The rest of the day passes without too many annoyances and not a sighting of the girl. I walk home slowly contemplating whether a new bow position will help with certain parts of the my new piece when I see the familiar Toyota Tundra in the drive way. Sighing, I go to pick up the mail, I pick up my new bow with a small smile and I carry it in. Listening for the loud snores of my father I enter the house slowly and shutting the door carefully. Upon hearing the snores, I lock the door and proceed to my room and start unpacking my bow. It is an ash bow with premium horse hair that cost me close to one hundred dollars but it was worth it. As I tighten it, I run my finger down the hair and thinking about the amount of rosin it will take to get the wax off. This isn't including the time to become accustomed to the subtle nuances and quirks it has. Moving along to place it in my case, I check my work schedule to see when I have to go in to work. Seeing I have a couple hours, I go to the kitchen and start cooking dinner. Another skill I was forced to pick up in this case, was cooking. Taking some chicken already defrosted and seasoned, I place it in the stove and put some rice in a rice cooker and wait. As I do, I pick up random beer bottles and trash from around the house in a bag to recycle. As the stove dings, I pull the chicken and serve it with white rice and a couple tortillas. Not much but all I can cook until payday. I take care of groceries and my dad pays the bills. Not an agreement but an understanding seeing as its just he and I. He will not be up until four forty-five. Then he shoves food down down his gullet and leaves for work. I leave at the same time but if I can I try to leave before we can see each other. I leave him his food at the counter along with the monthly bills and start eating my own dinner. I finish and begin to wash my dishes and hear his door open. Cursing under my breath, I prepare myself physically and mentally for whatever he has in store for me. He sits down and starts eating and as I pick up my wallet to leave he yells,
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?"
I walk back slowly and reply,
"Work."
This shut him up and I leave quickly as to not incur either his fury or more questions.
YOU ARE READING
The Violinist
RandomWith a life that is difficult, his only escape is the music he loves so dearly. Practicing and perfecting his piece brings him and the troubled life of his bring him sanity.
