Dirt

17

Knox

Grace stopped participating in the concerts at the beginning of last year because of Mom. 

Since the very beginning, my mom encouraged music. She constantly played music in the car, at home, even while we cleaned out her cubicle on the weekends. She sang all the time too. She had the most beautiful voice you can hear in your head just thinking about it. My mom would sing to us when we were sick or when we refused to do our chores. 

She always pointed out new instruments, different types of music genres. When I was diagnosed she tried the doctors' cures and still, she turned to music to help me out. The music lessons sucked at first. I couldn't read the notes half the time and I was already pissed off by teachers. But my Mom was so excited. She took me to practice at some old lady's house, she took me to the boys and girls club to practice on my own. She taught me to love music until she could use it against me to get me to do my homework. 

So of course, My mom roped Grace into too. Grace didn't want to do the piano so Mom got her into her favorite string instrument. Rentals from here, loans from there. Mom always found a way to let us play our music. 

In elementary school, I learned songs to play on the piano at orchestra concerts while Grace played the violin. In middle school, we both joined the choir and took additional classes for the guitar. Mom was so excited she bought us a rich blue guitar from the pawnshop, took us to get the strings changed before we went out to lunch. In High school, I dropped choir because it was uncool for the gay kid to be in a choir. 

Mom was starting her new little fling with weed which freaked me -a kid in love with recreational use- out. I didn't drop music all together though. I couldn't while it got worse, music became the only escape for Grace and I. I still played at the boys and girls club like I used to with Mom. We still played the dark blue guitar until Mom sold it for money. I made Grace practice her violin at least four times a week. 

Music was always there. Unforantetly for Grace, it wasn't for a period of time. Mom wasn't there anymore and she was the one so closely associated with it. 

At the beginning of her Sophmore year Grace got her first, long choir solo. She pestered Mom about it every time we saw her. Mom was starting to really hit rock bottom, we had to move in with her drug friend so they could afford to keep buying. Mom always had hooded eyes, dark circles, and some kind of bone to pick with everyone. And yet she still swore, many times, she would come to watch he baby girl's best choir solo. 

She didn't show. 

Grace swore off choir, playing was her first love anyway --that was her excuse. So once she registered for choir here, no matter how small it is here, I was secretly thrilled. Mom's arrest wasn't enough to keep her permanently avoidant of singing. 

I just hope nobody can remember how Mom sang. 

A little part of me is mad I agreed to play her concert. I can't sit in the cramped auditorium and watch her find joy in it. I can try from my angle, occasionally looking down to make sure I was still hitting the right keys to match the pins in my head hitting the combs of a music box.

She sounded amazing on her solo. Mom always loved when we would sing around the house. I loved it more when they sang together because they sound so similar. It was so nice to belt songs out loud and laugh. At least I can still hear Grace, still, watch her enjoy her moment.

The music was fairly simple to get down. I made Grace play each song one more time before I could get through smoothly. Then I practiced when I could. 

Something is different about playing music in front of people. Jitters and adrenalin dance through you hours before, during, and hours after. You know someone is out there watch, or maybe hundreds of people watching. They're either going to be disappointed or impressed. The toss-up makes it all more pressing.