Page 11 of Feral Touch
I’d want to ask him why he left without telling anyone, without telling me. Didn’t he care that I’d…that we’d all be worried about him?
I couldn’t say that in the video. It was too personal, too soon—but maybe I could say something else.
I started typing away, jotting down my thoughts. I didn’t hear Jen and Natalie leave the room.
When I had about 200 words, a little over a minute when spoken out loud, I leaned back in my chair, satisfied. This might actually work.
Hi Ren. It’s me, Ivy.
I’m not making this video because I’m a fan of Feral Silence. Actually, that concert was the first time I’d heard of your band. But, I’ve become a fan of yours. Your solos are incredible. I don’t know much about the bass guitar, but I can tell you’ve mastered that thing. I always knew you were talented, but the amount you’ve grown in the last five years…it’s impressive.
I’ve grown, too. I’m attending the Academy of Orchestral Performance Studies, with a focus in performance and composition. I hope to one day work for a symphony and travel the world, just like you. Of course, I don’t think I’ll be doing it as a rock star.
When I saw you after that concert, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know if I was just imagining things at first. You were the last person I ever would have expected to see.
I never knew what happened to you. No one did. All I could do was hope that you were okay, that you were safe and happy. I always hoped someday that you would come home and regale me with stories of all your wild adventures.
I’d still like to hear those stories. I know a lot can change in five years, but some things don’t. I miss you, Ren. I’d like to see you again.
I hope you want to see me, too.
CHAPTER 3
ONCETHECONTESTvideo was submitted, I tried to forget about the whole thing. Worrying about it wouldn’t change the outcome, and besides, I needed to focus on school. I was working on a degree in music with a focus on performance and composition. On top of all the practicing and performing, I also needed to study history and theory, not to mention writing papers and essays.
I didn’t mind the book work, really. I just felt like my time would have been better spent practicing and developing my skills as a cellist. No one was going to care if I knew which year wire-wound strings were invented during an audition for a spot in an orchestra.
Despite my best efforts, I apparently didn’t do a good enough job of putting the contest out of my mind.
My academic advisor, Professor Temsah, emailed me and asked if we could have a meeting. It was the same week the contest results were going to be announced. I didn’t put two and two together until I’d taken a seat across from him at his desk.
“Ivy, I’m concerned,” were the first words out of his mouth, wasting no time.
“About what?” My grades were fine, my work was continually praised and my last test performance had been flawless.
Or so I thought.
“Over the last few weeks I’ve noticed a change in you. You’re less focused. Your movements haven’t been as fluid as they should be. The others haven’t noticed, but I have. I know you can do better.”
Although I’d tried not to think about Ren and the video, my thoughts still wandered sometimes, wondering whether he’d watched it yet, whether he was happy to see me, whether he would choose me. I didn’t think it would affect my playing.
“I’m sorry. I’m just a little distracted right now. I’ll try to do better.”
My advisor nodded, looking satisfied. “I also asked to see you for another reason. Payment for your latest tuition installment will be due soon.”
I winced. That was something else I’d been trying not to think about.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, there are several scholarships for students in need that you may be eligible for.”
“I’ve been applying to as many as I can.”
“Do you have a back -up plan in place if none of them pan out?”
I nodded silently, not wanting to lie out loud.
The academy was expensive. I’d managed to win scholarships and grants for my first few years, but competition was fierce and the committees that decided who got funding often preferred freshmen over juniors or seniors.
I had enough money saved up from working every summer, but my mom had called and told me she and my dad were at risk of losing their house. They didn't outright ask for a loan, but how could I not help them?
