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“Where is it?”
He stares at me. No answer forthcoming. Fine.
I look over to the sunroom off the living room and spot the piano and beeline for the room, by passing Nandy’s startled and concerned mom. I pick the violin case up off the couch, the weight of it telling me it’s not empty.
“What’s going on?” Nandy’s mom asks, not making any attempt at all to hide her annoyance with me.
“I’m taking Nandy for a drive.”
“No, you’re not,” he snaps at me. “I have no reason to get into a car with you. I told you how I feel.”
“You did. And I no longer care how you feel about me.” And that may be the biggest lie I’ve ever told in my life. Even saying the words out loud sends a wave of pain and protest throughout my body.
“Then what the fuck?” he seethes at me.
“You may be done with me, with us.” I step into his space, and he doesn’t budge an inch. “And I will learn to live with that…. but this,” I raise his violin case. “This…. I refuse to let you be done with this.”
“That’s not your call.”
We stare at each other.
“I’ve been trying. It isn’t the same. I’m not ready.”
I glance at his mom and the look in her eyes tells me he’s lying. This is mental. Emotional. He’s grappling with way more than just playing again.
I nod at Kennedy as we step into Nandy’s apartment building. I’m still carrying the violin. Nandy won’t touch it. He’ll barely look at it or me.
We step into the elevator and stand in silence. I watch the floors tick away and when we get to 27, I hit the emergency stop button.
Nandy’s eyes go wide with horror when I turn to him and thrust the violin into his stomach, pushing him back against the wall as I do it.
“Take it, or it drops to the floor.”
I loosen my grip and Nandy reaches under the case to prevent the fall.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he pulls the violin away and creates distance between us.
“Play,” I snap.
“I can’t.”
“Bullshit,” I shout and muscle him against the elevator again before he can reach the buttons and get us moving again. “You can. You are choosing not to, and I want to know why. Give me a reason. Give me a reason that’s not a copout. Give me a reason to believe you.”
He wedges the violin case between us again and shoves me away. I move back, allowing it, but I make sure I block his access to the buttons. He stares at me, but his eyes aren’t filled with the anger he is forcing out of his mouth. Those eyes are dead, defeated, completely devoid of hope. And it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I reach for the violin case again, and he lets go. I place it on the floor and open it. When I pull the gleaming instrument and the bow out, he eyes it.
“Play.” I push it toward him. He doesn’t reach for it. He just looks at me.
“Fine,” I say, and I place the violin under my chin and raise the bow. “Then I will.”
Nandy’s eyes fill with horror. Finally, some emotion. But he doesn’t make a move to stop me. Instead, he moves behind me and wraps his left hand around mine, his fingers so long and graceful, mine thick and clumsy, unless I have a hockey stick in my hand. Then his right hand covers mine and I feel his head fall against mine. He exhales. His fingers press mine to the strings in a position that feels so unnatural to me, but his hands, his body, his breath on my neck. That doesn’t feel unnatural at all…. it feels so, so right.
Then he places the bow to the strings, his hand still blanketing mine. I do my best to let go, let him have control. The control he always wants and I’m so willing to give…give to him. The whine when the strings touch is horrid and I squeeze my eyes shut. But Nandy laughs. A small one, but it is a laugh nonetheless, unmistakable.
I want him to let go of my hands, keep going without the barrier of my ignorant fingers. This closeness, though. God, I’ve missed it so much. I barely had it…but I’ve missed it more than I’ve ever missed anything in my life. It felt so right…feels so right.
He lifts the bow again. “Relax,” he says to me. I hadn’t realized I had stiffened when he pressed against me. I think I was afraid if I moved a muscle he would step away, fly away, like a startled bird. The moment would end. I exhale and my body melts against his, and he places the strings together again. Holding my left hand firm, he barely grips the bow and I loosen my hold and he lets it float across the strings. This time, the whine quickly turns to a moan, a beautiful whisper of a moan. He doesn’t stop, he keeps going. It’s so beautiful, so haunting, so sad. And him pressed against me from behind. It’s a dance. The most beautiful dance ever. How can he ever think he would suck at this? I don’t move when he stops. I want to ask him to keep going…I want to step away, give him the space to actually play, but my body won’t move. I need him near me. In case I never get this again.
