Once Upon a Time...

Part Five

3- Amelia

You know how gospel singers look absolutely elated when they're singing to people about God? How they get fully immersed in their music with tears in their eyes, like nothing else mattered, as long as the had the Lord and their voice? That's called passion. That's how I feel when I play my violin... only without the tears.

The violin is one of the only things I do that I absolutely love, besides maybe painting or singing. Everyone told me when I was young that I had potential in all instruments. It seemed as if I was musically inclined and could play a song on anything put in front of me. The constant rapping of pencils on the granite bar as a child drove my parents insane, which resulted in the purchase of a violin to "put my energies into a more productive outlet." I fell in love with the instrument the first moment I ran the bow across its new strings. My dad offered to pay for music lessons, but I didn't need them. Even as a seven year old I could focus on music, and eventually I taught myself how to read and write sheet music. I composed my first piece when I was eleven. Maria called me a prodigy. I called myself dedicated.

It's so easy to get lost in music. I find it incredible how swaying to the notes you are playing can get you lost in time through pure, delicious nothingness. I love playing the violin because even if I've had a horrible day filled with meetings and stress, it can all melt away as long as I'm creating music.

I stood there on the stage with my notes vibrating through the huge, open room. I had brought a silence to the entire crowd, and the stillness was spreading as quickly as wildfire around the rest of the resort. Soon, no one in the lobby was speaking or bustling around. No one was moving. No one was hurrying to catch the next monorail to Epcot. No one was trying to calm down sobbing toddlers, tired from a long exciting day. Everyone stood and thought, "Where is that music coming from?" Even from my perch on the stage I could see families outside the restaurant looking around until their eyes landed on me and my violin, and they stopped wondering.

I moved to the music, a beautiful movement by Massenet. When I was done I dramatically vibrated the last note as long as possible before circling my bow, to confirm I was done. The room erupted in applause seconds later. The people in the restaurant, including the employees, gave me a standing ovation and I even saw some lady who was my great-aunt or something start crying. I sighed, because this was why I love music and being able to make people feel something.

 I grinned but the smile was wiped off my face as soon as my eyes trailed to my mother, who was busy texting on her phone. There was no trace of even the faintest smile on her face, no pride, nothing. Hoping for an explanation, I glanced at my dad who was in the same state of isolation. Tears flooded my eyes and suddenly I didn’t feel like playing anymore. Before I did something drastic, like call them out, I quickly ran off the stage with tears blurring my vision.

 I felt stupid for caring so much. I knew that I was overreacting and acting like an overly dependent child. When I realized this, I got even more upset.

I set my violin down with shaky hands and escaped the room. Nearly sobbing, I sprinted outside as fast as my expensive dress and high heels would allow. I only made it to the hotel's monorail station before my feet too much to continue. I collapsed on a bench and tried to calm myself down. Leave it to my parents to ruin a perfectly wonderful evening.

With that, I decided to go ahead with the running away thing. I was only hurrying the inevitable, I decided. I sniffed, adjusted the straps of my shoes, and painfully stood up. I stepped in the line for  the Transportation and Ticket Center and remembered my violin, which I had left back at the restaurant. Before I could turn back to grab it, though, the monorail pulled up and I forced myself to step on.