Music From Standing Waves (27 page)

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…”