by Jeff Ross
And soon enough, it was over.
People were clapping.
My hands were still sweaty, my heart was pounding, my legs felt slightly wobbly, but I was done.
Someone shouted “Bravo!” I looked to see Andrew Armstrong clapping and nudging James in the arm. “Bravo!” he yelled again.
I didn’t fall down the stairs getting off the stage either, which had been my irrational fear the second I finished playing. I just tucked my violin under one arm and walked off.
It hadn’t been easy, getting up there. Holding that bow. Clearing my mind. None of it was easy. But I did it.
“Well, you blew them away,” Danielle said as I put my violin into its case. “One of the guys from Juilliard kept shaking his head. Like, in disbelief.”
“Can I have your autograph?” Jon said.
“No,” I said. “You’re not worthy.”
“Ohhhh, snap,” he said. He was still laughing when Alisha came over with James Ehnes.
James Ehnes put his hand out.
James Ehnes smiled.
James Ehnes said, “That was very impressive.”
James Ehnes took my hand and shook it. Then he put his hands in his pockets and said, “I played that on my first CD.”
“I know,” I managed.
“It’s a thrilling piece. The dynamics are so intricate.”
“Yes,” I said.
James Ehnes smiled at me again. “You have a bright future ahead,” he said. “Enjoy every second of it.” Then someone called his name and he was ushered away by a woman with sleek brown hair and stunning blue eyes.
“That was exceptional, Will,” Alisha said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You seemed fine up there. Were you fine?”
“I was fine,” I said. “It was good.”
“It was good,” she said. Then she grabbed my head in both her hands and kissed my forehead. “It was triumphant.”
I didn’t feel triumphant or perfect or successful or any of the other things people told me I was. I’d played the piece the way I wanted to. For a brief moment, just the length of that piece, I had silenced the fear. I’d pushed it out of me altogether, right down into the stage and beyond, farther, deeper. I’d buried it underground.
But I knew it would always be there.
* * *
There was a closing reception that night.
I danced with Danielle to a horrible pop song. It made no sense to me that the school had hired some hack DJ for this party. Then again, it wasn’t like we loved only classical music. We could dance. We could laugh at the ridiculous lyrics and at times sing along.
Somehow Jon got to the DJ, and before the night was over at least four Swedish hip-hop songs had been played.
Danielle and I drank punch and watched Jon dancing with Olivia. I can’t say I have ever seen anyone look happier. First it was a fast dance, where they kind of shuffled around one another. Then a slow one. She even leaned her head against his shoulder once.
I wondered which touchstone had worked for Jon. What connection he’d managed to make. Or maybe Olivia had seen what real people had to offer over virtual ones.
The party went on deep into the night, but since I wasn’t staying at the university, I said my goodbyes, accepted the congratulations from everyone and got on a bus for home.
I could mostly see just my reflection in the window of the bus. Bits of the outside world hovered to the surface now and then, only to disappear again. A bunch of university kids got on at one stop, drunk and talking too loudly about things I couldn’t even understand. Punching each other in a jovial way I’d never made sense of. Bothering everyone else on the bus. I kept to my seat, hunkered down.
For the past two weeks I’d felt more myself than I ever had at school—or even with my friends. Everyone at the workshop was, in some way, like me. If nothing else, we had music to bring us together. A common understanding of how playing one note after another made us feel.
Kept us alive.
Fifteen
Under a gray, dim sky, I returned to the university in the morning.
Alisha was the first person I saw. She was coming out of the administration building, looking not unlike my mother after a day in a government office.
“Will,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I just came to say goodbye to everyone.”
“Of course, yes. They’ll be packing up in the dorm.” She sat on a bench. “What a great two weeks.”
“For sure,” I said, sitting next to her.
“And I understand you’re going to New York to audition at Juilliard?”
“I am,” I said.
“You’ll do great, Will,” Alisha said.
The call had come in the night before. Mr. Cain, one of the administrative people who had been at the concert, had phoned before I’d even gotten home. My father had told him we’d be there, even though they wanted me to audition the very next week.
“I’m pretty lucky to have the kind of parents who will drop everything and take me to New York.”
“You are. Juilliard is paying for the trip as well, I hear?”
“Yeah.”
“They really want you there, Will. They see your talent. They see the type of musician you could become. It’s so exciting.” She squeezed my hand and shook it.
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
“I did nothing. It was my father.” Her eyes turned to the sky. “He hasn’t been well. Have you noticed?”
“A little.”
“He’s going in for more tests today. I’m taking him this afternoon. It might be nothing, but you never know.”
“I’ll see him tomorrow,” I said.
“Hopefully.” She let go of my hand and patted my knees. “You take care of yourself. Practice for the audition. Get excited about this, Will. It’s the greatest opportunity you can imagine.”
I saw Jon coming out of the dorm and stood up. I didn’t want him to leave before I said goodbye. “I have to run,” I said to Alisha.
“Of course. Come by tomorrow if you can. I’m sure Dad will be fine.”
I darted across the road to the dorm just as a car pulled up. “Jon!” I yelled. I stumbled on the curb and kind of scrambled toward him.
“Hulk-Aid, slow down.”
The trunk of the car opened. I could see a man in the driver’s seat—Jon’s dad, I assumed—talking on his cell phone.
“So, you’re leaving?” I asked Jon.
“Um, yeah, it’s over.”
I nodded a million times, then picked up one of his bags. “And…Olivia?”
“We’re going to facebook. But honestly, she’s an older woman. I don’t stand that much of a chance.”
“You tried,” I said.
“Tried? I guess you didn’t notice us totally making out on the dance floor last night.” He winked at me.
“I didn’t notice that.”
“That’s because it never happened,” Jon said, laughing. “Take it easy, Will. I hope you get whatever it is you want.”
“Same to you,” I said.
I threw his bag into the trunk.
“Yeah, well, I’m going to need to figure out what that is first,” he said. He put his hand out and we did an exaggerated handshake before he slipped into the car. “Dani’s still up there, if you want to say goodbye. Olivia lives in Ottawa, so I think she’s already gone.”
“I’ll go say ’bye.” I gave the hood of the car a quick triple thump, then turned before I had to watch it drive away.
I settled down on a bench in front of the dorm and watched the door, hoping there wasn’t some other exit Dani could leave by. I’d been there about fifteen minutes when Cathy stepped out.
When she saw me, she put down her suitcase and sniffed as though there was a bad smell in the area. “Don’t you live here?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“And so you just hang around at the university?”
“No, I’m just saying goodbye to some people.” I waited a moment. I was about to ask her why she had to be so cruel and petty. But I already knew the answer. She saw everyone as competition. People whom she had to be better than. Maybe it was because I’d never been a part of the whole classical-music crowd in Ottawa, or anywhere else, but viewing other musicians as my competition had never crossed my mind. I couldn’t see what good it would do anyone. It seemed to have left Cathy feeling bitter.
“So I guess you are special after all,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, do the humble thing. That kills people.” She picked her suitcase back up and started off down the ramp.
“Hey, Cathy,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck with everything.” For a second, I thought she was going to respond. Instead, she carried on down the ramp without another word.
“What are you doing here?” I turned back from watching Cathy’s slow descent to find Dani beside me.
“Oh, I came to say goodbye to everyone.”
“Including Cathy?”
“We traded pleasantries.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Something like that.” I stood and took her bag from her.
“I didn’t want to leave my room,” she said. “but they kicked us out to clean the place.”
It was just after ten in the morning. “Want to hang out?”
“Sure,” she said, looping her arm in mine.
We left her luggage in the administration building, and instead of turning toward the market, we walked over the Laurier Avenue Bridge and down to the canal. Boats slowly moved along the waterway, along with a class of stand-up paddle boarders who bounced, jittered and held on for dear life against every wave.
We stopped to look up at the National Arts Centre as we passed. “You’ll play in there one day,” Dani said.
“I doubt that.”
“I don’t. Not for a minute.”
“What about you?” I said. “Are you going to keep playing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, for myself. I don’t have what it takes to make it.”
“Sure you—”
“I don’t. I might have thought I did before, but after hearing you and some of the other people these last two weeks, I know I don’t. I love playing though. That’s enough.”
We walked along the pathway, dodging runners and cyclists. Eventually we stopped at the hot-dog stand Mr. Jorgensen and I always went to. I had just enough to buy two dogs and a bag of fries.
“Not quite up to the dinner you bought us, but…” I said.
We sat on the grass and let the sun wash over us. There was just enough of a breeze to cool us off. “So, I’m going to New York,” I said. “To audition for Juilliard.”
Dani punched me on the arm. “Shut up.”
“Yeah.”
“That is awesome. See, that’s what I mean. You have it. Juilliard is not knocking down my door.”
“And that’s okay, right?”
“Sure. I had dreams. But dreams change. Will, I am so happy for you.”
“I still have to get in,” I said.
“You will.” She shook her head in disbelief. “What a ride you’re getting on.”
“So…thanks,” I said.
“For what?”
“For helping me. Like, with my nerves.”
“Nerves,” she said, tossing the hot-dog wrapper into a garbage can. “They can’t hold you back.” She punched me again and laughed. “I doubt anything can.”
Sixteen
Mr. Jorgensen had a monitor hooked up to his chest and a big electric box on the table beside him when I went to visit the next day.
“I’m pretty certain they’re testing to make sure I’m still alive,” he said.
I laughed.
“Don’t laugh—there have been doubts.”
I took my regular seat.
He looked really tired. “They’ve also got me on some drugs that make me sleepy, so don’t expect very vibrant conversation here.”
“Okay,” I said. “Did you hear about Juilliard?”
“Did I hear about Juilliard,” he said. “Of course I did. And of course you’re going. And of course they’re going to let you in.” He looked to the ceiling. “We’ll miss you here.”
“It’s just an audition.”
“An audition is one thing, Will, if you apply to a place like that. They bring in hundreds of people just to make sure the future of music doesn’t slip through their fingers. But they’ve asked you to come after hearing you. This isn’t an audition, Will. This is those two scouts who were here showing you off to their friends. A big ‘Look what we found in sleepy old Ottawa.’”
“You think so?”
“Pack your bags, Will. You might not be coming back.” He laughed. The laugh turned into a cough. “I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Everything that happens from here on in is entirely due to your love of the music. It’s a dying art, Will. But you will keep it alive.”
“No pressure,” I said.
“No, Will. No pressure at all. You keep playing for yourself and let the rest of the world decide what it is you’re doing.”
“I’ll try.” A bus stopped outside and I turned to look, as I always do. A bunch of people got off. The last three were kids with skateboards. They rolled down the street, grinding and sliding off anything they could and looking totally carefree.
“I think I’m going to get a skateboard,” I said jokingly as I turned back around. I didn’t get an answer, though, because Mr. Jorgensen was already asleep.
Seventeen
We arrived at the airport later than we’d intended. I’d stopped at Mr. Jorgensen’s door half a dozen times that morning, but he wasn’t there.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” my mother said. “Alisha said he’s had a lot of appointments lately.”
“Okay,” I said. But I had a strange feeling that this time it wasn’t just an appointment. That something had happened.
Something bad.
Then we were in the airport, and there were people everywhere and none of us knew where to go. My mother wanted to buy a magazine, something she never did, and my father spent ten minutes trying to understand why you had to empty out all your water, so by the time we actually got into the International Departures line, there was a good chance we were going to miss our plane entirely.
I kept looking back at the giant inner space of the airport. There were TVs everywhere, and a steadily descending waterfall covered most of one wall. People with cell phones pressed to their ears. Kids holding their parents’ hands on the escalator. And so much noise. It seemed as though a new announcement blared from the speaker system every five seconds. I was so enthralled by all the motion and noise and the immensity of the place that I didn’t even see him at first.
Mr. Jorgensen.
Alisha was there, pushing her father in a wheelchair. She left him a short distance away and rushed over to us. “I’m so sorry we weren’t there to see you off. Dad had an incident last night when he was at my place, and we’ve been at the hospital.”
He looked even more fragile sitting there.
“Is he okay?” I said.
“He will be,” Alisha said. “As much as he can be.” She said hello to my parents. The line shifted ahead of us.
“Isn’t he going to come over?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He wants to say goodbye. They gave him some drugs this morning that are making it really difficult for him to speak. So you might not get much more than a couple of words.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t completely sure what was going on, but I could see that Alisha was very concerned.
“He shouldn’t be here, but there was no way I could keep him away.”
“Can we get out of line and see him?” I asked my father.
“We’re tight for time,” he said. The line behind us stretched a
ll the way into an area that was not cordoned off. It would take forever to get back to where we were now. My mom let people pass as Alisha stepped away. While she was walking back to her father, I had an idea. I quickly set my violin case on the floor and opened it. It only took a moment for me to get the instrument out and tighten my bow. As Alisha came back, pushing her father, I began to play. Silence swept through the terminal like a wave, leaving only the sound of my violin in its wake.
Or, at least, that was how it felt.
I played Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin—Melodia (Adagio). Slow. Steady. Letting each note flow from my fingers. Letting the sound escape the violin as though it had been freed from prison. Or as though it hadn’t ever existed until I thought to create it.
Mr. Jorgensen smiled. He brought a hand to his face. Pretended he wasn’t wiping away a tear. As I finished, he slowly nodded to me.
Everyone around us applauded. I held my violin beneath my arm. Held my bow firmly in one hand. And bowed.
But I was only bowing for Mr. Jorgensen.
“Adagio,” he said, still nodding. “At ease.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
The line pushed us forward. We were out of time.
“You’re welcome, my boy.”
“I’ll see you when I get back,” I said.
He smiled briefly. “Absolutely.”
We pushed through the doors to the security check. The guard, a man almost exactly my height with a big beard and thick black-rimmed glasses, looked at my violin as I was attempting to get it back in its case. “Was that you playing out there?”
“It was,” I said.
“That was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“No, thank you. You just made my day.”
It was as if I was gathering people’s emotions. As if every time someone listened and really heard what I was playing, I was pushing the voice of doubt farther and farther down. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. That the fear would flare up again, shaking my body, clouding my mind. But I also knew I could control it.