(7) Vivace

"Asher..."

An impossibly gentle hand caressed my head. So soft that I could have mistaken it for the wind.

"Why do you play the cello?" My mother asked. "And for who?"

I looked down with misty eyes. My fingers were clenched tight against my bow, creating deep imprints of the wood into my hands.

"I don't..." I can feel myself trembling. A mix of frustration and confusion wells up within me, and a tear begins to crawl down the side of my red cheek. "I don't know, Mama..."

"There, there." More stroking. My nerves were being calmed with each motion. I hated being babied, but at the same time, my racing heart slowed to a steady pace under her guiding hand.

"We all make mistakes. It's part of life. Part of being human. You're not a robot after all, Asher."

She placed her hand on mine and squeezed tight.

"You're my boy. My perfect cellist. Now, lift your head and play it again, my little raison d'être."

I glanced up at her, sniffling back a tear. "What does that big word mean?"

Her smile was warm like a spring day.

"Oh, nothing special..."

"Miss Melody!" An important looking man in a stuffy black suit waddled up to us as we entered the doors of the Caterlotte Academy of the Arts and Culture. "Just where on earth have you been?"

"My sincere apologies, Headmaster," Octavia smiled with a sweetness so transparent and fake that it made me think of plastic, "I simply stepped out for some fresh air and lost track of time. Please excuse me."

"Yes, yes, of course..." He pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed away some sweat. "Well, you certainly are back within time— I never doubted, of course— but you understand—"

She brushed some hair out of her eyes and smiled confidently. "But of course. The children's recital is still ongoing, yes?"

"You see, Headmaster..." Octavia pulled me forward by the cuff of my shirt. "I happen to have found the perfect stand-in today!"

Both I and the headmaster stood flabbergasted at her words, speaking at the same time. "Stand-in?!"

What on earth was this crazy girl going on about now?! A stand in for a recital? That was out of the question!

The headmaster of the Academy seemed to be thinking the same thing. I was beginning to worry that he'd render his own handkerchief useless by overusing it. It looked drenched with sweat already.

"Now see here, Miss Melody!" He exhaled indignantly, "You can't make last minute arrangements like this all on your own! The children are expecting the Octavia Melody today, not..."

And for the first time, he looked in my direction. "Er..."

I cleared my throat, feeling it was best to speak for myself in this situation. "Winterfield, sir. Asher Winterfield."

His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at that. "Ash— you— wh— you mean?—"

"That's exactly who he means, Headmaster." Octavia put a hand on my shoulder. "Now while I'm sure the children would be delighted to see my face again for the 3rd time this month, might I suggest changing things up a bit? A chance like this does not pass us up very often, wouldn't you agree?"

The Headmaster paused, clutching his wet handkerchief in deep thought. "I suppose... well— certainly, I mean— there is no time like the present... still!"

He looked up at me with narrowed, as if blaming me for this sudden turn of events. Hey, I want you know I had no part in this change of plans, old man!

"You!"

Me.

"What on earth have you been doing the past six years?! For you of all people to be—"

"Now now, Headmaster." Octavia stepped in between us, smiling all sickly sweet like that again. "We don't have much time before the current performer finishes, do we? Let's hurry to the backstage now."

Though she didn't stand taller than either of us, Octavia Melody pushed us both along the corridors of the conservatory with such conviction that neither of us could oppose her.

I leaned back and shot her a look, mouthing the words—

What's the big idea?!

She regraded me for a moment, then went back to staring forwards as we walked towards the back of the hall. Her eyes shone with confidence that I could not locate the source of.

As we walked, I could hear a small voice reach my ears.

"Mommy, that's him isn't it?"

"Shush dear, don't bother the Headmaster..."

"I know it! I saw him in pictures!"

Her voice was becoming distant, but that child spoke directly to my heart.

"I get to hear him today? For realsies? I'm so excited!"

And so we moved into the back area of the conservatory, where an assortment of waiting rooms, fitting rooms, and practice spaces were strewn about.

"Now don't worry about a thing, Headmaster." Octavia had her hand on the large man's shoulder. "I'll brief Mister Winterfield here on the whole situation, so would you mind entertaining the audience briefly?"

The stuffy headmaster batted her hand away. "Entertain! As if it's my job to do such a thing! Miss Melody, you are truly—"

"Please?" Those puppy dog eyes again. I wonder how exactly she pulled it off.

"..."

The man sighed, straightening his dress coat. "I suppose as a leading figure in this establishment, I ought to give the children a decent talking to..."

He made his way towards the door leading to the stage, but stopped to glare at me. "Five minutes. Understand?"

I gulped and nodded as the tail of his coat disappeared behind a closed door.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

I had Octavia Melody against the wall as soon as we were behind the doors to the practice room.

"What exactly are you trying to pull here?" I spoke without being able to hold back my aggression. "Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

She looked back at me unflinchingly despite the position I had her in.

"I could ask you the same thing, Asher. What makes you so sure you can't play? Have you even tried?"

Octavia put a hand on my chest and pushed. I reflexively stepped away as she crossed her arms.

"That's not— That's not fair— You just—"

I could barely speak through my anger.

She sighed. "The Children's Recital. It's a weekly event where the younger students at the Academy can listen to the current repertoire of some of our selected performers. It's a very simple thing, really. Nothing to be worried about."

"Nothing to be worried about?!" My eyebrows furrowed. "You don't get it. I don't get you! Why are we here? Why are you doing this? Why me?" My hands tightened into fists as I made no effort to keep my voice down. "Can you explain even a single thing to me, Octavia?"

She glared at me. "I'm not interested in a shouting match, Winterfield. There's a mirror right behind you. Take a look at yourself, why don't you?"

My heart was filled with nothing but contempt for this inexplicable girl, but I still did as she said and turned.

There I was. Asher Winterfield was an average boy by all standards. I was a thin, wiry thing. My white shirt hung from me awkwardly like cloth on a scarecrow, and my hair was uncombed and messy from the shower I took earlier that day. My reflection stared back at me, and it occurred to me then that I never really took the time to mind my appearance with much care for a long time. I was not handsome, my clothes were not fashionable, my muscles hardly showed any sign of use, and I always thought the mole underneath my left eye was annoying.

Yet as I stood there with a cello strapped to my back, my ragged breath calmed, and my racing heart slowed.

...

"What do you want me to do?" A question both for Octavia and myself as we looked upon each other's reflections.

"What do you want to do, Asher?"

She stepped towards me.

"But since you're asking, my answer hasn't changed. I want you to play.

Produce a sound, Asher. Whether it's ugly, brutish, moody, uninspired, it doesn't matter. Make the kind of music only you can make."

I looked down. Somehow, looking at Octavia behind me using a mirror felt cheap. "But I can't hear the notes, I already told you..."

Slowly, tentatively, I could feel her standing right behind me.

"Look at me."

With my head still hung, I turned to face her.

"Asher Winterfield."

I stared at her shoes as we shared a moment of silence.

"I want you to know I'm not forcing you. I never did. Even today, you didn't have to meet me in that garden, yet you did. So if you truly feel like you can't do it, then run away if you want. I won't blame you. I'll even lend you money for the train."

I inhaled sharply. This girl, looking down on me like that..!

"You—!"

"But know this, Asher."

I paused and, finding courage within me, looked up to her face.

"I still believe in you."

Her eyes pierced me. Somewhere in those deep, endless wells of purple and blue, there was a girl who said what she meant. Though she spoke confidently, I could see her lips tremble from the short distance that separated us.

"I still believe in you." She repeated. "So don't go thinking you can't do it just because you don't think you can. It's not a matter of 'can' or 'can't,' it's a matter of doing."

Octavia paused, her hands looking fidgety, as if they sorely wished to grab hold of something. "It takes courage, you know..."

"To sail into uncharted waters." I finished for her. She liked to talk all wise like a scholar, but that quote wasn't from Beethoven or Mozart or any significant historical mind, but rather...

"Snoopy." She finished, looking satisfied, and smiled. Not plastic-sweet, like she did to win the headmaster's favor, but in the most sincere manner that I could feel.

"Five minutes, like he said. Do whatever you need to do, Asher."

And as the door shut, all that remained was me.

...

What do you want to do?

Her voice echoed throughout my head like it traveled through an endless cave.

I decided it in my heart as I walked to the door and gripped the metal handle.

I'm going to run away.

In my current state, there's no way I could play in a way I could be proud of, even if in front of an audience of children. I was rusty, I most likely wouldn't even be able to play the piece off the top of my head, and in the end... who was I to take her place?

Instead, they'll realize I'm gone, and Octavia Melody will return to the stage. They'll be happy to see her. No one is interested in a washed up failure like me. I'm sure that's the case.

"What on earth have you been doing for the past six years?"

A man who looked at me like a ghost, a relic of a time long gone.

"Why are you doing this to yourself again?!"

My childhood friend who knew what was best for me, or so I thought.

"I still believe in you."

An outrageous girl who had me by the collar at every step.

I was prepared to let them all down. Because the alternative would be much, much worse.

I began turning the handle.

"I get to hear him play today? For realsies? I'm so excited!"

—I stopped.

The words of that little girl I passed in the hallway returned to me.

"Him?" Her mother had regarded me with something like disdain. "Sarah, don't go looking up to someone like that. They say he's a fraud. He dropped out six years ago, just because he couldn't take the pressure..."

"But mom, I heard him! We both heard him! He was on the TV, remember?"

She clapped excitedly, unable to contain a squeal of excitement. "I wanna be just like him!"

Idiot.

Why are you stopping?

You said you were going to run away.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot! Just open the door and leave!

Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to run. To leave today behind like an unpleasant memory. Forget that girl, forget her mother, forget the Canterlotte Academy of Art and Culture, forget Octavia Melody, forget everything! You did it once before, you can do it again!

But I couldn't.

My mind raced at a thousand miles every second.

I slowly stepped away from the door. My legs trembled, but not with fear.

Excitement.

My blood was boiling.

"It's not that you can't play, you just won't."

Octavia was in my head. She continued whispering sweet nothings into my ear as I took my case from my back and began unpacking.

I extracted my bow, then my cello. I sat to check the strings and to apply a fresh layer of rosin to my bow. On the table in front of me was a copy of the sheet music, Suites á Violoncello Solo senza Basso.

Johann Sebastian Bach's six Cello Suites.

Prelude. The first of the six. The most well known.

It was a simple song that lasted two pages and ran for 2 minutes and 46 seconds, give or take.

I'll do it.

I'll play the piece.

I'll take these next five minutes to burn the notes fresh into my mind, then my fingers. I wouldn't be able to hear it, but if I consume the piece with my whole body, then it won't matter. Each finger and each movement is a sound I haven't heard in six years, but my instinct will patch up the rough places. I'll simply try and play to the best of my ability, even if the sheer act of performing a song you can't even hear is the height of absurdity.

I have to show them all.

That Asher Winterfield is no more.

That Octavia Melody's hopes are misplaced. That I'm a lost cause. That no child should ever look up to me.

Six years ago, I vanished without a trace from the scene of classical music.

Today, I'll firmly plant and mark my grave with my playing. A message to everyone: that the cellist everyone once knew is long gone.

Surely, I'll be able to communicate that. After all...

"Music transcends words."

I spoke under my breath, smiling. No longer knowing who it was who owned that quote, no longer caring so much as the fact that Octavia said those words to me.

Thank you.

With this... maybe I can finally say goodbye.

And five minutes later, I stepped onto the stage.

Author's Note

Vivace: in a brisk, lively, and spirited manner.