Dirt

30

Knox

"Stop! Stop!" I blow out a frustrated breath at Grace as I turn on the stool to see her waving her bow around in the air and glaring at me, "This isn't right."

"So you have ears..."

Somehow she glares harder, swiping her bow to point at me, "It's your fault."

I scuff, tilting my head my obviously deaf little sister, "Uh, no. It's on you. Try using your instrument right next time."

"I've been doing this song longer than you!"

"And I'm still playing it better than you!"

"Do you even know what you're playing?"

"I listened twice and I'm trying to figure out the music sheets. Are you tilting your bow the right way? That can fuck it up."

Grace throws her head back with a frustrated groan, "Okay, we'll try again. Try to figure out the music sheets or we're fucked."

"Okay, we'll try again. I'll try to cure dyslexia and you try to make sure you acro right," Grace flips me off before I can turn back around. 

I don't know why I agreed to help her with her violin piece. I know it's easier to keep the tempo and prepare for festivals by using a piano accompanist. But fuck, sometimes playing with her is so frustrating. Especially when she insists on not letting me work through the piece before we start. Or just not have to figure out the music sheets.

I squint my eyes at the pages like that's going to help, absentmindedly leaning in as I begin the piece. Just like reading a book, notes flip and flop where I know it makes no sense to be like that. It isn't as bad when I'm reading piano music, just notes here or there. The notes are strangely easier in piano than reading a guitar or violin. But I'm also so involved in getting the tough piece right that my mind is just full of doubt. If they're right, if they're wrong, and which one do I risk the most. 

I don't see a difference if they're right or wrong so I try to put the notes that are in my head from the two times she's let me listen to the piece recorded all the way through. I try to cut and paste pieces together, laying them on the actual notes on the paper, thinking of what logistically sounds best, praying I don't fuck it up again.

I cringe when I do stumble on a note, the paper betraying me. Luckily Grace doesn't stop so I'm able to find myself back into the piece, deciding to just think about notes in my head and the keys under my fingers. 

Grace is an amazing violinist. I know she likes the strings and the bows much more than I ever could, she loves having to hold herself up to keep her music the best. She learned to play the violin when I learned the piano -8. Neither of us wanted to play the instrument the other one was learning. Since then we've grown up and taught each other our instruments but none stayed as much as the original one Mom got us lessons for.

I try to listen to what I'm producing while also listen to what Grace was producing. She wanted me to play so she could keep her tempo and hear notes that may go awry, but she's the one keeping me on tempo and notes that go awry. 

The moment we end I groan, "I fucked up. Why couldn't you let me learn it before we play? I hate having to take credit for a messed up song and now it's your fucking fault that it's my fucking fault."

"That was beautiful!"

My eyes widen when Grace's voice doesn't respond. I spin around quickly on the stool, my wide eyes connecting with the group huddle stationed in Grace's doorway. Half of them I don't know, including the beady-eyed kid starring at me with maybe vengeance? Instantly I straighten my back, try to wipe my face of emotion. I shift my eyes up to Kelly first, guilt for cursing over and over, filling in my stomach to lightly cover the nerves setting in.