Page 37

STEFANOS

“ O h my god!” Alice slaps her hands over her mouth.

The people watching the hockey game in the campus bar are on their feet, roaring “penalty!” at the big screen as we watch Alexei be taken off the ice.

He’s on his feet. Alice tells me he doesn’t look as bad as the time he was carried off on a stretcher with a concussion. But by the look on his face and how pale he is, it’s definitely not good. Something really horrible has happened to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Alice asks.

“I’m fine. But Alexei…” I trail off.

“Do you wanna go and see him? I could find out from Mischa where they’ve taken him. We could go together.”

I shake my head. “I’m the last person he’ll wanna see.”

“Stef, you know that’s not true. From what Mischa said, he knows he overreacted and he’s just giving you space because that’s what you said you wanted.”

I swallow. A lump of hope rising in my chest.

But then the way his dad looked at me, talking like I wasn’t even there, comes back and I decide it would be for the best if I just stay away.

He has enough on his plate right now without having to defend me to his dad.

The worst thing being – I don’t even know if he would defend me right now, not after what I did.

“I’ll make things worse with his dad if I go, I should wait until after the performance tomorrow. I’ll talk to him then.”

I try to focus on the game for Alice’s sake. But I can’t stop looking at my phone, hoping he’ll text, ask me to come and see him, tell me he forgives me and understands why I lied.

I go back to the apartment after the game. Part of me hopes Alexei will be there and that Alice was right about him feeling like he overreacted. But the other part of me – the cowardly part - is relieved when I get home and find the place empty.

I wait up to see if he comes home, but after an hour with no sign of him, I go to bed.

It’s only when my alarm wakes me for rehearsals the next morning that my anxiety over the big performance has a chance to overtake my fears for Alexei.

I shower and get dressed in a daze. Forcing myself to focus on the task without thinking about it too much.

My mom texts when I’m on my way to rehearsals.

Can’t wait to see you perform tonight hon – break a leg!

That should boost me up, but it doesn’t. It just reminds me that they’ll be there to witness it if I mess up. And unlike at the restaurant, it’ll matter if I mess up. People will notice. I’ll let the rest of the orchestra and Professor Lisette down. And I’ll let my family down, again.

I reply with shaking hands.

Thanks Mama, see you there.

Alice is waiting for me outside the music building with her trumpet case leaning against the wall. It’s getting warmer now. The sun peeking through the clouds. And it only makes my clothes feel tighter and hotter. The sweat in my armpits more aggressive.

“Hey, you okay?” Alice asks. “Did Alexei come home last night?”

“No.” My stomach churns at the thought of him in a hospital all night. I should be there. I wish I knew if he wanted me there.

“Maybe they’ve gone straight into surgery on his shoulder?”

Surgery. Holy crap, that’s serious.

“You think so?”

She shrugs. “Mischa said if it’s the same as last time, he’ll probably need it.”

“Does that mean that he won’t be able to play anymore?”

“I don’t know. You should ask him.”

“I can’t.” I sigh. “I can’t go there. His dad hates me.”

Alice squeezes my elbow. “But he doesn’t hate you.”

The rest of the orchestra are filing past us and when we don’t come in right away, Professor Lisette comes out to collect us.

She’s fluttering around like she does when she’s nervous, and all that anxious energy isn’t helping me forget my own.

This is the biggest audience I will ever play to. Unless I go on to play in a real life philharmonic orchestra or something, this is the ceiling.

I’ve tried to pretend I’m performing at the restaurant before I go out on stage, but it doesn’t work.

Everything is too different. The stakes, the atmosphere, the people.

Even the smells. If they made the auditorium smell like tzatziki that might help.

But I’d still have to wear this stuffy suit.

Still have to look at the ridiculously high ceilings and rows upon rows of well-dressed people with acutely trained ears.

I let myself drift away during rehearsals, but the sweaty palms and pounding heart starts earlier than usual. We’re not even on the bus yet and my shirt is soaked with sweat.

Alice takes her seat next to me at the back of the bus and squeezes my hand.

“You’ll be great,” she says. “Once this is over with, no more big performances.”

I nod, because I don’t trust myself to speak, but not even the thought of no more performances makes me feel better. What then? Have I wasted all my parents’ hard-earned money by coming here? Were all these years of theory and practice and performances for nothing?

I think about asking Baba for a job at the restaurant.

I don’t have anything to bring to the business like Maria, but I could bus tables or learn how to be a cook.

Baba’s disappointment would be so devastating.

He has such high hopes for me. Such belief.

I’m dreading the day when I let him down.

When I shatter every hope he ever had for me.

Not only the famous musician one, but the wife and kids one too.

The bus journey seems to take less than a second.

We stop the bus on the street outside the Lincoln Centre fountains and everyone’s eyes get wide as they push their noses against the windows.

This is what I’m supposed to want. This is supposed to fill my heart with joy as a musician.

A big, grand auditorium where every seat will be filled.

Even if a lot of the butts on those seats belong to family members of the orchestra.

The grand arches and stained glass windows. The fountains bubbling in the courtyard. The lights in the staircase, welcoming you in fifty different languages. This is supposed to feel like home. But it looks like a gilded cage to me.

My heart pounds as I collect my violin case and follow Professor Lisette and the others up the stairs and into the grand foyer.

Ignore it. It’ll pass. It always does. It’ll be over soon. One step at a time. One breath at a time.

The grandness of the foyer doesn’t make me feel any better. The big chandelier dangling from the ceiling and the double curved staircase carpeted in plush red.

When I glance at Alice, she’s staring at everything in awe and wander, as she should be. He mouth open and her eyes wide.

She looks at me and I force a smile, not wanting to be the reason she doesn’t get to enjoy this moment.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She says.

“Mm hmm.”

My lips feel numb. My heart is beating so loudly now it starts to drown everything else out. I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I remind myself that I’ve felt this way before, and I never do. It’s just a feeling , I remind myself, it’ll pass like all the others.

The hubbub of finding our rehearsal room and unpacking our instruments distracts me enough for my breathing to even out, though I’m still sweating profusely through my shirt.

While we’re far from the stage and the main entrance area and bundled into smaller rooms that smell of wood polish and synthetic strings, I can fool myself that there is no performance. That this is just another rehearsal like the million rehearsals I’ve sailed through over the years.

But they all lead to something, and just as I’m starting to believe my own lies, someone from the auditorium comes in and tells us it’s time to go on.

The shuffle of feet sounds like a stampede of elephants as I step in with the rest of the orchestra and make our way down the carpeted hallway towards the stage.

I say a silent prayer in my head that it will all go okay. I try not to ask God for much, I know I don’t give much back. But at moments like this, I make an exception.

I’m wearing my crucifix – that has to count for something right? I press my hand against where it sits under my shirt for luck.

Everything is already set up on the stage. I eye the music stands and chairs while we wait for a second in the wings for someone to introduce us.

I don’t dare look out at the audience, not that I’d be able to see them under the bright spotlights.

I know my parents are there. Probably Maria and Ari too.

Ari will be bored and playing with his phone, unless Baba made him turn it off.

Then he’ll be even more pissed. I try to focus on that while we’re being introduced. But it doesn’t work.

My chest feels so tight, I can’t breathe. I clutch at my tie, my hands cramping. Voices fade into the background around me and now I’m sure I’m about to pass out.

People are moving around me. Someone puts a hand on my back and gives me a gentle push, but my feet are grounded to the floor. My legs are two strings of spaghetti.

I hear a familiar voice close to my ear, saying my name.

“Stef? Steffy?”

Opening my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. But in my head, I’m telling them, “I can’t, I can’t do this.”

I drop my violin. Hear the wood shatter on the floor. And then I’m down there with it, grasping for air, unable to breathe.