Dirt

15

Knox

"Wait, play the end one more time." 

Grace does as told, pressing down on my phone so the song can flow through the speaker again. I cautiously press down keys on the keyboard trying to match the end of the song. Chords work or don't until my brain does that automatic shift where it all makes sense and my movements mirror the music playing out loud.

 "Okay, stop it. Let me try." 

Once Grace's room is silent I retrace the song before attempting. The cold, overlight, tile keys bouncing on the callouses of my fingertips. I followed the notes as they ran through my head like a movie reel.

I could breathe. I could clear my mind. I didn't look at my fingers, my eyes closed in the flow of notes, until the very end to make sure I could still remember to do it right. I didn't. I butchered the last fucking note.

"Fuck!" I punch my own thigh, the pain bursting in my femur. It doesn't matter, what matters is I can't get that last fucking note.

"I think you did pretty good," I spin my attention to Grace who's lounging on her bed picking the occasional string of her violin. 

Her curls are pulled up for when she was playing her favorite instrument. It's only Wednesday, but it's one of the few days we can spend the night doing whatever we want together. 

Right now it's music practice. I'm in Music Theory and fading in the background of Orchestra. Since I don't traditionally specialize in string instrument other than guitar -I do know some violin from what Grace has taught me- and I technically have enough extra credits to graduate I get to sit in the back and compose or play whatever I want on whatever instrument I pick up. It's a new challenge each week to try and master a song on a different instrument. Last week was the cello. This week is the bass.

Now, however, I'm trying to remember all the piano compositions for Grace's upcoming 'autumn array' choir concert. The choir teacher must usually pick some mother in the town to play the piano for the concerts. This year, however, Grace did me a favor and offered me up for sacrifice. It's such a nice favor that she forgot to mention it until two weeks until the concert; perfectly scheduled the day before Halloween. 

"Pretty good doesn't do mean shit, Grace Maye, when I have five more songs to perfect before next Wednesday." Grace just waves it off with a laugh, sitting up in her bed.

Grace gets that too from Mom. Forgetting to mention the important things until they happen. Being so carefree and fluid with a change of plans. Mom was never ever good at sticking to a schedule. She wasn't any good at telling us when there was something was coming up.

Grace's bubble of laughter and a bright smile takes one less tension away. Not enough not to continue to freak out, but enough to stand from the piano stool. I take her violin from her pillow, set it in its case on the floor, and flop onto her bed next to her.

"Move your fat ass. I need you to get my motivation up again," Grace shoves my shoulder but scootches over anyway so each of us gets a pillow of our own looking up to the tapestry she hung on the ceiling above her bed. It's a light tie-dye of pastel colors and a sun with a semi-creepy smile. It's one mom got her for her twelfth birthday -the last one she contributed in.

"I hate that sun. I don't know how you sleep under it."

Grace sighed, her elbow softly digging into my side as she interlocks her fingers on her stomach, "I like it. It's a good little reminder to be happy when you wake up."

I snort, interlocking my fingers on my stomach too, "Or terrifying to see staring down at you at one in the morning. It even looks high of its ass. It is creepy."