The Price of Loving You

Do You Believe in Love? (c1)

‘ Do you believe in love?’-what kind of question is that? Shaking my head I scribbled a tiny check mark in the box marked ‘no’ and moved to the next question.  ‘If you answered ‘Yes’, please proceed to number seven.  If you answered ‘No’ please specify as to why.’  Bewildered at the specificity of the question I stared numbly at the illuminated screen.  The glowing light in my darkened room had triggered my eye to twitch uncontrollably. After a few moments the twitching went away, but I still had no answer.  Why don’t I believe in love? I must have a reason somewhere in me. From what I’ve seen, love has the identity of a mime. It will mimic your heart until it breaks. I guess the way I look at it is that when your love breaks, so does your heart. And when everything is said and done, there is nobody there to help you pick up the pieces. Typing my thoughts onto the screen I proceeded to the following question. A slight knock shriveled my focus however. Glancing at the door as it squeaked open I found my mother leaning on the door frame with a face of disapproval.  Knowing her exact next words I shut my Ipad down and without a word slid it under my bed.

“Lights out. We’re taking another visit to some colleges in the morning and I want you looking perfect in that dress I bought you to perform in.”

Lifting my upper lip as if to snarl at her; I growled in annoyance. Another music school, really?

“Don’t make that face at me, Katerina. You have a talent and I want you to use it. After all, I gave you those genes of grace.”

I don’t know if she was trying to be funny or what but she really made me want to slap her. Pfft. Using my last name to enhance my skill for musical grace is not what I want to be known for.  Shaking the thoughts out of my head I looked away and rested my eyes on the balcony.  The doors I had left open enlightened my room with a soft midnight breeze.

 The creamy white stone had me overlooking the city in which I lived but had me sometimes in a depressing mood.  Sighing heavily she shut my door with a ‘thud’. The aggravation in her swing was evident as I could hear her clacking heals stomp down the hall. Even with the 16 year old rug covering the polished wooden floor I could hear her. Why she is even wearing heals at this hour is beyond me.

 Getting up from my bed I walked over to the framed photograph of Maurizio Pollini. He too was a pianist and became famous for his piece ‘ocean’ that he created in Italy. Removing the honored piece from the wall, my fingers began dialing on a key pad that I have found myself at more often now than I ever have before.  With a green light signaling access, my hands wrapped themselves around the familiar crisp envelope. The edges have worn since I first got the letter but I can still feel the indentations I have left from the first moment I read it; hiding in my walk in closet to avoid the confrontation of my parents. 

The innocence of the letter in my hands felt as if I held something illegal. The letter itself was harmless, but it was what I would discover after reading that would change my life forever. And it was everything that my parents did to ‘protect me’ and keep me away from what I really wanted. 

The postal address was from New York and I knew only the best would be there waiting for my response.  Rereading the secrecy inside, I sighed lightly and held the letter to my chest.  The best of the best wanted me. -Me of all people.  Sighing I slipped the letter from the New York Post back into the safe and sealed the case. Hanging old Pollini back on the wall I returned back to my bed.

 After slipping under the covers again I felt the feeling that most people receive before making an uneasy decision.  That ‘cold feet’ feeling of ‘is this really what I want or what other people want’.  And by those other people, I mean my parents.  Julliard was never my dream, in fact, music was simply a passion. Like any other teenager would enjoy playing a sport or to take on photography.  It was nothing more than a hobby.

 And yet, here I am, 11 years later with a scholarship to the most beautiful school I have ever seen, specifically designed for the musically inclined. Which in all bubbles down to me as much as I wish it didn’t. Sighing heavily I dismissed my thoughts and settled myself deeper under my covers and let my eyelids droop. Slipping into a slumber I felt as if walking on cloud 9 was my alternative to a Julliard symphony.  Oh how I wish I could just take that leap of faith into the unknown and for once in MY life, live it the way I wanted to live it. The high of my life, if I ever see the day, would be a rebellious act of independence.  I say this because from what I’ve read, a euphoric ‘high’ can only last so long. And in life you can only go so far before falling in reverse.  With that final thought I fell into a deep sleep.

So? What do you think? Please COMMENT and VOTE!! This is the first book I have written in a very long while and I am hoping to keep at this one. I already have about 3 or 4 chapters done, so please be sure and comment it up so I know if this is a success or not. Have a good day everyone! :)

-Danielle <3