Music From Standing Waves (28 page)

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.

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.”

“What? Altogether?”

He nodded.

I sat on the grass beside him. “Why don’t you
go part-time for a semester, or-”

“Abby,” he interrupted. “It’s not a time
thing. This place just isn’t right for me.”

I twisted the button on my cardigan. “Is this
because of me?”

“Geez, Ab. Not everything is about you.” Matt
ground his cigarette into the dirt. A pigeon hopped past us. “Do
you want it to be about you?” he said after a while.

I shrugged dumbly. Matt touched my knee: a
leftover reflex from the past. My body reacted with its own sudden
reflex of desire. I flinched.

“Sorry.” He looked me in the eye. “Abby, this
break-up was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

I nodded.

“But looking at where we both are now, I can
see that we made the right decision.”

“
We
?” I repeated. “I don’t remember it
being a
we
decision.”

“Of course it was,” said Matt. “You chose
music.” His voice was calm and even. Stating a fact, not passing
judgement. “You were totally amazing the other night,” he said.
“Your concerto was phenomenal. You’ve really got a chance at this
thing. I’m not going to be the guy that ruins it for you.”

“My teacher doesn’t think I have a chance,” I
said.

“Your teacher’s wrong.”

I couldn’t help a smile. “Thanks. I really
needed to hear that.” Tentatively, I touched his arm. “I miss you.
Even though I know you’re right; that we don’t work together, I
miss you anyway.”

“Yeah, I miss you too, Ab. But music’s your
everything. I get that now.”

Music is my everything
. I’d been
telling that to anyone who would listen for longer than I wanted to
think about. But coming from Matt, it suddenly sounded so pathetic.
And if I was going to have a chance at the concert hall, it would
need to continue being my everything. I couldn’t see another
way.

“You know I could learn a little from you,”
said Matt. “I didn’t get my composition folio in on time. That’s a
giant fail.”

“You failed comp? But you’re an amazing
composer!”

He laughed bitterly. “Apparently that doesn’t
matter if you can’t meet a deadline.”

“That’s why you’re dropping out? Because you
failed comp?”

He sighed. “It’s not the time, or my comp
mark, or you. I just don’t belong here. I’m not a classical
musician. And you know how oppressive this place can be.”

I picked up a twig and poked it into the
grass. “What about your music? What about Standing Waves? What
about all that stuff you told me the night we got together?”

“It’s not going to happen. It’s just some
bullshit dream. We both know Standing Waves was never going to go
anywhere.”

“That’s crap! Look how far we got this year!
I can’t believe you’d just give up like that!”

“You gave up on it,” Matt reminded me. “I
never found another violinist to replace you.”

“I’m sorry,” I croaked. “You just have so
much talent. I don’t want you to waste it.”

Matt rubbed his eyes and pushed his dark hair
off his face. “Talent. I thought I had talent til I came here. Then
they taught me you can’t make a career out of composing and I owe
them ten grand in uni fees for it.”

“Well.” I stood up. “I hope you keep
writing.”

He picked up a fallen leaf and twisted it
around his fingers. “You know, the Con puts so much emphasis on
perfection, that it makes you forget that you’re supposed to enjoy
music as well.”

I nodded in agreement.

“And I think,” he said. “That when that
happens, you need to go back and find the reason you started
playing in the first place.”

“You spoke to Matt?” Jess snorted, carrying
our dinner plates into the kitchen. “What’d he have to say for
himself?”

“What’s with the tone?” I asked. “Since when
do you have a problem with Matt?”

“Don’t
you
? After his little effort
the other night?”

I paused. “What happened the other
night?”

“Oh…” Jess scraped our leftovers into the bin
and turned on the kitchen tap. “Nothing. Just, you know…” She
started to hurl dishes into the sink. I reached across the bench
and turned off the water.

“Tell me. What did he do?”

Jess hesitated. “He slept with Clara,” she
said finally. “I’m sorry, Ab. I thought you knew.”

“Clara?” I spat. “Matt hates Clara!” I sunk
onto the couch. My thoughts were fuzzy and knotted. “When?”

“After the concerto competition. A group of
them went out and I guess one thing just lead to another…” She
dried her hands and sat beside me.

“Well are they still… I mean, are they
together
?”

Jess sighed. “I doubt it. But if you ask me,
they deserve each other.”

I chewed my thumbnail. I had felt something
between Matt and I when he had visited me before the competition. A
closeness. A connection still intact. Just a few hours later he had
been in Clara’s pants. Or in her snooty black dress anyway. I felt
like my insides had been scraped out. Sickened by my own
naivety.

Jess hugged me. “Are you okay?”

“I guess.” I stood up. “I suppose I should go
do some practice.”

I closed the door of my bedroom and picked up
my violin. I stared blankly at the score. My brain was
compartmentalised. The focusing-on-music section was switched off,
while the trying-not-to-imagine-Matt-screwing-Clara compartment
worked overtime. The whole thing just gave a sinking finality to
Matt and my relationship. He had moved on. I needed to as well.

My mobile rang and I dropped my violin like
it was scalding hot. I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Abby. It’s Nick.”

I fell suddenly speechless; a million things
trying to get out of my mouth at once and none of them
succeeding.

“Thanks for not hanging up,” said Nick.

“Yeah well funnily enough I’ve been kind of
worried about you! Since you took my roommate’s money and pissed
off! How could you just disappear like that? I was afraid you were
dead! You stupid, selfish arsehole!” I hurled abuse at him for a
while and he took it without speaking. I finally stopped when I was
out of breath and beginning to sound scarily like Sarah.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Nick groaned. “I’m really
sorry.”

I sat on my bed. “Where are you?”

“I’m back in Acacia Beach,” he said. “I’m
calling cos I wanted to tell you I’m cleaning my shit up. I’ve been
good lately, Abby. Honest. Dad told me Sarah cut you off and I feel
real bad about it. So I’m getting clean. I’ve been going to this
meeting and everything. Even got a new place.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed. “I’ll believe it when
I see it.”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “About that. You have to
come home this weekend.”

I paused. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. You just have to come. I
can’t tell you why, but it’s really important.”

“Okay.”

Nick paused. “Okay? You’re coming? Just like
that?”

Just like that.

“Jesus, I had this whole spiel planned to try
and convince you!”

I lay back against the pillows. “I’ll need to
stay with you though. Mum won’t have me.”

“Yeah I know,” said Nick. “I got a couch with
your name on it.”

I smiled.

“So you’re at uni now, right?” my brother
asked. “Are you okay to skip it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Great!” Nick dropped his voice. “Hey listen,
I don’t suppose there’s any chance you will, but don’t tell Mum and
Dad I told you to come, okay? Just say you came home to visit.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you yet.” He paused. “You’re
really coming, yeah? You’re not just screwing me round?”

I began to gnaw my nails. “I’ll be
there.”

I’m the last one off the plane. I want to
spew up the sliver of toast I forced down for breakfast. Coming
back is even harder than I had imagined. I suck in my courage and
step onto the tarmac. Even the air smells the same; thick and
salty. About to rain.

Despite my nerves at facing Acacia Beach
again, I had felt a huge relief when the plane left Melbourne. As
the suburbs grew tiny, I broke free of the stresses of the Con.
Shook off the consequences of my decisions. I wanted to stay in the
air forever.

On the other side of the gate, Nick catches
my eye and waves. He’s clean-shaven and his hair is tied back in a
loose ponytail. His eyes are bright, without their underlying
shadows. I rush through the gate and hold him tightly.

“You look really good, Nick, you massive
tool. You stayed off the smack, didn’t you.”

He smiles at me and takes my violin case. In
spite of everything, I hadn’t been able to leave it behind. Almost
as if it’s a part of my body. I follow Nick into the car park and
climb inside his rusty Falcon, kicking aside empty Coke cans and
chip packets. He starts up the engine.

“I’m getting married,” he says.

“You’re what?” My mouth drops open.

He laughs. “Yeah I thought you’d be
surprised.”

“Surprised? Of course I’m surprised! Who are
you marrying? I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend!”

“Her name’s Marina,” says Nick. “I met her
through one of the guys on the farm. You’ll love her.”

“How long have you been together?”

He shrugs. “Long enough.”

I let out my breath. “Wow.”

Nick catches my eye. “You can’t tell Mum and
Dad.”

I laugh. “You’re getting married and not
telling Mum and Dad?”

“Would you want Sarah at your wedding?”

“I suppose not. But I’d want Dad there.”

Nick shrugs. “Can’t have one without the
other. Anyway, Marina and I are heading off afterwards. Best if
they don’t know where we are.”

“Heading off? You just got back. Where are
you going?”

“Anywhere,” says Nick. “Wherever the wind
shall take us and all that shit. What’s the point in staying
here?”

“You’ve got no idea where you’re going?”

“We’re going to head south,” Nick says
vaguely. “See what happens. That’s why I wanted you to come up so
bad. I don’t know when I’ll see you again after the wedding.”

“Well keep in touch this time,” I say,
knowing it’s rich coming from me.

We drive down the highway, past patchwork
paddocks and sugar plantations. The world I had forgotten,
abandoned, is just as I had left it. My eyes have seen so much more
than they had the last time I was here. Had I expected that to
change what they saw? To see Acacia Beach in a different light? I’m
not the child I was when I left. In those lessons with John at the
Con, in my unit with the op shop couch, and nights curled up naked
in Matt’s arms, I was sure I had reached adulthood. But now, as my
childhood drizzles over me, I’m not so sure.

Nick pulls up outside an old house opposite
the beach. The weatherboards are covered in cracked yellow paint
and wobbly awnings cover the windows. The doorstep is littered with
work boots.

“So this is my new place,” says Nick. “What
do you think? I know it’s not a palace or nothing, but it’s better
than the alternative. We got the lease for another month so you can
stay here after me and Marina leave if you want.”