Music From Standing Waves

by Johanna Craven

  She raises her eyebrows. Maybe I am determined to make things difficult.

  Rachel shoves me away as Justin appears beside us. He smiles broadly and kisses me achingly close to the edge of my lips.

  “How was the wedding?”

  “Okay,” I say shortly. “I guess it was nice.”

  “So we were just saying,” Rachel interrupts. “That we’re going to play pool when Abby’s hot violin teacher’s finished. And I think that they’re finished now so we should go.” She grabs her drink and makes a wobbly beeline for the table. Justin touches my elbow as I stand up.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “With Nick leaving and stuff?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. He can’t stay here.”

  Justin nods. “So… did you have a chance to think about what I asked you?”

  I hesitate.

  “I don’t mean to rush you,” he says. “But I just want you to see that things would be different now. I’m different.”

  “Hurry up!” Rachel bellows across the bar. “I can’t mind the table all on my own you know.”

  Justin catches my hand and the unexpectedness of it makes my heart flutter. “Abby, that bastard thing I did to you, I swear I’ll never do anything like that again. I already lost you once. I just hope I haven’t screwed things up with you for good.”

  “Man, I’m pissed,” Rachel announces as she catapults the white ball off the pool table. It rolls under the cigarette machine. “I don’t even normally drink beer. Well I didn’t then I did and I had a bad experience like a really bad experience cos we mixed it with vodka in those test tube shots who ever knew you could get so pissed from drinking out of a freakin test tube? And who drinks out of test tubes anyway? Like mad scientists or something? But anyway I stopped drinking it for ages but now I’ve kind of started again and hey it’s my turn!”

  Justin climbs off his knees with the ball in his hand. “No it’s not. You hit the ball off the table remember?” He pots the eight ball and slides his cue back onto the rack. I wobble on my stool as he slips his arm around my shoulder.

  “I have to work early,” he tells me. “Gonna call it a night. Want me to take you home?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I look up and find myself staring into his eyes. They are sincere, caring, and flecked with green like the sea. I think of the eternal summer of my childhood; of weekends spent entirely in my bathers, of wrestling Justin in the rock pool and of the make-believe games that took us anywhere we wanted. I wrap my arms around his neck. I can smell salt in his hair and for a second I’m flying at the bow of his dad’s boat.

  Rachel skips off down the street, leaving the two of us to walk alone outside the pub. I take Justin’s hand and squeeze tightly. My hand moves up his wrist until I am pulling his bare arm close to my body. He leans in to kiss me. I turn away suddenly. I don’t remember the thought going through my head. It just happens, like I’m programmed that way. Suddenly I’m back where I was four years ago- struggling, screaming, scratching for a way out. I love Justin, my oldest friend; I love him so dearly but it’s not a love strong enough to keep me tied to Acacia Beach. I can’t stay here and clean fish guts off Justin’s boots. But I can’t go back to Melbourne either. I’m floating aimlessly like a leaf on a pond; no roots, no foundations, nowhere to plant myself. Everything I once clung to has turned on me.

  “Okay,” sighs Justin. “Why didn’t you just say?”

  I feel terrible. Now I’m the one playing the stupid games. “I’m so sorry,” I gush. “I wanted to. I really did.” If only I could do simple. I try to hug him but he lifts my arms off his waist.

  “Abby,” he says. “Just don’t. Please. I’ve had enough.”

  He leaves and I watch the footpath for long after he’s disappeared. I have always known our friendship had an expiry date. I think we’ve finally reached it.

  I stand motionless. I can’t go back to the caravan park. Can’t walk back past Justin’s, past Psycho George’s units, back to my old bedroom with the floral doona cover. I drift back inside the pub and clamber gracefully onto the stool beside Andrew.

  “You know,” I announce. “Last time I was here, it wasn’t legal.”

  Andrew laughs. “You’re smashed.”

  “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home with your wonderful wife?”

  “Hayley’s at her mum’s tonight,” says Andrew. “So I guess I’m off the hook. What about you? Your friends pike already?”

  “Yep.” I steal his beer glass and empty it with a huge sigh. “They piked already. And I just ruined things with my oldest friend. And my junkie brother’s gone off somewhere with his junkie wife-”

  “And you missed your violin final.”

  “And I missed my violin final.” I reach across the table and grab the beer jug.

  “Do you want a glass?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just use yours.” I top up the pot with the foamy yellow dregs. “Are we okay?” I ask. “You and me?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Of course. So were you going to win?”

  “No. Apparently I suck.” I drink my beer in one long mouthful. Damp air closes in around me. The tangled laughter grows louder and louder. My head begins to spin. I leap suddenly off the stool, the last of my drink flying out of the glass and slopping over Andrew’s knee.

  “Nice one,” he says, holding my arm to steady me. “Sit down.”

  I yank my arm away. “Let go of me.” I race towards the door. I tear past the yellow streetlights, the hem of my dress flapping around my knees. The bitumen scratches my toes and I realise I’ve lost my sandals somewhere along the road. The ground changes to the sandy strip of grass that separates the road from the beach. I slow to a dazzled wander towards the rock pool. Faint music from the pub floats across the beach. I kneel on the edge of the pool, my breath shooting through my lungs. I stare into the black water and can just make out a hazy reflection. My heart echoes in my ears. I tear off my dress and dive into the pool.

  The sounds of the street disappear into the underwater silence, replaced by a humming that pushes against my ears. I resurface. My hair drifts listlessly on the water. I draw in my breath and dive beneath the surface again, opening my eyes and watching shadowy black fish wriggle though the ripples.

  My lungs begin to burn and the water pressure pounds my ears. Resisting the urge to surface, I push myself along the bottom and glide through the blackness. Suddenly, a hand snatches my arm and I spring to the surface, gasping.

  Andrew lets out his breath. “Jesus, Abby. Get out of there! What the hell are you doing?”

  I stumble out of the water and throw on my dress hurriedly. It clings to my wet skin.

  “Sorry,” says Andrew. “I shouldn’t have brought up that competition. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I turn away from him ashamedly. Water runs down my back, soaking my dress. “Go back inside. Go back to your friends.”

  “I think they’ll survive without me,” he says. “Besides, someone spilled beer all over my jeans. Come on.” He reaches an arm around my shoulder. “I’m going home. I’ll lend you a towel.”

  FORTY-TWO

  “Are you alright now?” Andrew asks.

  I pull myself onto a stool at the bench. “I guess.” I sigh and squeeze the moisture out of my hair. I can remember sitting in the same place at the kitchen counter with Hayley, listening to her talk about all sorts of girly things Sarah had never told me.

  Andrew hands me a glass of water. “You’re not really going to stay in Acacia Beach are you? What are you going to do here?”

  “I don’t know,” I sigh. “All I want is to get away from the Con. I don’t have any plans outside of that.” I wriggle in my seat. “I’ve got fucking sand everywhere. I hate this place!”

  Andrew laughs. “No kidding.”

  “It’s not funny! What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here and I can’t go back-”

  “Of course you can go back. Maybe you should keep playing in your ensembles and stu
ff, just take a year off your course. Give yourself some space from all that competitiveness.”

  “What’s the point?” I gulp down my water.

  “Oh Abs.” Andrew leans across the bench and squeezes my wrist. “Come with me.”

  I follow him down to the basement. I let out my breath, overwhelmed by its familiarity. The faint musty smell, the blue wallpaper, the piano… I kneel on the rug. Once, being down here was the only thing that made me happy.

  Andrew slides a CD of our Elgar sonata into the stereo.

  “No,” I say. “I don’t want to listen to music.” But he has already clicked play. The slow movement creeps into the room. Instantly, the melody breaks me. It washes over my defences like floodwater. I feel the music in my throat, in my hands, my chest. Andrew flicks off the light and I stare into the darkness. It has been a long time since I have heard the piece, but my fingers move instinctively as I imagine playing the notes. Andrew sits beside me and I feel his breath against my ear. I turn my head; my eyes catching his in the shadowy room.

  “Don’t you remember?” he asks gently.

  A tear slides across my cheek. I do remember; remember all the optimism the music had given me, and my firm belief that everything would be perfect when I made it to the Con.

  “Hey,” says Andrew. “I don’t want you to get upset. I just want you to remember how much you used to love this. How much fun we used to have.”

  I smile. “Coming here for lessons used to be the highlight of my week. I used to count down the days.”

  “You are such a loser,” he laughs, nudging my thigh with his knee. “Seriously,” he says. “I really missed you, Abs. I missed being able to share all this with you.”

  “I missed you too,” I cough. “So much.”

  I throw my arms around his neck. Tears slide off my cheek and onto Andrew’s chin. He pulls me close to his body and I can feel him breathe. I let myself kiss his lips.

  “Abby…” he says. I kiss him again. He doesn’t pull away. Heat rises through my body, dizzying as it hits my brain. Suddenly words are falling unbridled out of my mouth.

  “Don’t you get it? Everything I loved about music I loved because of you. You made me want to play. You made me want to perform.”

  I press my head into his shoulder. He exhales slowly and keeps holding me. The notes of the violin sonata hang in the space around us. Sultry and chromatic, they weave through the dark like shadows. Suddenly, Andrew jumps off the floor and switches on the light.

  “Jesus,” he says. “What are we doing?”

  “You wanted it too,” I say, with a sudden coldness.

  He clicks off the stereo. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Bullshit! You’re the one that brought me here!” I stand up and glare at him.

  He sighs. “Come on Abs, we can’t do this to Hayley. I know you don’t want to hurt her any more than I do.”

  I clench my teeth. I can’t reply.

  He squeezes my wrist gently. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

  “You can’t stay with Hayley.”

  Andrew glares at me. His eyes darken with an anger I’ve never seen before. “What the hell are you talking about? She’s my wife, Abby. Did you really think you could come between us?”

  “You don’t understand,” I choke.

  “Understand what?”

  ‘You don’t have to deal with it,’ Matt had told me. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

  “She-” I stop myself abruptly. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m so sorry. I’m not thinking straight.” I turn my back. I can imagine the resentment in Andrew’s eyes. “I should go.” I trudge up the stairs, clinging to the rail. My stomach is churning. I want to throw up.

  “Abs, wait.”

  I pause on the landing.

  “I’m sorry too,” he tells me. “I shouldn’t have let this happen, okay? It was my fault. And you’re right. It wasn’t just you that wanted it.”

  I look up. As he catches my glance, I hurriedly bury my eyes back in my shoulder. “I’m such an idiot.”

  Andrew shakes his head. “No Abs, you’re not an idiot. This passion that you have… I’m so glad it’s still there somewhere.” He sits on the step and tugs me down beside him. “Listen, Abby… About what you said before. About me being the reason you wanted to play…” He speaks carefully. “Love for music isn’t something you can just attribute to a human relationship. It goes so much deeper than that.”

  I sniff. “Maybe. But I know that I didn’t have the same love for playing at the Con as I did here with you. And I know how much I missed you.”

  “You should have called me.”

  I shake my head. “I knew if I spoke to you I’d want to come home.”

  “You can’t lean on me your whole life,” he says gently. “You’re so much better than that.”

  “I fell apart this year.”

  “Because of all this pressure you created for yourself.”

  “That’s not why.” I drop my head, damp hair falling over my face in clumps. I can see scratches on my hands from the rocks. “It’s because of you.”

  “So all those hours of practice and scales and theory,” Andrew says finally. “You did just for me?” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that, Abby. Not for a second. I remember how desperate you were to get out of my basement and go study at the Con.”

  “I hated the Con,” I sniff. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

  “You hated it all?”

  I close my eyes. “No,” I admit. “When I was on stage, it was amazing, but everything else was such a struggle. I went to my lessons scared of not having done enough work, I hated the bitchiness in the quartet rehearsals and I hated practising by myself in those horrible little rooms all night….”

  “So instead you’re just going to stay here and spend your life wondering what could have been?”

  There is a transparency to his voice. I can tell his words are meant for himself just as much as they’re meant for me.

  I plant my chin on my knee. “To make it in the concert hall I have to be this person. This person I’ve become who bitches and moans and cares about nothing but my performances. I threw every inch of myself into the violin and when it all came unstuck it left me with nothing. I can’t keep living like that. When it was just you and me playing down here, we didn’t have anyone to impress or answer to. We just played for the sake of the music.”

  “That’s not why you played,” said Andrew. “You played as much as you did because it was your chance to get out of here. And you got what you wanted.”

  I close my eyes wearily. I know he’s right. My thoughts stumble into one another. Suddenly, I glimpse the future I’m walking into; a silent, music-less future in which the dexterity drains from my fingers and the hope drains from my heart. This is the future that Sarah had chosen. It will not be mine.

  “God,” I say, standing up. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Yeah,” says Andrew. “Go home and get some sleep.”

  “No. I need to get out of this place. Right now.” The urgency is squeezing my chest, making my arms and legs twitch. “I need to go home. To Melbourne. I can’t stay here.” The desire is so overwhelming that I’m pulsing with energy. I could run my way across the country.

  Andrew smiles. “Good. Go. And don’t ever think of quitting again.” I throw my arms around his neck. I want to scream the truth at him, wake him out of his fairy tale before his talent dries up. I want to say: see you backstage or let’s have a jam down in Melbourne or something. And I want to say: Look at him! When was the last time anyone told you he looked like you?

  Hayley will never tell him the truth, I’m sure. I had been her outlet, her shoulder to help carry the weight. I feel an unexpected flicker of something close to sympathy. I know she also loves Andrew too much to let him suffer for her mistakes.

  So I let the lies hang there uninterrupted. Instead I just kiss Andrew on the cheek and say “See you soon,” though I can�
�t possibly imagine when that ‘soon’ would be. He grabs my wrist as I turn to leave.

  “Wait, Abs. About Hayley. What was it you were going to tell me?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  FORTY-THREE

  I run home and stuff my clothes into my bag. My violin case is closed; lying against the wardrobe where I had left it. My mother hasn’t touched it again. I swing the case onto my shoulder and pull the door shut on my bedroom without a second glance.

  My parents are staring at the TV with glazed eyes.

  “Is that you, possum?” calls Dad, without turning around.

  “I need you to drive me to the airport,” I say breathlessly. “Please.”

  He gives a small chuckle, which disappears into his throat when he turns and sees my packed bags. Sarah faces me too. Her eyes fall to the violin on my shoulder. She watches the case instead of me.

  “You’re going back then,” she says blankly.

  “I have to.” My voice is thin. “You know how it is. The passion never really leaves you.”

  She replies with a ghost of a nod, then turns vacantly back to the TV. Dad’s eyes flicker between us. I bounce restlessly on my toes. I have to get to the airport. Have to get the last plane back tonight.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. There’s something really urgent I need to do in Melbourne. Will you drive me to the airport? Please?”

  I empty my bank account buying a ticket for the day’s last flight back to Melbourne. Dad offers to give me the money, but he does so in such a wobbly, dismal voice that I can’t bear to accept even a dollar for the vending machine.

  I make it onto the plane with minutes to spare. My legs are sandy, my hair is tangled and I smell like beer and seaweed. In my three days in Acacia Beach, I’ve managed to make those avoidance issues a thousand times worse. My life will be one in which the town melts into some insignificant speck on a map. I’ll become a clutched-at memory by the Christmas party gossips.

  ‘Don’t Sarah and David have a daughter somewhere?’