by Jessie Tu
I nod and sit on a chair in the front row. I stare at the back of the concertmaster’s head and begin counting the strands of grey hair on his head. The stage lights are so bright they illuminate the silvery tones; a sunset scattered with silver clouds.
I look over at Olivia, who catches my eye and gives me a nervous grin. I look away.
The conductor lifts his baton and fifty-nine spines straighten, reeds to mouths and neck rests under chins. He drops his arm to his side.
‘Good, you’re all paying attention.’
I glance over to Olivia who catches my eye.
‘You ready?’ I ask.
She nods. ‘You?’
After the concert, we walk side by side to the station like we used to, talking about our plans.
‘Noah says hi.’
‘What’s he doing now?’ I ask.
‘He’s going overseas to study with some clarinet player for a few months. I think he’s sick of Sydney too.’
I tell her about New York, about Tuba, about Banks.
‘Oh, you know Banks was there at the concert?’ She stops walking for a moment. ‘He was sitting at the back. I saw him while we were playing.’
‘Why didn’t he come say hi?’
She shrugs. ‘Maybe he had someplace else to go.’
I reach over. Put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You’re always so good, aren’t you?’
60
My parents drive me to the airport, insisting I ask a friend to come along. Val sits in the back seat, peering over every few seconds.
I’ve spent the last few days on the phone with Tuba, arranging meeting times. Logistics. Administrative tasks. His voice on the phone sounds lower, though at times it breaks into a squeal when he gets excited and talks about the opening season’s program.
‘I knew you’d never stay in Sydney,’ my mother says in the car.
My father is driving, silent, eyes on the road.
‘You did?’
‘Of course. You were born in the wrong country.’
At the airport, my father drops us off then goes to park the car. My mother and Val stand beside me at the departure gates. I fiddle with the zip of my backpack to distract myself from speeches. I have nothing planned.
‘So,’ Val takes me into her arms and squeezes too hard. ‘You’ll be back, won’t you?’
‘Or, we can come visit you,’ my mother says. She turns to Val and signals something with her eyes.
Val retreats. Her eyes are moist.
‘Your friend told me about an older man you were seeing.’ I can’t believe she’s bringing this up now. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me?’
‘I was ashamed, I guess.’
She rests her hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t forget, I’m your mother. I will always be here when you need me.’
I look at the mole on her neck so I don’t have to look her in the eye.
‘I was lonely,’ I mutter.
She sighs. ‘Maybe you need to stop using that word as an excuse to mistreat yourself.’
‘But it’s the truth. I was just … lonely.’
She pats my back. ‘To be lonely is to want too much. And that’s fine. But it doesn’t mean you should let people hurt you. You know that now, right?’
She holds out her arms, opening like an infinite gesture.
‘Don’t worry. You couldn’t fit into Sydney even if you tried. Your hunger is what makes you special, even though some days, most days, it won’t feel like that at all. That’s when you need to believe the hardest, that hunger is what makes you who you are. Don’t be ashamed of it.’
In my heart, I feel the promise of a love so deep and secure expand into a full, round star, burning and pulsating with each breath.
Only afterwards, as I’m waiting in line to pass through customs, do I realise my face is wet with tears.
I stroll around the shops and spray perfume on my collar at the cosmetics counter. I find my face reflected on each mirror and decide to submit to the heavy weight of this new life.
My phone rings. An unidentified number. I wait for it to ring out. A text comes in—someone has left a voicemail message. I put the phone to my ear.
A sharp jolt of adrenaline snaps behind my ribs at the sound of Mark’s voice.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to Alice Pung, Lex Hirst, Michelle Cahill, Tiffany Tsao, Rachel Cruz, Angela Savage, Alice Grundy, Yen-Rong Wong, Emily Maguire, Grace Heifetz, Mieke Eerkens, Shu-Ling Chua, Melanie Thorne, Tony Tulathimutte, Nam Le, Christos Tsiolkas and Iain Giblin for your support and advice. Thanks to my agent Melanie Ostell, for your wisdom, clarity, charm and general pizzaz. Thanks to my publisher Jane Palfreyman for your commitment and unwavering support. Thanks to Ali Lavau for your extraordinary and peerless editorial talent. To Tessa Feggans, Pamela Dunne, Jennifer Thurgate and all the team at Allen & Unwin. Thanks to the Australia Council for the Arts for their grant which allowed me to study writing in the US. Thanks to the Altantic Center for the Arts, for the most productive and sublime three weeks of my writing career so far.
Thanks to Judy Banki, Susan Banki, Emma Bryant, Annie Bryant, Kyle Caputo, Yiannis Chambers, Adam Chen, Elizabeth Cooney, Jessica Davis, Risa Denenberg, Martha Kate Dos Santos, Frances Doyle, Ernesto Escaler, Stephen Finch, Spencer Grubbs, Louise Giovanelli, Suha Gunti, Dimitra Harvey, Ally Havas, Beth Hilberding, Georgina Horsburgh, Shona Lee, Sally Lewis, Iannie Liu, Kristen Luong, Barbara Robinson, Milena Roglic, Thea Soutar, Kellie Southan, Billy Stevenson and Lily Tao for your conversations and friendships. Thank you Helen, Kevin, Lisa, Luke, Sion, Kumiko, Alan, Arya, Bruce, Russell, Evie, Paddy and Jake for all the joys of being in a loving family. Thank you Eli Tapuchi for your gentle, quiet love. You are my eyes, ears, breath and pulse when I’m away from New York City.
Finally, thanks to my parents, who are the beginning and end of everything I do. 媽媽，爸爸 謝謝您為我所做的一切。我永遠，永遠感激。永遠。
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessie Tu was born in Taiwan and immigrated to Sydney at age five. She has written for The Guardian, LA Review of Books and many literary journals. She trained as a classical violinist for more than fifteen years, has taught at numerous secondary schools and now works as a journalist. Her first collection of poems, You Should Have Told Me We Had Nothing Left, was published in 2018. This is her debut novel.