Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Piano and Violin

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
I watch him, silently, as he draws his hand gracefully into the air, the bow glossy and elegant in his hand. He hovers the bow a millimeter above the smooth strung strings. I watch him close his eyes in fierce concentration, and watch them snap open, filled with light. I bite my lower lip. And I watch him focus on the stand in front of him, as the pure silence stretches.

Then he draws the bow across the violin, and a sweet, beautiful sound flares into the air. He is surrounded by two others, but my eyes focus only on him. Fierce, concentrated. He falls into an easy rhythm, his fingers flying as his bow releases glistening notes into the air. The others stand equally next to him, their own violins harmonizing. But I know he's the leader of the group. His melody is the most intricate and pronounced, and there is a certain confidence on his face that shows it.

His bow glides fluidly across the dark honey-amber instrument, and as the music swirls and ensnares everyone, I can feel myself sigh. I sit there, absolutely content, until I feel the notes begin to slow. When the song comes to a grand finish, he flourishes his bow into the air, grinning widely. He bows, and I let myself smile faintly. The applause swells, and I clap as well, watching him leave the stage, and reappear into the audience. And then I slip out, backstage.

As the curtains rise on this new performance, I feel the lights shining heavily on me. But I, myself, suddenly feel light. As I rest my gaze on the glossy ebony piano and pearly keys, a peace settles over me. I lightly hover my fingers above the cool keys, and take a deep breath.

Before I start, I glance into the audience, searching. I find him, his dark gaze focused up on stage. On me. I quickly look away, fighting the pink threatening to appear on my cheeks. But I smile, and start off my piece, the notes light and artfully arranged, each note suspended in air before another replaces it. My smile grows. The song I play is a complicated one, but delicate and beautiful when mastered. I've never played it better. Because for once (my gaze steals over to him) I'm not the one doing the watching.

I can tell my cheeks are flushed, but I don't care anymore. As my song reaches it's peak, my fingers whirl across the keys, and my eyes brighten. As my gaze sweeps the audience once more.

After all this time...

Finally, he is the one watching me.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~



Join the Discussion


This article has 1 comment. Post your own!

Bloody-love said...
Oct. 26, 2012 at 9:35 am:
this is good keep up the good work:)
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Site Feedback