Once, I thought I saw a bus driver with his head on backwards.
A guy bought a Coke from a vending machine and when he opened it, it fizzed all over the street. I cried for him.
And three times in the last week I was certain I had seen Justin on the platforms of the underground station.
I got home from uni with wet feet and a headache. Fell asleep on my bed without taking off my shoes. When I woke suddenly, streetlights were glowing through my open curtains. It had begun to rain and the windows were screened in condensation. A waft of spices floated into my room. My stomach grumbled loudly. I glanced at my phone and leapt out of bed. Jess looked up from the frying pan as I stumbled bleary-eyed into the lounge. I sifted through the pile of washing I’d left on the couch.
“Have you seen my apron? I’m late for work.” I rubbed my eyes, desperately trying to make them function properly. Jess slammed down her wooden spoon. It cracked loudly on the bench top.
“You can’t be serious! You’re not going to work in your state, you’re a complete mess.”
I rifled through the washing basket. “I’m fine.”
Jess charged into the laundry and pushed the phone into my hand. “Don’t be so stupid. Call them and say you’re not coming in. You haven’t slept properly for days.”
I closed my eyes wearily. More like weeks, I thought. “I can’t. It’s too short notice. And I need the money.” I wrestled my apron out of the basket and sponged at the globs of crusty tomato sauce. “I called Andrew,” I said, scrubbing furiously. “He doesn’t even know. Hayley hasn’t even told him.”
Jess pulled the apron out of my hand. “What’s the number of the restaurant? I’ll call them. Then you can stay here, eat some of my amazing chicken curry, go to bed and stop stressing over other people’s problems.”
I curled over the top of the washing machine and closed my eyes. “That sounds so good.”
I called my boss, then flopped onto the couch. “I’m going to get fired. And then I won’t have enough money to stay here and I’ll have to go home and beg my parents to take me back in.”
Jess drained the potatoes. “You are not getting fired, Abby. Stop being such a bloody drama queen.” She handed me a bowl. “Eat your dinner.”
I picked at the curry. Jess watched me anxiously.
“Eat it. Every bite.”
My thoughts tumbled blearily over each other. The five hours I had taken off work would be five more good hours of practice. Jess put down her fork.
“Abby, I’m really worried about you and this stupid competition. Do you really want to beat Clara that badly?”
“Clara? This has nothing to do with Clara. It’s something I need to do for myself.”
Jess stirred the pink sauce through her rice. “Well I think it’s making you lose perspective. You can’t let music consume you this much. Despite what Clara may have told you, winning this competition is hardly the be all and end all. It’s not what music’s about, Abby. I’m sure you used to know that.”
I’m sure I did too.
“And making yourself sick like this is only going to ruin your chances.”
“I’m not making myself sick.” I forced down a mouthful of chicken to prove it.
Jess put down her bowl and rubbed my arm. “Uni is meant to be the best time of your life. Don’t go wasting it trying to outdo Clara. It is possible to be passionate about something and still have a life. I’m doing it.”
I sighed irritably. “No offence, but there’s a big difference between wanting to teach a bunch of kids piano and playing violin on the concert hall stage.”
Jess raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You heard.” I mashed a potato between the prongs of my fork.
Jess stood up furiously. “Listen to yourself,” she snapped. “You’ve turned into one of them. Dumping you was the best thing Matt ever did.”
Jess flung open my bedroom door, interrupting me mid-phrase. She snatched my bow. “I’m banning you from practice for a night.”
“Give that back. I don’t have time for this.”
“Julian’s lease runs out on Monday,” she said. “So this is the last Friday night we can ever spend there. Go get in my car.”
“The competition is tomorrow, ” I said, spelling it out like Jess was a two-year-old. “I can’t possibly go. Besides, I couldn’t face Clara right now.”
“You’ll be facing her tomorrow in the dressing rooms,” said Jess. “So you might as well face her tonight. Let’s try and at least have one more night as civilised human beings.”
The six of us ordered Chinese and spread the food out over the empty lounge room floor. The carpet had been steam cleaned and specks of white had appeared in the sea of brown.
“A toast,” said Jess. “To Julian’s house.”
I could hear the lemonade bubbles popping against the side of my plastic cup as I drank.
I stared into the carpet. Clara sat opposite me, Matt across the room. I couldn’t bear to look at either of them.
Roman’s laughter cut through the silence as he relayed a story about the choirmaster. I wished I could be part of his hysterical giggling. I wanted the fun of so many Fridays before. I wanted Roman to go streaking past the window. I wanted to cuddle up with Matt on the mattress in the lounge, or sing along as Jess belted out The Lion King on the piano. I wanted to go back to the days when music- and everything it brought with it- had made me happy.
The house was almost unrecognisable. The wall against which the couch had sat now stood bare. The kitchen was free of the dirty red plates. Even the smell of dog was almost gone.
I picked at my noodles, then tossed the plastic bowl into a garbage bag. I stood up and wandered onto Julian’s back porch. The first of the summer insects flickered around the light. The back yard that had hosted countless parties was quiet and dark. Brown Dog lay panting on the patio where Matt and I had once seen the sun rise. I wasn’t sad to see the house go. Things had changed and the memories that lived within the flaky white walls were memories that now hurt to remember.
I turned as the back door creaked loudly.
“Hi,” said Clara with a hint of a smile. She sat on the step beside me and hugged her knees. A stilted silence hung between us.
“Jules is glad you came tonight,” she said finally. “He didn’t think you would.”
“Jess made me.”
“I’m going to break up with him,” she said casually. “I don’t have time for anything serious.”
I turned to her. “You’re breaking up? How can you be so blasé about the whole thing? Don’t you even care?”
Clara shrugged. “I’ve got more important things to worry about.” Brown Dog clambered to his feet and started sniffing her bare toes. She shoved him away. “God, I hate that stupid animal.”
We stared silently into the garden. A mosquito buzzed around my face. Inside the house I could hear Jess and Roman giggling.
“Do you ever think about giving it all up?” Clara whispered suddenly.
“Giving what up? The violin?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I said. “Never.”
“I think about it all the time,” said Clara.
I looked at her in surprise. Waited for her to speak again, but she just played with the buckles on her sandals.
“Abby?” she said finally.
“What?”
“Don’t do this competition.”
I frowned. “You’re asking me to pull out?”
“Yes. Please.”
I laughed a little. “Why? You worried I’ll beat you?”
Clara looked at me pleadingly. In the pale blue light, her skin was almost translucent. “I have to win this,” she said. “Or my dad will freak.”
“You’re serious.”
She nodded.
“Forget it! Winning this is important to me too.”
“Please, Abby. “I’ve helped you out in the past. And what about all that Standing Waves stuff you’ve
got?”
I clenched my teeth. “Why would you bring that up? You know I’m done with all of that.”
Clara shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just… It was your thing. You were good at it.”
“I’m not pulling out,” I said. “No way.”
Clara didn’t speak again. She sat wordlessly beside me, twirling a silver ring around her finger. I sighed with relief when Jess’s voice echoed through the house.
“Abby, we’re leaving. It’s time to go…”
When we got home, I managed to squeeze in a couple of bleary-eyed hours of practice. At midnight, Jess appeared in my doorway and announced that if I didn’t shut the fuck up, she’d back her car over my violin and call my mother.
Exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I carried my blankets and CD player outside and curled up on the back step. It had rained a little and the concrete was damp. The grass glistened in the streetlamps. Through the gaps in the fence, I could see specks of the glittering city. Red and yellow lights cut through the smoke of the Docklands. The lamps of the Westgate Bridge surged upwards. Cars swished on the wet road as they swept past the house.
I flicked on the CD player and listened to the opening movement of my concerto. I curled up, pressing my head into my knees until my forehead pounded. I longed for the place the music had taken me to the first time I had heard it. I rubbed my eyes and felt the blisters on my fingers sting. My stomach grumbled loudly, followed by the bitter sickness that had followed me for weeks. This is rock bottom, I told myself, desperate not to fall any further. I couldn’t understand how the best thing ever to happen to me had come to this.
My heart ached. Until then, I had always thought that that was a cliché, but there it was; the physical pain; the rock-like weight that had taken up permanent residence in my chest. I changed the disc to a burned copy of a Standing Waves gig. I had learnt all the words of the Spanish love poem. The relaxed percussion intertwined with Matt’s guitar and my own jazzy improvisation. Over the top floated the vocal line. I had been Matt’s inspiration.
I clicked to the next track. Solo violin.
“What the hell are you doing now?” Jess demanded. She was standing on the top step in mismatched flannel pyjamas; her hair bunched into a crooked ponytail.
“Listening to music,” I said.
“Freakin hell, Abby. Go to bed.” She paused. “God, what is that? It’s beautiful.”
I hugged my knees. “Stratosphere. Matt’s piece.” His name caught in my throat.
Jess sat beside me and turned up the volume. Every note was a kick in the chest. I turned off the CD hurriedly.
“God,” I said. “I’ve ruined everything. I’m the biggest idiot in the world.”
“Yeah,” said Jess. “You are.”
Two hours of sleep later, I was backstage at the Con for the concerto competition. I could hear distant chatter as the audience filed into the hall. Around me, members of the orchestra were warming up, snatches of scales and pieces thundering against my forehead.
Clara sashayed into the dressing room. She was radiant in a long black evening gown; her hair in a tidy knot at the base of her neck. I felt like a schoolgirl in my knee length black skirt and blouse. She didn’t acknowledge me. Whatever had passed between us the night before was over. Now we were nothing but rivals.
I ran into the toilets and chucked my guts up.
“Hey you okay in there?” I heard someone call. I was too embarrassed to answer.
When I came out of the bathroom, Matt was hovering in the corner of the dressing room.
“You came,” I said huskily. “How did you get in here?”
He smiled and it made my heart hurt to look at him. “This is the Con,” he laughed. “Not the Opera House. I just opened the door and walked in.”
I tried to smile, but my mouth felt numb. “Are you here to see me?” I asked. “Or Clara?”
“Why the hell would I want to see Clara?”
“Well I’m not all that sure why you would want to see me either.”
He took a step towards me. “Jesus, Abby, you look exhausted. What are you doing to yourself?”
Without thinking, I lurched forward and sunk into his chest. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes and inhaled his familiar smell. For the first time in days I could have slept.
“I just wanted to come and wish you good luck,” he said. “I know how important this is to you.”
My throat was too dry to speak. I grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and squeezed tightly, trying to tap into his warmth. Matt stepped back and ended the hug before I was ready. I felt tears behind my eyes. The moment was over and in minutes I would have to go on stage and try and prove to myself that I wasn’t a hack.
“I suppose I should go wish Clara good luck, shouldn’t I,” said Matt.
“I suppose you should.”
Clara was flapping around the dressing room flirting with a cellist from the orchestra.
“Hi Matt!” she squeaked. “Thanks for coming!” She made a huge show of kissing him on each cheek, seeking me out over his shoulder to make sure I was watching. I turned away. I closed my eyes and clutched my violin to me, trying to forget Clara was pawing my ex in the corner. Matt walked past and slapped me on the arm like I was one of the boys.
“Play well.”
By the time I stepped on stage, I was so exhausted the whole thing seemed like a dream. I could sense the pulsating energy of the orchestra behind me, the anticipation of the audience in front. I was too tired to care about perfection. Too tired to care if John was happy. Wrong notes crept in. An early entry. I didn’t care.
The audience cheered and I was carried away in the whole surreal experience. I knew the screaming was just Jess and Roman hamming it up in the balcony after a bottle of Passion Pop, but it didn’t matter. For one exhausted, delirious moment, I was on stage in that packed concert hall I had dreamt of for so many years. This, I thought, swaying on legs that could barely stand up, is what it feels like when your dreams come true.
Both Clara and I made the final. My name was called and I was sure I’d misheard. I had been so convinced I wouldn’t make it through that I stood on stage listening with only a detached sense of curiosity. It wasn’t until I heard my name that my heart began to thunder.
I wasn’t rubbish. I had talent.
In a week’s time I would get to live the whole experience again.
“Well done,” said Clara afterwards, with as much sincerity as you could fit on a button. “You played quite well. Especially considering where you were a couple of months ago.”
Exhausted of pretences, I didn’t answer.
Clara swung her bow on one finger. “I thought you were going to play the first two movements.”
“I never said that. We’re only supposed to play one movement.”
“Well yeah,” she shrugged. “I just don’t think Dvorak intended it to be played like that. I mean the first two movements segue into each other. You can’t just stop after one like that. It’s not right… Are you going to play it like that in the final?”
Jess was waiting for me outside. She hugged me. “I knew you were going to be amazing.” She linked her arm through mine and walked me to the tram stop. “I’m shattered that Clara got through though, aren’t you? You’re right about her. She’s all technique and no musicality. It’s boring to listen to…”
I felt like she was speaking through a tunnel. Her voice was distant and distorted. My exhilaration had begun to settle. The dream world was contracting back to reality. All I could think of was sleep. And how in a few hours time I would get up and practise Dvorak all over again.
Prepare to relive the whole Goddamn experience.
THIRTY-SIX
I slept all weekend. I threw my violin case in the back of my wardrobe. Buried my score at the bottom of the piano seat.
I dreamt of Dvorak. The music circled, perfectly at first, then deteriorated into an ugly dissonance. The sound engulfed me and
I was drowning. A vastly different dream to the night I had first heard it.
When I opened my eyes on Monday morning, my room was glowing with late morning light. I glanced at my phone. 10:30. There was a voice message from John.
“Congratulations, Abby. You played well on Saturday night. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to speak to you. I thought you might like to arrange some extra lessons before the final next weekend. Iron out those mistakes that crept in. Call me back, please.”
I tossed the phone back on my nightstand and slid out of bed. I picked up my violin. It dangled in my hand like a broken limb. The thought of playing Dvorak again made my stomach turn. I tossed the violin onto my unmade bed.
Jess was bouncing around the kitchen wearing a sleeveless polka dot dress. Pigtails danced on her shoulders. I wanted to siphon some of her energy into me.
“You’re not practising?” she said. “You always practise in the morning.”
I planted myself on the couch. “Today I’m not.”
She passed me a bucket of instant coffee. “You coming to class then? I’ll wait for you, but you’d better get a move on.”
“Go without me,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”
I stayed on the couch in my pyjamas all day, staring at the portable TV. Jess texted me to see where I was, then called at lunchtime to tell me there was a jumping castle in the uni forecourt.
John rang again in the afternoon. “Abigail. I need to finalise my schedule for this week. Please call me back as soon as possible.”
When Jess came home at six, I was in the same place I’d been when she left.
I was late as hell for work and my care factor had sunk to an all time low. As I wandered across campus, I spotted Matt sitting alone on the lawn. I drew in my breath and walked over to him. “Matt? What are you doing here by yourself?”
He blew a silver thread of smoke into the sky. “I’m dropping out.”
Music From Standing Waves Page 21