(6) Sostenuto

Out of the question. Impossible. Absurd. This girl was nuts.

"I can't do that."

I wore an expression of dead seriousness as I regarded Octavia Melody.

"Why not?" she asked in reply, tilting her head quizzically. "Surely, you brought your cello with you today for a reason?"

"Because you told me to!" I asserted quite violently as my eyes narrowed, "and because you didn't really leave me with a choice!"

"I didn't?"

Octavia stroked her chin pensively as she regarded me.

"But you showed up today, and followed my instructions exactly. Why choose now to resist?"

"Because—!"

...

I breathed in hard through my nose. No need to lose my cool.

"Because... I'm out of practice. And I don't remember how the song goes. And there's nowhere here to set up. And..."

I averted my gaze.

Octavia clicked her tongue. "Excuses. Lies, even. I don't appreciate the gesture, Asher."

She took my chin between her fingers and forced me to look at her. Her expression told me she was not impressed or moved by my words.

"Out of practice? I can believe that. But not remembering the song?"

She smiled. "When you recited the name of it perfectly yesterday, despite only hearing it and not seeing me play with sheet music?"

I froze.

"As for a place to set up a chair and stopper for your endpin, rest assured, we will not be digging any holes into the soil here. It would be rude to the gardeners, after all."

"Then..."

I swallowed. "Then where would you have me play?"

She looked me as though the answer was obvious. "The Academy, obviously. Where else?"

...

What?

"Please," I took a deep breath, "slow down. What exactly do you mean by that?"

She sighed. Hey, what's that look that so clearly says "This dolt..." on your face for?!

"The Canterlotte Academy of Art and Culture. I believe you've heard of it?"

The Academy, she says. Octavia cut it down quite intensively from it's actual name— though, I suppose just the two words are enough when it comes to such a prestigious institution. Of course I've heard of it. I know it better than anyone.

That place used to be like a second home to me, after all.

"Ahem." I cleared my throat self-importantly, returning Octavia's smug gestures back to her. "And how do you propose I play there? It's an hour by train, and I'm out of money." I smiled haughtily, "Sorry, but it looks like you're gonna have to—"

"Oh, perish the thought, Asher. You think this wasn't in my calculations?" She pointed towards the road outside the gates of the park. "Look over there."

An impossibly long, slick, black limousine. The kind you only ever saw in movies.

That was... her's?

"..Eh?" I stared like an idiot.

"Our ride," Octavia stated, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Now, I believe you know how to properly stow an instrument into a vehicle, yes?"

By car, it would take less than thirty minutes to reach Canterlotte. The travel time was etched into my heart, after all, from all the times I came and went from the Academy when I was younger.

I sat across from Octavia in that limousine with it's overabundance of interior space. It felt less like we were sitting in a long corridor more than a moving vehicle.

And for the first time that day, a wave of sudden emotion rushed up to meet me.

Why didn't I think this through?

This is the Octavia Melody, just like Alexis said. Known around the country by now, an emerging musical superstar. Her face was on posters, her interviews written into magazines, her music heard by every set of ears that could still listen. She was the new face of contemporary classical performance— a genius capable of drawing the most sublime sound out of any instrument.

Yet I came out to meet her, like a complete and utter fool. What exactly was I doing here? What was I trying to prove? Was this just to appease Alexis? So that I could tell her later that I did as she asked, and we could make up?

No. While that was part of it, I would be lying to myself if I said it was completely for her sake.

Despite the redness in my ears and my inability to look at Octavia Melody any further than from above her knees, a strong feeling pulled at my heart.

She pulled at my heart. In a way I didn't even know was possible. Her commanding tone, her aggression— she unfairly moved me in ways I couldn't begin to describe.

That imposing feeling scared me. So, I needed to find out what she was up to. Who she was, why she needed me to play for her.

I opened my mouth, "You know—"

She cleared her throat loudly, interrupting my attempt to speak.

"Could you please look at me when you're talking? It's quite rude not to, you know."

Erk... she got me there.

I reluctantly straightened my back.

"You know..." I tried again, slowly, so as not to stumble over my words, but also closely watching her face for any changes, "I wasn't kidding. I really can't play the cello. I know I brought it with me today, but I only happened to have it at home. Nothing more to it."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "You really take me for a fool, don't you? Winterfield..."

I blinked once. "Yes?"

"Explain to me then," Octavia's brow furrowed as she crossed one leg over the other, "why you can't play."

...

She could see right through my lies.

As such, there was no point in even trying it.

"I can't..."

I averted my eyes. Holding her gaze was painful while saying such a thing.

"...hear it. The cello. The notes. For years now."

I paused with bated breath. Waiting for the insults to begin raining down upon me. The bombardment of questions. My entire body braced for sticks and stones.

"...And what of it?"

She spoke again. Betraying my own fears, I glanced back at her.

Her mouth was tight-lipped, but her lavender eyes gazed upon me with a look I couldn't put my finger on.

"Play anyway."

I stared at her with my mouth agape. Did she just hear a word I said?

"I don't think you understand," I asserted, sitting straight up now. My hands turned into fists on my knees. "I can't hear the cello. I don't care if you don't believe me, but it's true!"

"When did I say I didn't believe you?"

Octavia clicked her tongue. "Taking me for the fool again, Winterfield. I'm not as shallow as you think."

"Wh—"

I could feel irritation rising from the depths of my heart. What was with this girl? How was she doing this? Betraying all my expectations? Pushing buttons I didn't even know I had?

"Did you think, perhaps, because of your unique circumstances," she leaned forward, not letting my eyes go with her intense gaze, "that the world of music would go easy on you?"

...

She wasn't making any sense. How does a musician who can't hear his own instrument even begin to fathom the very act of performance itself?

Insanity.

"You are making a grave mistake in your thinking, Asher. Listening is not everything in music."

She held up a finger. "Ever hear of Anton Rubenstein?"

I hesitantly nodded. The Russian pianist, composer and conductor who became a pivotal figure in Russian culture when he founded the Saint Petersburg Conservatory. "I've heard his compositions a few times—"

Octavia sighed heavily.

"I applaud your broad range of taste, but that's not what I mean. I refer to his words, which I quote:"

"Before your fingers touch the keys, you must determine in your mind..."

"..How you're going to play it," I finished for her.

She looked upon me with satisfaction. "So you know it after all."

I averted my eyes. The spaciousness of the limousine felt like barely enough room for one person when I engaged in conversation with this anomaly.

"We're here," she spoke, gazing outside the window.

I paused and looked as well.

This scene again.

Tall, imposing columns lining a large, stone staircase leading into the entrance of an important looking building. A busy looking crowd of people, loitering around the steps. Scattered students with their faces buried into sheet music, entering and exiting through the front doors. A few kids with their parents, who had come to the conservatory for private lessons. Ever since I was a child, the Academy truly felt larger than life. The main building housed the Academy's wide concert hall as well, explaining the need for such size.

I swallowed.

This was a mistake. This was a mistake. I can't do this. All sorts of unpleasant memories are rising up to devour me like quicksand.

Yet as I thought those things, my feet had already stepped out onto the pavement. My feet still remembered the sensation of those flat, stone stairs. Ones that I used to climb with timidness, then fervor, then with the dragging autonomy of a robot.

My cello case was shoved into my hands but Octavia's chauffeur. At a dismissive wave of her hand, he returned to the driver's seat, closed the door, and the limousine pulled away.

I could immediately hear voices. No, it wasn't just because the front of the Academy entrance was bustling with people. I knew what these voices were saying. Almost like second nature.

"Isn't that...?"

"Oh my god, oh my god! Do you think I can get a picture?"

"Way ahead of you, girl..."

Standing next to this primed social media gossip material gave me quite an uncomfortable feeling.

"Do you hear them, Asher?" Octavia asked, looking up at the tall columns of the front entrance.

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah. You're famous, after all."

She shot me a look. "Please don't tell me you're actually that stupid."

Huh?

The black-haired girl, looking quite annoyed now, snapped her fingers in my face. "Stop hearing only what you want to hear, Winterfield."

What did she...

But as Octavia Melody said those words, they did indeed reach my ears. Their words.

"Winterfield...?"

"He's back!"

"No way—"

"But the rumors—"

"Six whole years!—"

Octavia smiled when she saw my face as she began walking forwards.

"Welcome home, Asher Winterfield. Today..."

At the top of the stairs, she turned around and extended a hand towards me. Her slender fingers beckoned with a force stronger than anything I'd ever felt in my life.

"I'll have you play for me, no matter what."

Author's Note

Sostenuto: to be played in a sustained and prolonged manner.