Mari had to play in front of all her mother's friends, prove that she was a child prodigy. She didn't want to though. She wanted to go pick flowers and climb trees and swim like all the other eight year olds. But her mother couldn't take pride in herself, so she had to take pride in her daughter. By taking pride in Mari, she couldn't do the things she wanted to do, for fear of breaking her fingers.

Mari didn't even like the violin. While she enjoyed the bittersweet music it produced, she hadn't grown immune to it and all the music she was exposed to made people cry. She loved music. She wanted to play to make someone happy. Not cry. But her mother didn't seem to understand that.

What she really wanted to play was the saxophone. It created brilliant jazz and blues pieces, fantastic love melodies, and the same heart break. To her, the saxophone was just well-rounded. It could play anything and intoxicate anyone. Yet, her mother would hit her upside the head if she mentioned the saxophone, again.

So many times had she wanted to break a string or bow, or throw the violin to the ground from on top of the stairs, yet she knew her mother's wrath. If she ever did such a thing, Mari wouldn't get grounded. She wouldn't have her violin taken from her. She would get slapped. Hard. Multiple times, depending on how much her mother had drank. And it hurt. The skin on her face welted, and stayed red for a while, no doubt.

Mari shrugged off her woes and worries as she laid the violin, that was more than ten thousand, at the least, into it's red velvet case that would protect it from harm's way. She hoped that she could slide across the floor in her socks to get some cookies or ice cream, but their house-hold didn't contain socks to slide around in or cookies or ice cream. Mari's mother believed in the very religious dieting and exercising. They had so much money, and yet hey hardly ever bought anything fun at all.

All the money spent of new violins, violin cases, bows, strings. Everything that would help Mari have the best resources to be the best out there. Then there was her mother's clothes and constant hair and skin color changes. Her nails were done every Thursday by top-notch professionals, and her hair was restyled every Tuesday and Friday by the best money could buy. Then their house was freakishly large for only two family members. There were countless servants, butlers, maids, chefs. And every Wednesday, the gardeners would come and beautify the exterior. It was all too much for Mari.

She knew she could get away for her mother for an hour, if she hid. The only place her mother wouldn't look for her was outside. Her mother hated the outdoors. It made her hair frizz and animals gave her rashes. Mari was glad she could have a sanctuary, at least for a while.

Mari traced her fingers against the patio railing, delicate not to get any splinters. She observed the different grass figures. Each of them ugly, and all of them reminding her of her mother. She giggled, knowing her mother would disapprove. The sky was a baby blue, illuminated by the cotton clouds. Just staring at the fluffy clouds made Mari wanted to eat cotton candy, having the sugar dissolve in her mouth. But there was no way she would have some. Her mother would scorn her for her gluttony.

"What's with the change of attitude? One second you're laughing, and the next you look you are about to cry!" Someone patted her bare arms with small, rough hands. She never felt anyone with rough, working hands before. Her mother's hands were delicate, and besides her finger tips, so were hers. Mari gazed down a few inches, to see a boy, her age, but short for their age, in a muddy T-shirt and shorts.

"I'm not going to cry." She pouted, then realizing her eyes were full of tears. She tried to suck them back in, but they reversed. Gravity forced them to fall to the ball. The blond, dirty boy looked dissembled but held his head up high as he reached in to hug the taller girl.

"Don't feel like you can't cry, because crying every once in a while is good for you." He muttered into her shoulder. Mari never met such a nice person before. All the servants were nice and polite to her face, but she heard them talking bad about her and her mother. Her mother, while Mari loved her, was not nice. At all. She didn't know her father and her mother's friends were all like her mother. Mari didn't have any friends or teachers at school to turn to. She didn't even go to school! In her big house, Mari could not help but feel all alone, especially when playing the violin.

For the longest time, Mari let the little boy hug her, bending down to lean on his shoulder and just cry. It felt so good to let the tears fall out. Her breath was unstable, but the boy just patted her back, like a mother trying to get her babe to burp. She knew he thought of her as a talented, but spoiled rich kid who only felt self pity. But for the moment, she didn't care because she knew it was the truth, so it didn't matter.

Then, after a while, the tears stopped coming. But the snot persisted on. The boy realized this a little too late, as her breath became more frequent. He pushed her away, trying to paw off the snot at his already dirty shirt.

"Hey! Why did you have to put snot on my shirt for?" He yelled at her, but she could tell that he wasn't going to hate her for it. Her mother would hate her if she ruined one of her name brad shirts, but mother wasn't there right now. It was just Mari and the boy.

Mari wiped her eyes and giggled. "What's your name?"

Just the way coincidences and time go, Mari heard her name echoed in the distance. The boy opened his mouth to say his name, but her mother's calls got stronger and more anticipated with anger. Mari hugged the boy and kissed his forehead, both kids turning brighter than tomatoes. She then opened the door, her mother being revealed on the other side. Her mom grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the tile.

"Mari where were you? Why do you look like a mess? Your performance is in three hours! I don't know how much time I'll have to get both you and me ready! Stupid girl!" Mari's mother slapped her, the door to outside world still wide open.