Page 97 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

Zoe smiled as she watched Philip spell out their names. “Nice to meet you, Philip, and thank you.”

Philip nodded in acknowledgement.

They stood in silence for a moment. Lorenzo with his arms folded across his chest. “There is a saying, Zoe. We don’t find a home. Home finds us. And once we find it, we don’t want to leave. In a second, I want you to close your eyes. And when you do, I want you to ask yourself one question. Is this still your home?”

When Philip finished, she did as Lorenzo asked.

Without sound or sight, the world felt out of balance. But she focused on the pressure of the soles of her boots on the floor. The scent of polish and trace of lemon. She felt the energy of the thousands of students like her who had stood where she was standing. She felt the trace vibration of every note that had ever been played. And in her memory, she heard the echo of her own music.

This was the last place on earth she’d not felt displaced.

She still belonged here. Her soul cried out to still be welcome. If she wasn’t, she knew she’d grieve for this harder than anything she’d ever grieved for.

She opened her eyes. “Yes. It is.”

“Do you want to finish your degree?”

“I just need to know if I can still do this. I’m playing with muscle memory. Old songs I already know. I need to know if I can learn new and deliver them. If I can play with an ensemble. I need someone to be brutally honest with me.”

Lorenzo walked toward her. “And so it becomes clear, oh spirited one, why you finally called me.”

She glanced at Philip to ensure she’d understood, and despite the surge of emotions rushing through her, she smiled. “You won’t bullshit me. I don’t need pity or the sympathy vote. Can I still do it?”

“You’re expecting me to answer a question only you can. The question isn’t can you. It’s do you want it badly enough? Are you willing to let go of the perfection you always carried with you, and try?”

As he spoke, she knew the real reason she stood there. “I need to play, Lorenzo. I need the expression of it. I don’t know who I am without it. And I need to be the best at it. I don’t want a participation prize. I want to be the star again. I want to light up this concert hall because every note I play has such tone, finesses, such passion, that for a moment, every single person is transported, and they no longer see me and the instruments. I don’t want deaf to be written in news articles about me. I want them to write, “World’s greatest percussionist, Zoe Atkins.” Not, “Deaf musician, Zoe Atkins.”

Lorenzo laughed. “And that right there is why you always were one of my favourite students, Zoe. Go big or go home, right?”

“I mean, if you’re going to get out of bed in the morning, why not get out of bed and shake the world?” It suddenly hit her, why she felt so lost. She had no purpose.

Philip grinned at her response, as Lorenzo stopped in front of her.

“It’s going to be a lot of work. A lot of relearning. You’re going to need to change the way you process your involvement in an ensemble. You now need to realise you are the producer of sound, but not the audience in any traditional sense. The audience will hear the music, but you’ll feel it. And I’m sure I’m breaking all kinds of rules about deafness when I explain this, so I apologise if these descriptions aren’t what the Deaf community would use. But I don’t know how else to express the hearing of it, the audible portion of it, and the feeling of it, the energy and vibration of it.”

She switched between Lorenzo’s passionate animation and Philip’s fast hands. “I’ve always felt music when I played.”

Lorenzo nodded. “It’s impossible to strike or play any instrument and not do both. The vibration of a clarinet reed through the lips, the pluck of a guitar string. But I mean in the greater sense. Now, the vibration is your only cue. The conductor, who I know you only had a modicum of respect for before, is now your best friend.”

“I respected conductors.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Fine. I respected the good conductors. Some conductors suck and shouldn’t have been on the program.”

Lorenzo laughed. “Such impossible standards. Let’s focus on the marimba first. Worry about timpani et cetera later. Get the marimba right, and both the xylophone and all the other metallophone instruments such as the glockenspiel are yours.”

“Thought the glock might make more sense to start with. More vibration.”

Lorenzo nodded. “It is more vibration, but it might be too much sensory feedback. Plus, the marimba is your best instrument. The one you are most natural with. I’ll send you some times per week to choose from. Let me know what works for you.”

“And how does it work from a fees perspective? Would I need to pay for another year?”

“There will be no payment required.”

Zoe folded her arms. “I don’t need charity or misplaced pity.”

Lines appeared on his brow as he frowned. “Don’t be stupid, Zoe. This isn’t pity. Or charity. You were the best percussionist I ever taught. I suspect that hearing or not hearing won’t change that one bit. That skill you have…it’s god-given. Listening to you play was like a small glimpse of heaven while mortal. You transported people, Zoe. Helped them see their place in the enormity of this universe through music. It would be criminal for more people not to hear you play. And it would be, perhaps, the biggest privilege of my career to make sure that a light that bright continues to illuminate the world.”

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