Our Flat Relationship

By Aneelah Kauser

Beautiful, lilting music comes alive in the practice room, the sounds ricocheting off the short walls surrounding us. I wonder if the people outside can hear it. My strings vibrate as Master’s bow moves across me in rapid successive strokes. She sways and raises my scroll as the music consumes us. I would hum along if I had a mouth. But I don’t. I don’t really mind though, not as long as I get to make music with Master. 

She continues to play on me, and the entire world vanishes. It is only me, and Master. Violin and Violinist. Harmonious vibrations surround us, it would feel suffocating if I had nerves to feel with. Music bounces along the walls only to come back to Master's ears. I hope she’s enjoying this as much as I am. I prefer to practice at home, where the open space makes music ring out nicely. But it’s nice to have a change of scenery from time to time. Our music shifts from a fast scale into short chords that are just bursting with life—

The melody halts abruptly, and I jolt awake from my trance. What? Why’d she stop? I can sense as Master gently places me back down on the case. No! Let’s keep practicing!

But I don’t have a mouth. So Master can’t hear my pleas. Master turns to hug her friend and they speak as if I’m not in the room. 

“How are you still practicing? School ended more than an hour ago!” Master’s friend asks. 

“I’m working on my solo, it has to be perfect,” Master replies, “The competition is in only a month. But the thing is, my violin’s bridge keeps moving, it's so annoying. Here, listen,” She picks me up once more and giddiness overcomes me, her past words already forgotten. She turns the page and starts from the allegro, holding a quiet long note which is then accompanied by eight consecutive short notes. As Master’s bow continues to move, the notes, which had started perfectly in tune, grow increasingly dissonant. I wince internally, maybe she’s tired and is putting her fingers a half-step off? It’s alright though, she’ll get better if we keep practicing—

“See?” She stops playing me, groaning as she sets me down on my case, less gently than normal. “It moves and messes me up. It’s all out of tune by the time I get to the bottom of the first page, there are three more pages after this!”

“Hmm… how long have you had this violin for?” Master’s friend asks. 

“Since like sixth grade,” Master answers. 

“Oh wow, it is way past time for you to invest in a new violin. We’re in highschool, girlie! Trust me, everyone in Symphony has really expensive, professional violins. This might actually be a good thing…”

This can’t be. New violin? I’m the only good violin. Who would she ever want to replace me with? No one else is worthy of Master! I am the only one she makes amazing music with! I am the best violin in the Symphony Orchestra. I have to show her that. I will prove that I am perfect for her. 

“Wanna go to Chick-fil-A with me?” Master’s friend asks. “I’ll tell you all the best shops to get your new violin from while we eat.”

“Yeah, sure,” Master closes her orchestra binder and takes off my shoulder rest before I can stop her. No! Don’t go! Master quickly straps me into my case and puts my bow away. Let’s practice some more! You can go to Chick fil-A later! She zips up the case and I’m left in darkness. I can hear the door click shut as Master leaves. She doesn’t even say goodbye. 

Their voices fade away into a dull buzz as they walk away. Suddenly, I’m alone in the world. There’s no music. No one to play me. No one to wipe my strings clean. No one to tune me. There is no Master. 

I would cry if I had eyes. 

***

When Master comes back half an hour later, her music is open to the solo we were working on before. The lights are on, I’m on top of my case, tuned and ready to make music. 

Master looks around suspiciously. Her eyes land on me, but then she shakes her head. 

“It’s just a violin, it can’t move around and turn on lights,” She mutters and I bristle. 

Just a violin!? I’ll forgive her for saying that if she practices some more—

“Wow, you unpacked fast,” Master’s friend comes in and says. 

“It was like this when I came in…” Master says, “Do you think that someone thought this was their violin?”

“Maybe,” Master’s friend shrugs. 

Master begins to wipe my strings with a soft cloth. No! Play me! I beg. Not clean me!

“Why are you doing that? You’re getting a new violin anyway,” Master’s friend says. 

Master briefly looks up. “I’ll still have to trade this one in if I want to get the new one for cheaper, so I have to keep it in good condition.” 

“Huh, that does make sense. Well, I’m gonna go home now, see you on Monday, girlie!”

“See you!”

No! Let’s practice! But Master takes off my shoulder rest and puts me back in my case. 

***

I try again at home. 

After Master is done with her homework she enters her room and there I am, waiting on top of my case. My bow is rosined, strings in tune, music on the stand. All that is missing is Master. She looks at me, brows knit in surprise. 

“Mom! Did you unpack my violin for me?” Master calls out. 

“No!” Master’s mother replies.

“Weird,” Master says under her breath. “Uh, I’m gonna eat and maybe practice later!” 

“That’s fine!” Master’s mother says. 

What? I wonder. Why? But then she’s gone. I find myself wishing that I had a mouth. 

*** Master doesn’t practice me all weekend. She barely even touches me while packing up. Is she trying to preserve my pristine condition so we can ace her solo? Most likely. Master does like to be careful with me. 

I am excited when Master takes me to school. We’ll finally get to practice!

But I am utterly disappointed when Master asks her friend if she can use her violin. 

“Sure, why though?” Master’s friend asks. 

“Uh, well, my bridge is really starting to be a problem,” Master says. 

If I had a heart, it would’ve broken just now. My bridge can’t be that bad, can it? She’s never complained about it before. And how would she know? She hasn’t played me all weekend. 

I stay in my case. All. Day. Long. 

*** This continues for the entire week. Master takes me home everyday, even though she won’t practice me. But when I unpack myself to help her, she quickly packs me back up. 

It’s like she can’t even bear to look at me. 

Is this her way of saying goodbye? Is she still getting a new violin? Don’t we have a bond? Had. 

We had a bond. 

Now I’m a violin, about to lose my violinist. 

***

I overhear Master speaking with her father one day. The sound is muffled as I am strapped down inside my case. 

“Why do you even want a new violin? Are you sure this is necessary?” Master’s father asks. 

“If I want to be first chair and get a good score on my solo I need to be at everyone else’s level. No one has a $500 violin in Symphony. Minimum is like $1500. I need to up my game to be able to compete with everyone else. I’ll never be first chair if I don’t get a new violin.”

If I had a heart, it would have broken a million times by now. 

***

It’s still a shock when Master goes to the violin shop. She grabs my handle and steps out of the car. The sun beats down on my black case, making it hot to the touch. How can the sky be so bright and the atmosphere so happy when I am about to enter my own personal hell? 

The doorbell jingles cheerfully as we enter. Master sets down my case on an empty couch and a stranger opens it to inspect me. The walls of the shop are painted with dull browns and greens, and the dim orange lights flicker ever so slightly. Small glass cases are stacked atop one another with what looks like dozens of instruments trapped inside, hanging by their necks. 

The inspector nods in approval and allows Master to try out other violins.

 Master plays different violins and sees if she likes how they sound. Then she puts her favorites in a pile, while discarding the rest. Kind of like how she’s discarding me. 

“Do you want to play your old one to compare?” Master’s dad asks her. 

“No, I already know how that one sounds,” Master says and my hopes plummet. 

This is really a nightmare come true. Time at the shop seems to last for an eternity.

She finally picks one. 

This is it. I will never see Master again. I will not be Master’s violin. 

How can I be a violin without a violinist?

I won’t be a violin. 

Not. Any. More. 

Old Master leaves me on the desk at the shop, she’s trading me in. I can see her walking away with a new case in her hand. The sun pours down its golden light, making her raven hair shine and sparkle. She’s smiling, but I can’t bring myself to be happy for her. Old Master doesn’t look back at me even once. She doesn’t even say goodbye. 

I desperately wish I had hands, so I could pull her back to me. Please don’t leave me. I yearn for a mouth, so I can scream for her to come back. I promise I’ll be better. I want eyes, so I can cry and let my sadness out. What’s wrong with me? I long for ears to hear her sniffle as she’s forced to leave me. Why wasn’t I good enough for you? I desire a heart, so I can feel it shatter inside of me. Why are you leaving?

But I have none of these things, afterall, I am simply an item to be discarded. 

I am just a violin.

***

The doorbell rings again, but I’ve learned not to get my hopes up at the usual jingle. 

Old Master is never coming back. 

And I will never find a New Master.

It’s always the same routine: A little boy or girl comes into the shop, they look at violins but their parents tell them to “play something more unique.” And then they choose another instrument, or rarely, they do choose a violin, but not me. Never me. 

I used to count how many days I spent at the shop, while I still had hope that a new, better Master would take me home. 

I stopped counting a while ago. 

I used to still believe that Old Master would come back to get me, that she would see this was all a mistake. 

I stopped believing a while ago. 

I used to hope that this was all a dream. 

I haven’t stopped hoping for that. I don’t think I can. This entire place is nightmarish, with instruments displayed inside glass cases or hung on walls in uniform lines. Rays of sunlight enter through the glass windows, falling onto the wooden instruments and accentuating the light layer of dust on all of them, including me. All of them unplayed. Unwanted. 

My life had been great, I had a great Violin Master who played me everyday, and I was never lonely or bored. We had made beautiful music together. Now I sit on a shelf, unplayed. Unchosen. 

The bell rings again. I don’t bother to pay attention to what the family is saying to the store owner at the front desk. I don’t have enough will in me to look at them. How can I force myself to watch them choose another instrument? 

But shockingly, a minute later I hear the creak of the door of my glass cabinet opening. And then the store owner is grabbing my neck and taking me to the family that had just entered. 

What’s going on? 

The family has a mother, a father, and a daughter. The store owner hands me over to the daughter’s shaking hands. If I had eyebrows they would furrow right now. She’s nervous. Why? Has she never played a violin before? 

A few minutes later, after the store owner has taught her how to hold a violin, it’s clear she has no idea how a violin works. The bow screeches against my strings and puffs of rosin infuse into the air surrounding me. AHH! What is she doing?! I desperately try to escape her grasp but fail, since I am just a violin. Her bow moves side to side as she changes bow strokes and even the open strings sound dreadful as she plays. No! I don’t want her! Put me back! Please! 

***

I think I’m in shock. Heat suffocatingly presses down on me in the car’s trunk, making me angry at the sun for smiling above me in the sky. Why is it happy when absolutely nothing in my life is happy?

The vehicle roars to life, and my case jostles around as they begin the car ride home. This girl actually chose me. I wanted to be chosen for so long, but not by a beginner who can’t even pluck a single string correctly! I was the best violin in Symphony when I was with Old Master. Now, I’ll be a nobody. This is offensive to my immense skills as a violin. Is this what I deserve? To be paired with someone who has less talent in their entire body than I have in a single fine tuner?

This. Is. Terrible. 

I quickly discover that the girl’s name is Zemara, and she is in fifth grade. 

And that this is her first time playing an instrument. 

Why did a beginner have to choose me? I can’t stand listening to her play me, she doesn’t even understand where to put her fingers! And that’s the most basic thing! 

I sigh in relief when the orchestra teacher tells the class to pack up. 

“Tomorrow you will have to play measures 1 to 5 by yourself in front of the class,” she says. 

I see Zemara gulp.

I would gulp too if I had a throat. 

Or saliva.

Zemara tries her best to practice once she gets home but there’s no improvement. She can’t seem to pluck fast enough with her right hand and a few notes are flat. I would wince if I had eyes. Why can’t she play well? It’s honestly not that hard. Old Master was fine at it. Old Master and I had played such hard songs together, like Beethoven or Tchaikovsky. We had gotten the solo in Pavane for a Dead Princess last semester. My mood sours as I think about how all the other violins are probably still there in Symphony, playing Dvorak 9 while I’m here playing Itsy Bitsy Spider. I miss Old Master. I miss my old life. 

Immediately, I banish the thought. There is no Old Master. 

Zemara keeps trying until her hands are red and I can see imprints of the strings on her fingertips. I can imagine all of the other violins in her class judging me. 

I have to fix Zemara and make her play better. 

But how? Old Master and I were such a good pair. We were always in time while playing music. We always worked together. Maybe it isn’t possible for me to sound good with anyone else. The realization would leave my mouth dry if I had one. Maybe I’ll never play Handel’s Sonata or Vivaldi ever again. 

Why is the world punishing me? What did I ever do wrong? I was such a good violin to Old Master. We were perfect. A deep sadness penetrates me. Now I’m alone, and imperfect. 

Everything I had is gone. All I had was my reputation as a great violinist. My fuel and motivation of existence was the competition of getting to be first chair.  My entire life consisted of being better than everyone else. Of being Master’s amazing violin. I am nothing without Master. 

Is she nothing without me? The thought immediately torches every emotion but anger at her betrayal. Old Master left me. She chose to give me away. Why do I care how she plays without me? In fact, I hope she bought a horrible violin with a scratchy sound. This way, I’ll feel better when I beat her—

 My thoughts stall. 

How can I beat her if I still love her? In order to be better, I need to accept that my old life is over. It’s not Zemara who needs fixing. It’s me. I’m the one holding us back. I didn’t wish to be good if I couldn’t be good with Old Master. But Old Master is never coming back. And now, I realize, I don’t want to go back to someone who gave me away so easily. 

I suppose I didn’t wish to be with someone so inexperienced because I thought it would mean I am inexperienced.

But I was wrong. It doesn’t matter what I play or with who, just that I get to make music. Every single note that vibrates my string is amazing, it doesn’t matter if it’s from Dvorak or twinkle twinkle little star. 

Zemara’s mom pops her head in the room where Zemara is practicing, “Honey, it’s time to sleep. Are you almost finished practicing?” 

“Almost,” Zemara lies. We both know she’s nowhere near ready. “Just one more time,” She whispers to herself. 

This time when Zemara starts playing, I don’t fight against it, against her. I trust this little girl and lose myself in the music, ignoring the simplicity of it and simply enjoying the feeling of being played again. I feel the pulse of the music, cherishing it and putting my all into the effort, just like if we were playing Beethoven’s Spring Sonata. Just because this music is easier doesn’t make it lesser, and just because I am an advanced violin doesn’t mean that I am too good to play something like this. 

Each note rings out majestically. And Zemara plays perfectly this time. 

***

New Master is anxious and chewing her lip. I can feel her heart beating faster against my wood. It’s almost our turn. She jumps a little when the teacher calls out her name. Short, fast breaths cloud my scroll, and her hands shake slightly as she gets into ready position. I take what is the equivalent of a deep breath as she begins playing. The music doesn't envelope us as it did with Old Master, but I’m okay with that. We both sway to the song a little. Much too soon, she’s done. And she gets a perfect score. Pride lights me up inside, where I think my heart would be if I had one. 

Though New Master may not be a professional, I’m surprisingly excited to learn music with her. I think the lack of competition will be refreshing. I will get to understand myself better without the taint of comparison. And once I discover my own skills, I will be ready to face the world. No one will beat New Master with me on her team. 

New Master keeps a hold of me, and her hands aren’t shaking anymore. A stray ray of sunlight shines from an overhead window, landing directly on my smooth scroll. 

“You will have another playing test next week, but this time you’ll play the entire song,” Her teacher says.

I would smile if I had a mouth.

By Aneelah Kauser