Page 36 of Voice to Raise
“I’m not certain I did. Once I showed an aptitude for violin, my father decided I needed to be a prodigy. The youngest to do everything. Even the best at everything. Now, I wasn’t…other kids before me had broken the new ground in those respects. That said, I was showcased at an early age.” I took another bite of food.
“Because of your talent?” He bit into his sandwich.
I swallowed. “Partly. Also, because I was a little Black kid. We’re not as common in Vancouver as in other parts of Canada like Toronto. And where I went to school? I was pretty much on my own.”
“Ouch.”
He held my gaze with those mesmerizing green eyes. Eyes that made me want to tell him everything. Like where I lived, how life had been as a kid— all the shit I’d gone through.
“Yet you gave all that up.”
“I suppose.” I stirred my food. “I carried on at first, after my parents died. I wanted to make my dad proud. Eventually, though, I realized everything I was doing was for him—and he wasn’t even here to see it. Either to praise or to criticize. Which, I freely admit, he did way more of one than the other.”More criticism and less praise. Obviously.I didn’t want Spencer to feel sorry for me—but I did want him to understand where I’d come from and why I was the way I was.
“What made you quit entirely?”
“I woke up one morning, looked at myself in the mirror, and acknowledged in no way could I play the violin in an orchestra for the next forty years and feel anything but a dull ache and a sense of loss. Yes, my father pushed me into it. Yes, I did it for him. I also did it for myself. I’m a competitive person, and I wanted to be the best. The best was studying music at the University of British Columbia and then joining the symphony.” I shrugged. “That was all pretty straightforward. We’d talked about me taking guest first chairs at other orchestras. That would’ve eventually happened.”
“But you quit.”
“That day I decided. I had six more performances to go. They were tortuous because I’d tendered my resignation. I kept thinkingwhat if I’ve made the wrong decision? What if I’m fucking up my life?” I shrugged yet again, trying to find the right words. “The director of the orchestra said I’d always be welcome back, but that felt hollow. I’d be starting from scratch. Yet, I knew.” I took another bite.
“Knew?”
I swallowed. “That I’d made the right decision. I had an old acoustic guitar I pulled out of storage. I started playing around with it. Once I’d left the orchestra entirely, I bought an electric guitar and amp, and sheet music for hundreds of songs. I locked myself in my basement studio for a month and played until my fingers bled. By the end, though, I had a sense of who I was and what I wanted. I started going to shows around town. Dive bars, night clubs—anywhere I could find live music. I caught Creed playing drums with a truly horrific group. I mean…” I shuddered.
Spencer grinned. “Apparently that didn’t stop you.”
“Well, the singer was atrocious, the bassist kept fucking up the rhythm, and the keyboardist must’ve been high on something.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he was literally playing the wrong song.”
“Oh.” Spencer cocked his head as if trying to work it out in his mind.
I wanted to assure him that whatever he came up with, the reality had been infinitely worse.
“Yeah, that wouldn’t work.”
“Nope. But the drummer held the band together. I approached him that night and asked if he was interested in joining me. I had zero cred, nothing to recommend myself except an amazing rehearsal space in my basement as well as the balls to proposition a guy who was still coated in sweat from the set he’d just done with his current band.”
“And?”
“He was in my basement the next afternoon. By the time we found Freddie for keyboards and Reese for bass, we had a pile of songs. We had to play some pretty dicey places at first, but we worked our way up. My job working at a recording studio introduced me to some amazing people. I convinced some of them to take a chance on us. Our first album came out in April, and we’ve already got songs ready to go for the next one.” I shoved another forkful of food in my mouth. Curry truly was one of my all-time favorite flavors. Had been even before Creed had brought me to his home to meet Mama Murthi.
“And you have grander ambitions? Sorry, I keep asking questions while you’re eating.”
I swallowed. “All good. I was hungry. Uh, yeah. We’re sending a demo to the Rocktoberfest people down in Black Rock. We’re hoping to get in for next year. That would be, like, huge.”
“Grindstone just performed there, right?” He sounded certain, but I read the question in his eyes.
“Yeah. My friend sent me the footage—epic. I want to be there next year. I mean, we’d probably be on a smaller stage on the first night…but it’s a dream.”
“A far way from the Queen Elizabeth Theatre.”
The performance venue where I’d played for years.
“Yep. Like, and that’s okay. I did what I had to do to make Dad proud when he was alive. I don’t regret studying music at the university. I don’t wish I’d taken another path. But I also couldn’t keep living my father’s dream. I had to…basically become my own man.”
