The Performance

“We have all the time in the world.”

She sniffled at Charlie’s words, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with her sleeve. Her classical violin, a gift from her mother, sat beside her on the bed, discarded in a fit of defeat. The bow was still held tight in her palm, making her pale skin even paler. She would’ve broken the bow, if not for Charlie’s soft hands prying it from her fingers.

“All the time in the world? You’re kidding, right?” She said softly, curling around herself. “I won’t get good at this, no matter how much time passes!”

“Oh, come on, Clara! You’re not that bad!” Charlie insisted, his light curls bouncing around as he turned to her, his smile bright. “You’re just a beginner! Not all musicians were good at their craft a few weeks after they picked up their instrument! I was horrible at this when I started. It just takes time and practice. Here.”

He picked up the discarded violin, resting it on his shoulder, tucking his chin into the rest as naturally as a bee rested on a flower. Picking up the bow, he laid it against the strings, pulling the bow back and forth, his fingers dancing on the strings, producing beautiful notes that sounded nothing like the ear-splitting screech that she produced. 

He noticed how she watched him, and gave her another smile. 

“See? Practice. You’re young, Clara, you’ve got time to learn. I have time to teach you. We have all of the time in the world, like I told you. You’ll play on big stages with me one day.”

The big stages. The thought sent a shiver through her, one that she knew was anticipation mixed with fear. It was where she belonged, yet would she be good enough to get up there? Would she ever be? She was running out of time. Her parents wanted her to play at the school talent show in a month, the great stages of New York in a year. They wanted her to sell out shows by the time she was twenty. 

Charlie could do that. He’s already won more awards than should’ve existed, played in the best orchestras in the state. But Clara? She couldn’t. 

“Thirteen isn’t young, Charlie.” She protested, taking a deep breath. “You knew how to play a simple note when you were eight. I can’t even do it now.”

“And I’m eighteen now. I’ve had ten years of practice. You’ve had a month. Need I say more?”

“But I’m your sister. I’m expected to be as good as you.” Her voice was getting whiney, and she knew it, but Charlie didn’t let up. He knew that she needed to hear this, he always did. Some called it sibling intuition, but she just called it Charlie. He was as good as telling what people needed to hear as he was playing Mozart. It didn’t mean that he had to admit that she liked it, though. 

He rolled his eyes, handing her back the violin. “Tell me that in ten years, and then we’ll see. Come on. Don’t do it for Mom and Dad. Do it because you want to do it.”

He was right. She was tired of her parent’s insistence to be the best. She loved music, she really did, she loved how the high and low notes merged together in beautiful harmony, swelling in her heart like a strong wave, a wave that she wanted to ride. She wanted to be able to create that music, make that feeling come through her own creation, not someone else’s. So, she wanted to learn the violin. She wanted to be that person that made such beautiful tones, that could change the entire atmosphere of a room with just a few movements. And, more than anything, she wanted to share the music that she knew was locked inside of her. 

On the surface, after long days of struggle and long nights of worry, she found herself becoming hopeless. It was easy to give up, to collapse under her parents’ expectations of her, to admit that she couldn’t be the daughter that they loved, yet she knew that she couldn’t give up on herself. Charlie knew this too. He was there when she had learned how to stand up for herself against bullies, despite her thin stature. He was there when she had cried to him about needing to prove that she was strong, that she was worth it. He never left her, and encouraged her to keep going for herself, not for anyone around her. Some days, it was only that fact and his encouragement that kept her going. 

With a soft sigh, she tucked her blond hair behind her ear, picking up the violin and setting it on her shoulder once more. She winced at the noise that came from the instrument, as it sounded like a dying animal, yet all Charlie did was keep on encouraging her, giving her that smile that told her that she would get better. She would prove to herself that she could get better. 

So, she took a deep breath, and tried again. 

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“We have all the time in the world. You’ll get there, I promise.”

She huffed, throwing her hands in the air, nearly tossing the burger she held behind her and onto the floor. But she held on tightly. 

“Does it really matter, Charlie? No amount of time can fix this! Can fix me! I’m eighteen! I haven’t won any awards yet! I’ve mastered the violin, the flute, and the piano, but nothing!” 

Charlie watched her, finicking with the milkshake straw in front of him. They had just gotten back from a musical festival, and Clara had, without doubt, absolutely failed. Her intricate musical piece, one that a famous violinist wrote, her violin playing, everything…it didn’t work. She didn’t win. She wasn’t even one of the finalists. She hated thinking of all of the wasted hours, the endless attempts to be better leading to disappointing her parents. Disappointing herself. 

How could she fail, after all that she’d done? She had practiced for hundreds of hours, even written dozens of musical pieces herself, using up all of her free time. If that didn’t make her good enough, maybe she wasn’t meant for performing music. Maybe this wasn’t what she was supposed to do with her life, despite what her heart believed. Whoever said to follow your heart clearly hadn’t tried to pursue music, had they?

Clara knew, in that moment, that she wasn’t born to play a violin on a stage. She wasn’t born the daughter that her parents wanted. She wasn’t born the person she needed herself to be. 

All of those thoughts crushed her, yet she found it hard to dismiss them. How could she, after a night like this one? 

Charlie had noticed how down she was, like he always did. She was thankful that the diner he took her to was still open, despite the late hour, and would be open for a while. She needed the time to think, and the time away from her parents.  Now she had time to breathe, a chance to feel the weight of her failure away from those who expected the most from her.

“At this point I should just quit and go to some math college.” She continued, exasperated. “At least that’s something I’m good at. I could be an accountant or something.” 

The dress she wore was awkward, irritating her further. It was too fancy for her tastes, too large and flowy around her legs and too tight in her belly. She rolled her shoulders, trying to get more comfortable in the hard wooden chairs. She could feel her hair slowly falling out of the bun her mother had put it in hours before, but she didn’t care. She had bigger things to worry about.

All Charlie did was stay silent, observing her, no doubt trying to find the words to say. But what could someone say after a failure like this?

“Listen, Charlie. Just…go home to your kids and Anna. They’re probably waiting for you, and you have better things to do than hang out with the worst violinist in the world.” She muttered, taking a bite out of her burger, and Charlie straightened. 

“No. My sister isn’t the worst violinist in the world. She never was, and she never will be.” He said sternly. “And Anna would say the same.”

Clara knew that Anna, Charlie’s wife, would say that. But that didn’t really make Clara feel better. 

“I know, I just need more practice, right? We have all the time in the world, apparently.” She scoffed, but he shook his head. 

“Yes, you do. The whole world is out there for you to explore, and you’ve got time.” Charlie held up a finger as she opened her mouth to protest, and continued. “But, I’m thinking that we’re going about this all wrong.”

The words stopped her short, and she finally met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Are you doing this for yourself? Or Mom and Dad?” 

“I’ve told you this before, I’m doing it for me!” She argued, and the words felt like poison in her mouth. She didn’t know why. 

Charlie shook his head. “I don’t think you are. I’ve seen you play the violin, and you love it. But, you love it differently than I do. You don’t…” he waved his hand around, as if trying to grab words out of thin air, and she waited, no matter how impatient it made her. “You don’t see the violin as just something to make music. You see it as something to share stories with.”

She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “Charlie…”

“Think about it. I love taking music from other musicians, and bringing them to light. Clara, you don’t do that. You pour over your own music, pulling musical notes from thin air, making the music, the stories that I love to share. You’ve written hundreds of musical pieces, and they’re all phenomenal. Why, I think the only reason that you’re still entering these competitions is to make Mom and Dad happy.”

The words made her go silent, staring at her food with distaste. For some reason her gut seemed to be spinning, leaving her confused and lost. Her fists tightened into the fabric of her dress, her fingers digging into the pressed folds, and sighed. Could he be right? 

All she ever wanted was to prove to herself that she could do it. But, do what? Follow her passions? Be a great violinist? Be the daughter her parents wanted? What was she trying to prove? Had everything she’d been doing wrong? Did she really want to be an amazing violinist?

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” She asked somberly, and Charlie sighed. 

“I…I wasn’t really sure until now. I always thought that you wanted to be a violinist, but tonight…” He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “You were distant. While the other contestants played their own pieces, pieces that they wrote themselves, you watched them with passion and excitement. I’ve never seen you become anything close to that while performing at any festival. You perform stiffly, like you’re trying to be professional, instead of having fun. Enjoying it. Maybe, if you played your own music piece, then that passion you have for music would finally be visible.”

“But, it doesn’t matter if I love my own pieces more. Mom said that I should play something from the best violinist一” Her voice broke off as she finally heard what she was saying. “Oh.”

Charlie raised his eyebrow in understanding, and Clara sat back in shock. 

“Like I’ve told you, you have all the time in the world. Figure this out, I know you will. Try not to focus too much on the rewards or even being an amazing violinist, okay? Focus on doing what you love; music. Just the music. Like…writing more music. Performing it from your heart. Sharing your stories. You may not win awards, but you’ll be happier.”

She was left reeling, frantically swimming in deep water after she had been thrown overboard in her own life, her own beliefs, her own self. 

“But, you’ve done what Dad and Mom wanted this whole time, becoming a performer. And you’re happy.”

He gave her a bold smile. “Well, I might be doing what they want, but I’m not doing it for them. And, I’m doing what I love.” He let her sit with those thoughts for a moment, his eyes shining with kindness, and not for the first time she was thankful to have him by her side. 

“Thank you.”

He gave her a quick grin, and they continued eating, Clara’s heart feeling lighter than it had all night. 

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The room around her sparkled with candlelight, yet a huge flood light was focused on her, blinding her vision and hiding the audience. A wooden stage was under her feet, old yet sturdy, with dozens of chairs and music stands around her, waiting to be filled with young musicians, those whose hearts pounded with every musical note, every metric beat, who thrive on the music they are capable of creating. Music that they love to create. 

Clara stood in front of the largest audience she had ever stood in front of, glad that she wasn’t able to truly see them. She didn’t know if she could handle seeing all of their eyes on her. This wasn’t her moment, not really, but it was a moment she wanted to soak in every minute of. She didn’t want to be blinded by fear. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly, and spoke.

“Greetings.” She said, her voice feeling tight in her throat. She could only hope that it didn’t sound as strained to the audience. “My name is Clara Banks. When I was thirteen, my brother, Charlie Banks, told me that I had all of the time in the world to learn how to play the violin. So I did. I learned how to play, and didn’t give up, even when I wanted to.”

Now that she had everyone’s attention, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her, burning through her skin, criticizing her every move. She wiped her hands on her black dress, wishing that it was made of a lighter fabric. She should’ve chosen a better dress to wear for tonight, but at least it wasn’t tight and uncomfortable. At least it was a dress that felt like it was meant for her. 

She continued with a smile on her face, hoping that her nerves were hidden. “When I was eighteen, I found no success in music, even after years of training and practice. I was about to give up, until Charlie told me that perhaps it wasn’t playing the violin that I loved, but creating the music itself. Writing notes on music sheets. Creating something from nothing, and wanting to share it with the world. But, it confused me. He told me that I had all of the time in the world to figure things out. And I eventually did.”

Closing her eyes, she could picture him in her mind, his smile, his passion. She could see his family in her mind’s eye, and knew that they were in the audience, no doubt proud of her. Anna was likely in tears at the mention of Charlie, and Clara knew that she would soon be in tears, too. 

“My brother told me that the world was out there for me, and I chased it. It was only because of him that I’m standing here today. But, he was wrong about one thing. Some of us don’t have all the time in the world.” Her throat felt tight, and she knew that she had to finish this quickly before she was cut off by a sob. “He didn’t. I wish I could say that he was here today, but he isn’t.”

She could hear her musicians coming up behind her, taking their seats. She chose to focus on them instead of the tears that burned in her eyes.

“If I learned anything from him, it was that we can only do the best we can with the time we’ve been given. We can’t give up on understanding our passions, following them, on defying the expectations that were given to us. So, I present to you my music, the music I’ve created with agony, love, determination, and all my heart, music that these amazing musicians will perform for you tonight. I dedicate this night to him, my brother, Charlie.”

Applause followed her as she stepped onto the lower part of the stage, taking her seat near the front, shaking. She watched as the conductor grabbed the baton, taking his own place in front of the musicians. She wiped a tear from her cheek, waiting in anticipation for the music to begin. As the conductor lifted the baton, Clara thought about how her music was about to be played, music that she had written, music that shared a part of herself to the world around her. A part of her struggle. A part of her strength. A part of her brother. 

What she would give to have him sitting beside her now. Charlie was the one who inspired her to do this, who helped her see that she was more than what she was expected to be, more than her confusion, more than a performer. He was the reason that she had gotten this far, that she finally felt happy doing what she loved. 

Taking one more deep breath, she smiled with tears streaming down her cheeks as the baton was lowered, and the music began.