“I hope you’re not busy today, ‘cause we’re going to a concert!”
Lachlan stared dryly at Kilay, waiting in his garden once more, today dressed very nicely in a long black dress, hair swept up on top of her head.
“I’m going to get behind in my studies if you keep kidnapping me like this all the time,” he informed her, reaching for the door. Kilay snorted.
“Smart boy like you, unlikely. And anyways, having fun now and again won’t hurt much.” Lachlan gave a resigned sigh.
“I swear I’ll kill you one day,” he said, but the energy was gone from his voice.
The limo cruised slowly through the streets into the city, winding up at a beautifully built music theatre, the walls inscribed with delicate carvings of musical instruments. Soft classical music played in the lobby, softened by the carpeted walls and floor. Kilay approached the ticket window, smiling at the man within.
“Miss Ra, always a pleasure to see you,” the man said, handing her two tickets. Kilay nodded to him and drew Lachlan toward the double doors in the back. They weaved down a winding hall, lined by other doors. People moved slowly around them, all heading in the same direction, chatting and laughing. They reached another set of beautifully decorated double doors and entered.
Lachlan gazed in wonder at the hall, with its high, curved ceiling and rows of velvet lined seats, lights dimmed, preparing for the show. On the stage below a full symphony orchestra was warming up, filling the room with a cacophonous mix of tones and notes. Kilay descended to the ground floor and took a seat in the middle front, where they had a perfect view of the instruments and musicians. This close Lachlan could see the sweat on their brows, the pleasurably pained expressions on their faces.
“Here we go. They should start pretty soon,” Kilay said, gazing around like a kid in a candy store. “Ever been to one of these?” she asked. Lachlan shook his head.
“No, my parents never felt fit to bring me anywhere as high class as this.”
“Well then,” Kilay said, and proceeded to point out different instruments and techniques, face lit up.
“These guys aren’t just pros,” she continued as the lights began to blink out, and the conductor made his way to his stand. “They play with their very hearts and souls. You’ll see, it’s unlike anything you’ll ever experience.”
There was dead silence. The conductor, an elderly man with short grey hair, raised his hands. The air grew thick with anticipation, the musicians poised over their instruments, awaiting their signal. The conductor’s hand dropped, and the room was suddenly alive with sound. It rang in Lachlan’s bones, filling him with an unexplainable sense of euphoria. He looked over at Kilay, who sat enthralled by the performance. She closed her eyes, face a mask of ecstasy. Lachlan turned back and let himself be taken in by the music.
Silence came down like a hammer as the orchestra finished for intermission, snapping Lachlan out of a daze. Kilay remained where she was, smiling at him.
“Well, how is it so far?”
“Good, I guess,” Lachlan said with a shrug.
“Can’t you just feel it in your very soul?” she asked, squirming in delight in her chair. Lachlan shrugged again.
“It’s a little too loud for me.”
“Oh, nonsense. Don’t be so negative about everything. If you look at the world through a negative lens, then of course it’s going to seem bad. You need to try out a positive lens for a change; it’ll make you feel a lot happier.”
“Yeah, well why are you so happy? What makes you think this world is just so-so great!?” Kilay leaned forward, resting her chin on the chair in front of her.
“I used to play, you know. The violin.” Lachlan raised his eyebrows, intrigued.
“So you didn’t always have just one arm?” Kilay laughed.
“Of course not. I was going to be famous...everyone said so. They loved my music. It was the only way I could escape from this world and be completely content. Now, all I can do is write the music, maybe have someone else play it. But it’s not the same.” Lachlan stared at the ground, and his shiny black shoes.
“Um, so, uh, what happened? To your arm?”
“Car accident,” Kilay said flatly with a lopsided shrug. “You know, stuff like that happens, so...” She shrugged again. “But I don’t mind, it doesn’t bother me anymore. I’ve learned to live this way just fine. It’s better than losing a leg or something. I’m still alive, and I can still live my life without too much help, so I couldn’t be happier.”
“Why don’t you have a prosthetic? They make pretty good ones these days.” Kilay absently rubbed her scarred stump.
“I don’t know, only for silly, selfish reasons. I can get around well enough, and I don’t fancy being a claw person. I tried them on, but it never felt right, so I deal without.” Kilay smiled at him, then stood. “Do you want a snack? I, for one, am starving.”
They stood in the food court, which could hardly be called such due to the negative connotation it gave. It was quite the opposite from the typical cafeteria style service. The food was cooked fresh right in front of their eyes, and Lachlan had eaten enough expensive food to recognize the quality of the ingredients used. Everything had to cost a fortune.
“Are you sure you want to pay for all of this? Aren’t you broke and unemployed?” Kilay laughed.
“Unemployed, yes. Broke, no. And I am sure,” she said, pushing past him to pay. She came away with chocolate bacon popcorn, bite sized bison sliders and sparkling water.
“Why are you doing this?” Lachlan asked. Kilay lifted her shoulders, pulling the boy into a seat near the window, where they had a perfect view of the city from their fourth story position.
“I like to treat myself now and again.” Lachlan shook his head.
“Look, you seem to know about me, but what about you? Just who are you? You keep lugging me around the city, but I don’t know anything about you.”
“Enough talking, more eating. Intermission will be over soon, so we need to finish all this,” Kilay said, shoving another slider at him.
The concert finished without much more conversation between the two. After the last resounding rounds of applause stopped echoing in the vaulted ceiling they exited the building, stepping out into a city lit up for evening.
“Care to take a walk?” Kilay asked, looping her arm through his, strolling down the street. Vibrant, colorful lights bathed them as they passed between soaring skyscrapers, music filtering out of open restaurant doors. The air was rich with the smells of food, perfume and car exhaust. Even this late in the day cars buzzed down the road.
“It makes me sad, you know, seeing all these people bustling by, always rushing, rushing, rushing, not stopping to see the world around them,” Kilay said suddenly, breaking the silence that had grown between them. They were walking slow and deliberate amongst the anxious, bustling bodies around them, pushing past, glaring at them for being in the way. Kilay came to an abrupt halt; Lachlan ran into her.
“You know, if you just remain still somewhere, close your eyes and just breathe, you can feel the energy of everything around you, the pulse and flow, spreading from one person to the next. I call it the rhythm of life,” she said, drinking in the atmosphere. Lachlan watched her, uncomfortable as people pushed by them impatiently. He felt like an untethered balloon, detached, as if he could be bumped and would swirl away, disappearing into the chaos around him, drowning in the rush of bodies. Kilay latched onto his arm, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” she said with a smile.
Kilay was fifteen when it happened. She stood outside the concert hall, admiring the sunset, violin case resting at her feet. The door behind her opened and her mother came out, looking tired.
“Sorry for making you wait,” she said, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead.
“No problem. It’s a beautiful evening,” Kilay said, leaning into her mother’s side. The chaotic world of professional music could be taxing, but they were always there for each other to be their rock, their crutch, getting them both through whatever hard times life threw at them.
“Hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” her mother said, wrapping an arm around her beloved child’s waist. Eagerly Kilay picked up her violin and hurried after her mother to their car.
“Listen to that. Damn, girl, you sound better every time I hear you!” Kilay’s mother cried, slapping the steering wheel. They were listening to the recording of Kilay’s last performance off her phone, balanced on the dashboard. They both grinned and rocked out to the racing notes. The window was open, and Kilay let her right arm rest on the frame, crimson hair blown back by the wind.
“I swear to you, baby, one day, you’re going to be the most famous—” She didn’t get to finish. The world seemed to slow around Kilay as hell unleashed itself on her life. A truck slammed into the driver’s side, instantly killing her mother. Kilay found herself yanked forward as the car jumped into the air, flipping and rolling. It slid off the road, tumbling down the rocky hill the road was perched on. The world spun in a crimson blur around the girl as she was jerked about like a ragdoll. There was no pain, only numbness. There wasn’t even time to even be surprised.
The car finally came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, just in front of the river, the waters slow and lazy for the summer. Kilay lay on the stones. Somehow she had been severed from her seatbelt and flung from the car. Her body was wet, but she wasn’t near the water. She couldn’t feel her right arm. The car looked like a ball of aluminum foil that some child had crunched up. There was crimson everywhere. Kilay didn’t understand what was going on.
In a crack between shreds of twisted, broken metal, Kilay could make out the shape of her mother’s head. She needed medical attention, and Kilay was the only one around. She tried to get up, but her body failed. She wasn’t whole anymore.
“Mom!” she screamed, attempting to drag herself forward again. She slid a foot, leaving a smear of red on the rocks. “Mom, you have to get up!” she cried, tears washing down her cheeks. She vaguely noticed someone climbing down the hill, phone in hand, face white with panic. Others were gathered on top of the hill, looking down like specters, pale and frightened. Amidst all this, she could still hear music, the sad moan of a bow on taut strings. The phone, miraculously, had survived, and lay in the grass, still playing the recording.
For a long time she didn’t fully wake up. She lay on the hospital bed, green eyes dead and vacant, watching the blur of motion as doctors and nurses passed by, occasionally touching her, speaking to her, telling her things she didn’t want to believe, knowing with the acuteness of a knife buried in her chest that they were all true. Someone kind hearted had retrieved her violin, now twisted and smashed, from the wreck, and it lay, another piece of broken material, on the table at Kilay’s side. At least it had died.
She didn't sleep. She remained awake until the doctor's became concerned and injected her with things that made the cruel world fade away. Whenever she closed her eyes the accident flashed before her eyes, violin music ringing in her ears. It felt like dying every time she blinked.
Months had passed before he came to retrieve her, staring apathetically at the broken girl standing in the hospital entrance, clutching a broken violin in her single arm. Her once lively eyes were dead now. Even though she stood there now, he knew she had died in that accident too.
“Kilay.” Her father, whom she barely knew, who had not even been at her birth, who to her was only a birthday card every year, a picture on the wall, a strange voice lost in memory, placed a hand on her back, drawing her toward the limo, as if he knew anything of the hell she was in. But he, who had not acknowledged her her whole life, who came from old money, who barely had to work, who merely paid her bills, didn’t know anything. And he never made the attempt to try to understand.