I tried to see what he was hiding behind his back, teetering excitedly on the tips of my toes as I tugged on my sleeves. I twitched nervously when he set the large blue case down, and immediately, I latched onto it, running small, stubby fingers over the cloth and tapping the case to see if anything inside would shake out of place.
“Well go on then,”
I unlatched the case and flipped it open, emerald velvet filling my vision before I pulled the blanket-like cover off, gasping at the sight of the slim wood and the shiny, not-yet-used strings. “It was a good purchase, for the price,” I ignored him completely, stroking the matte wood finish before plucking on a string.
It was most definitely out of tune, but the sound that vibrated out was deep and warm.
I ran my fingers over the finger-board, bow in my right hand as I pulled melodies from the violin. The manuscript in front of me was all but a blur; I played from the memory of hours of practice.
When I was done with my set, I stood, stretching before laughing along with the others and cheering as the end of the rehearsal was announced. I put the instrument back into its case, wiping it down carefully with a dry cloth before loosening the bow a little and packing everything back.
I stroked the wood one last time, tears pricking the back of my eyes as I zipped the case shut, latching it quickly and carefully lifting it to the top of my cupboard. There was hardly time to practice now, what with my days starting at the crack of dawn, and my nights starting when the sky was pitch black.
It had been a wonderful eleven years, and I could only hope that one day, I’d open the case again and play like I’d never stopped.