by Tia Souders
“Hey.”
I glanced up to see the face attached to the warm voice. The voice I loved. Laird looked down at me, his eyebrows drawn together and his gaze assessing. Leaning toward me, he drew me into his arms and squeezed. Already things seemed slightly more bearable.
He pulled away and took the seat across from me. I relaxed back into my chair and watched his perfect mouth move as he took a sip of my coffee.
Tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, I let myself enjoy a simple moment of just watching him. His thick, sandy hair stood on end as if he had been running his hands through it all the way here. I marveled at how his skin glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the cafeteria, somehow making him look more alive. His ocean-blue eyes met mine, and his lips curved into a smile.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
I had given him a brief rundown of the prior day’s events over the phone before he came because I wanted him to know what he was walking into. Despite all my crazy, it still amazed me he was here.
“How are you?” he asked.
“A little confused, but I’m dealing. I suppose it would be a lot more painful to find out about June and my parents if I had been really close to them, if things hadn’t been already so screwed up. It’s stupid to feel like I don’t know who I am anymore, but it’s hard not to.”
Laird reached across the table and enveloped my hand in his, and his touch was all the reassurance I needed. “And Tad?”
I sighed. “Pretty shaken… crying on and off.” A spurt of laughter erupted from inside me as I continued. “Of course, he’s excited about us being related. Typical Tad. In between the tears, he’s stoked that I’m his aunt.”
Laird grinned. “Yup. Sounds like him.”
I leaned back and wrapped my hands around my coffee cup. “What do I do now?”
“You do what you’ve always done. You survive, Sam.”
I shook my head and bit my lip before looking back up at him. “I mean, do I leave tonight? For Juilliard?” The words lodged in my throat, but I swallowed over them and continued. “Tad needs me.”
“Do you really think he’d want you to miss your audition? He worked with you for six months, listening to you play, cheering you on and helping you. We both did. Do you really think he’d want you to miss this? There’s nothing you can do to stop the inevitable. June’s dying. She’ll die whether you stay or not.”
“But how will I leave him in the fall? How will I know he’s okay?”
Laird tugged on my hand and laughed, ducking his head and trapping my downcast eyes with his own. “What about me? Aren’t you worried if I’ll be okay?”
My mouth lifted. “Of course. It seems so unfair though.”
“What seems unfair?”
“At the moment? Just about everything.”
24
Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
The Tagore poem was one I latched onto and became familiar with in seventh-grade literature class. The words had embedded themselves in my memory like a brand, and they stuck with me today. Except I realized now those words actually carried only a small amount of truth in them.
I had never witnessed the process of death before, and as I stood in the cramped hospital room, staring down at June, I realized there was indeed a process. June had fallen into a deep sleep after my conversation with her yesterday and had not woken. It was as if those last words were the only ones left needed to be spoken, as if holding them in helped her cling to life, but the moment she said them, she was able to let go. I clenched my jaw. She should have saved her last words for Tad, for the child who loved her like a mother, instead of the child who felt as if she hardly knew her.
Her body lay immobile. Skeletal arms rested on top of the standard issue hospital blanket with purplish-gray skin the same shade as a stormy sky. Breath rasped from her chest like a baby’s rattle. There was no sweet parting for Tad who sat next to her. The pain in his eyes drowned the youthful lines of his face, melting them into a mask of grief while June languished in a haze of morphine. There was nothing beautiful about June’s dying, nothing to rejoice. Death pillaged, leaving nothing but grief and pain in its wake, and I would not light its way.
Laird placed a soft hand on my arm. It was time.
“Maybe I’ll stay just a little longer,” I said.
“You still need to pack and get ready. You’ll be late if you stay any longer,” Laird murmured.
My eyes remained on Tad, watching, waiting for a breakdown only I could help repair. He glanced up, his eyes locking with mine. “You need to go.” He removed his glasses and rubbed the damp, puffy skin around his eyes. “I’m serious. I’ll be okay. Laird said he’d keep me company.”
Laird squeezed my arm as if in confirmation.
A grin spread over Tad’s face in juxtaposition with his grief-stricken eyes. “Besides, how cool will it be to tell everyone my aunt is Samantha Becker, and she goes to The Juilliard School in New York City?”
I stiffened, unwilling to smile. “So that’s what this is about? Bragging rights?”
“Of course. What else is there?” He put his glasses back on and blinked at me.
Though I hated to leave, everything I had worked toward, everything all three of us had been waiting for, depended on my audition. A matter of minutes where I’d play in front of a panel of experts. “You’ll call if you need me?” I asked, though I knew they wouldn’t.
Tad nodded. I went to him and hugged him tightly, hoping to leave him with a bit of my strength. When I leaned back, I glanced at June. I didn’t know if she would still be alive when I returned. I wanted to reach out, to touch her and bid my goodbyes, but a part of me held back. What did I say to her? What kind of goodbye could I possibly give to the woman with a secret larger than life?
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Take care, June,” I whispered.
There were no secrets in death. I stared at her until my eyes burned and then touched my lips to her temple. I forced myself away from the bed and to the door.
Laird walked me out of the room and down the hall. At the elevator, he kissed me and said, “Knock ‘em dead.”
* * *
My carry-on lay open on my bed. I threw a handful of clothes in the bottom then dashed to my dresser, opening the top drawer and yanking out a couple pairs of socks and underwear. Adrenaline pumped through me as I ran into my bathroom and piled cosmetics, toothpaste, and other essentials into my arms. I couldn’t forget anything, but I had to get out of the house if I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss my flight. I also needed to leave before my father realized I was home. When I had pulled into the drive, I noticed his car in the garage, but upon entering the house, there was no sign of him. I wanted to keep it that way.
Moving back into the bedroom, I piled the items on top of my clothes and zipped the suitcase shut. I ran a quick hand through my hair. It was in desperate need of a wash, but a shower would have to wait until I got to my hotel tonight.
I scanned the room while my mind poured over an internal checklist. Satisfied I had everything, I lifted my small suitcase and guitar case off the bed. Sweat beaded over my face and neck as the sudden thought of something happening to my guitar on the flight hit me. Maybe I should have driven?
Shaking my head, I cast the thoughts aside. They were of no use to me now. I left the room and moved slowly down the hall, wanting to hurry but needing to take care and not make any noise. The muscles in my back and arms stiffened as I approached my parent’s bedroom, the last room before the sta
ircase.
I startled as I heard my father’s voice. A foot away from the door, I brought my bag and guitar in closer to my body, careful not to bump into the wall. Taking a deep breath, I stepped just past the small crack in the door. I had lifted my foot to take the final step when I heard my name. I froze and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he’d leave me be. But instead, he continued talking in the same hushed tone. I opened my eyes and knotted my forehead as I tilted my head to better hear. The door muffled his words, so I shifted slightly until I could see just inside the small opening. He stood, his back turned toward me, talking into the phone.
The hair on my arms stood on end. Something wasn’t right. Squinting, I strained further to hear the conversation, only making out bits and pieces.
“I know about your financial problems with… My daughter is not to get in. I don’t care about the others… You are one of three on the panel, giving you one-third the power… Right now, your daughter’s sitting all comfy in her posh dorm, but all of that could go away if I revoke your financial aid… All it would take is a phone call to the credit bureau. Or I could forgive all your debts with us. I trust your word, but I have a lot riding on this. I could lose my daughter. Do you understand? Not a risk I’m willing to take… If you need some added incentive, I’m sure I can still get a flight out.”
He paused for a moment, appearing to listen to the person on the other line, and then said, “I don’t care how well she does, Samantha is to be rejected. Understood?” Then he hung up and began to turn toward the door.
25
With a start, I hurried down the stairs, being quiet no longer a priority. My mind reeled. I busted through the front door without bothering to close it behind me. Running down the walk, I threw open the door to my truck, pushing my bags and guitar inside and climbing in after them. I didn’t know if my father heard me because I never looked back. Once I was on the road and cruising down I-95 with my heart thumping like a kettle drum, I allowed myself to think of the conversation I overheard.
How long had he been planning this? All along, I thought. It explained why he hadn’t done anything sooner to thwart my plans to audition. He had some sort of connection to one of the panel members. The bank had loaned him money for his daughter’s tuition, and my father had the leverage he needed. The threat of pulling funding outweighed the members’ opinion of my work, no matter how amazing I played. And why not? I was just one student, just one prospect out of so many. It would be easy for him to convince the other two panel members to accept someone else in lieu of the girl with four fingers.
I screamed, beating a clenched fist against the steering wheel. “I hate him!” Anger crashed through me in blinding waves. I grit my teeth, trying to calm myself and focus on the road.
The uncertainty of whether I should leave Tad for the audition left me. In its place, determination smoldered. Though I knew there was no chance of getting accepted anymore, I was still here. He always scoffed at my playing, telling me I wouldn’t make it. My whole life I was told I couldn’t make a living with the music I loved so much, that no career could ever be made from a girl with a guitar. I wanted to show the panel of three judges, one of them biased, who I was—the best. Even one less finger hadn’t stopped me because I was unstoppable.
Tomorrow was battle; my music my weapon.
* * *
Rage gave way to exhaustion as a grain of defeat simmered behind my determination.
I lay in bed, the whirl of the heater and my thoughts my only company. Brown and cream striped wallpaper covered the spacious room. Heavy damask drapes framed a window facing out into the streets of the city where the muffled noise of traffic and activity had lessened some into the night. My hair, still wet from my shower, lay across my pillow, chilling me. I rolled over, bottling down the feelings of hopelessness. Nothing would come of dwelling on what was. I needed to remain focused. If I let it, one grain of defeat would turn into a million until it weighed on my chest like a ton of sand.
“I have to get some sleep,” I whispered into the dark.
Changing tactics, I thought of Tad and Laird. When I had called them just after my flight arrived, they informed me June’s condition hadn’t changed, good or otherwise. I hadn’t the nerve to tell them about my father. What good would it do? Besides, I still had the heat of my shock and anger to propel me forward. The first beads of doubt didn’t surface until I arrived at the hotel.
I closed my eyes, trying to force all thoughts from my mind and prayed for sleep, knowing it was the only thing to keep me from dwelling. Sure enough, when I woke the next morning, perspective was more at hand. I went to the lobby café where I scarfed down a good breakfast—eggs, bacon, and waffles—since I didn’t expect to eat again until after my audition at one o’clock. When I returned to my room, I settled down on the edge of my bed to practice for a couple of hours before leaving. My playing was strong. I did several stretching techniques, moving down the bars of the guitar, then moved into my audition pieces. By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, I was ready.
26
What do new beginnings smell like? The sweet scent of baby powder on an infant’s milky skin? Nectar, like honey, from a thousand flowers on your wedding day? The stale, inky scent of cardboard and newspaper as one’s things are unwrapped to fill a new home? For me, it was smog from thousands of vehicles mixed with the clean essence of freshly fallen rain on the pavement.
I emerged from my hotel into the street. Sun peeked through thick, still-angry clouds, not having spilled enough tears to satisfy. I breathed deep, taking in the crisp edge to the air. I felt the weight of the guitar case slung over my back. But more pressing was the weight of the knowledge that today my life would change one way or the other.
I walked the block to the subway, taking in the faces of the countless strangers passing me on the street and paying no attention to my presence. Nerves began to perch in my chest, tightening it perceptibly as I drew closer. I took the stairs two at a time down the entrance to the subway trains, the tall sentry skyscrapers disappearing from sight.
I waited in front of the rails, letting the significance of the day wash over me. The single most important day of my life had arrived, and no one could take it away from me. Not my father with his scheming or June with her last-minute secrets.
The A Train arrived and would take me from Eighth Avenue to Columbus Circle Station, 59th street. From there, Juilliard was only a few blocks north on Broadway. I climbed aboard, barely noticing the passengers next to me. My mind was a one-way train, focused only on my audition and the music I had to play. I went over each audition piece in my mind, letting the repetition soothe me, keeping my nerves from consuming me.
By the time I got off the subway, it was almost eleven-thirty. The heels of my shoes clicked on the concrete, and I wondered for the millionth time if I was underdressed. With so much going on in the past couple days, I hadn’t given much thought to my wardrobe. My white blouse and black pants, if not impressive, were at least efficient.
I hurried down the city streets, sidestepping many of the slower pedestrians. Some wore suits, their cell phones glued to their ears, while others dressed in business casual. Younger faces closer to my own age passed by, truly a melting pot of colors, culture, and race, and I could envision myself here—doing this every day.
Several blocks later, I arrived. The concrete and glass architecture towered above me. I stared in awe, unable to imagine how I must look, standing there still as stone. People passed by it every day and paid no mind. To others, they saw another beautiful building. There were many in the city. But it wasn’t just any building. It was a future. A place I had dreamt about too many nights to count. It was a place I thought I might never get the chance to see. For after I lost my finger, I felt certain I would never set foot inside such a home for the arts. It was blood, sweat, and tears. It was The Juilliard School.
I steadied myself with a deep breath, feeling the heavy presence of nerves burrowing inside me. I
closed my eyes. The sounds within were not difficult to imagine—the music, the acting, the laughing and chatter of students as they went to class. Images of dancing, of tights and Pointe shoes, and basses, guitars, and pianos flitted through my mind’s eye.
My throat went bone dry with anticipation as my eyes fluttered open. The waiting was over. My time had come.
I mounted the stairs toward the entrance with its towering wall of glass. Tad, June, Laird, and my father threatened to push their way into the forefront of my thoughts. The wings of anxiety beat inside me like a trapped moth as I tried to ignore the simple fact that everything rode on the next few hours.
Swallowing, I opened the door and went inside. Students milled by. An expansive staircase spread out before me. My phone call in the airport yesterday had confirmed I was to ascend the stairs to the third floor for auditions, but I had forgotten to ask about a place to warm-up. I stepped forward into a stream of students and tapped a short, blond boy on the shoulder.
“I’m here for an audition. Do you happen to know where I can go to practice?”
He held a small black case for what I assumed might be a violin. His eyes moved down my body, assessing me. He snorted. “Yeah, good luck finding an empty room. I got here three hours early for my audition and still couldn’t find one. They’ll give you a warm-up room, but only thirty minutes before your scheduled time.”
“Oh, thanks.” I blew out a long breath and ascended the stairs, trying not to let his negativity rattle me and making my way to the third floor. I checked in with a straight-faced, middle-aged woman at a table, hiding behind several stacks of paper. She took my name, confirmed my audition time of one o’clock, and told me where to be.
“They’re running behind, so just be ready and waiting around one.”