Page 19 of Make It Without You

But we have time—so much of it.

I get back to practicing as I only have the auditorium for an hour. While my performance isn’t until next winter, this is a longer and more complex piece of music. This showcase is where a handful of musicians will perform as an ensemble and then solo for recruiters and professors from some of the top music programs in the country. I still want to go to college and get my teaching degree, but playing the violin professionally would also be a dream come true.

“That’s better Emily.” My teacher coaches from the chairs in the auditorium.

Amelia has been my private teacher for years. While she’s strict, she’s also nurturing. My lessons with her are fun, but serious when they need to be. She makes sure my body, mainly my shoulder, can withstand the hour of practice we do a day. Also with this recital, we don’t want my body to be overused. So we’ve dropped down to three days a week and alternating weekends.

“Run through your solo again, and then we’ll call it quits for the day.”

Since I play in the school orchestra, those pieces have been for fun. They’ve kept my skills sharp and have helped keep my body loose.

When Amelia and I met to discuss this showcase, we focused on my strengths. And after listening to samples of several solos, we decided on Mozart’s Concerto No. 5 in A major. This piece is worlds away from the cute holiday pieces and trendy songs we play at school. It’s over thirty minutes and requires my full concentration to remember every single note.

For the showcase, we decided it would be best if I did it without sheet music. My memory is usually spot-on. But, again,this is a long song. So our hope is that with repetition, that by the time the showcase rolls around, playing will be a breeze. I get my violin into position and flex my fingers with my bow hand. I take a big calming breath and play the first note.

From the first note to the last note, I managed to block out all of the outside noise. It was just me, my violin, and the sheets of music. My body relaxes when the final note echoes out into the auditorium. Only then do I take the bow from my finishing position and my violin off my shoulder.

“Beautiful, Emily.” Amelia praises. “I have no notes. For the rest of our lessons, we’ll work on you memorizing the music. We’ll start line by line before we do that whole sheet and repeat the process so you’re not overwhelmed when you do go sheetless. You’re almost there because I noticed you closed your eyes a few times when you were playing. That’s a perfect first step.”

I preen under her praise and have to manage to hold in a silly dance. “Thank you, Amelia.”

The auditorium chair speaks as she gets up, “Now get out of here and go hang out with your cute boyfriend.”

Amelia leaves me with a smile and a parting pat on the stage. I tuck my violin under my right arm and gather my sheet music. I’m out of the facility in twenty minutes and on my way home.

Gettingmy license was a step closer to freedom from a house that isn’t a home. While my parents moved us here for me to have a normal upbringing, they’ve been more absent than ever. I only see them on my birthday and very briefly on holidays. Even then they’re barely present as they’re constantly on their phones or on their laptops. They don’t even take the day off for theirrespective birthdays. I still love my parents, don’t get me wrong, but our relationship is not one like what James has with his family. Or even what Kamryn and Liam have with their parents.

But the feeling of freedom doesn't last when I see my parents' cars in the driveway. Besides them having their names on the deed and paying for the mortgage, I live alone in a house that’s empty, cold, and so full of nothing.

Me: Babe, my parents are here. I'll come over after I see them.

James: No rush, baby. I’ll be here.

Putting my car in park, I take a deep breath before shutting it off and grabbing my violin from the backseat before heading inside. I’ve always felt comfortable walking into any room my parents were in. But not so much anymore. I feel unwelcomed and forgotten about.

“Emily, can we talk to you?” My mom’s voice reaches me from the kitchen.

I dump my bag and set my violin case by the stairs. The realization that I have absentee parents and I’m sick of acting like their workloads don’t affect me, starts to sink in. I walk down the hallway to the kitchen which feels more like a death march. When I turn the corner I see my parents sitting at the kitchen table.

“Have a seat, please,” my dad instructs.

The early fall afternoon proves to be a different backdrop with them home. Instead of the warmth the afternoon provides, I just feel cold. This house is cold.

“No, ‘hi honey’ nothing? No asking how I’ve been or what I’ve been up to?” I ask in lieu of a greeting.

“Watch your mouth, Emily Marie,” my dad scolds me.

I scoff in return. “Wow. Barely been here for the last two years and now you want to discipline me. You said we moved here for me to have a normal upbringing, but we might as well have stayed in New York. Because the only difference between New York and here is that there's grass surrounding the house.”

My parents raised me to be respectful. But now they want to talk to me when that’s all I’ve wanted for the past two years. Parents to talk to about my life. Yet in the two years we’ve lived here, the longest conversation we had was my first day of high school.

“What did you want to talk about?” I’m eager to get this conversation over so I can go see my surprise from James.

My parents glance at each other before my mom takes the lead. “Our workloads are changing.”

I scoff at her announcement. “Is that supposed to surprise me?”

It’s my parent’s turn to look taken aback that I’m talking to them like this. Again, I know they’re my parents. I know I shouldn’t talk to them like this. I’ve never raised my voice when they were around. But I’m so tired of feeling like a gnat they can place on some fruit and think she’ll be satisfied.

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