Can you hear it? The thousand crystal beads diving against the panes of glass, the empty cars, and sturdy trees? It’s been down pours all week. The soothing dark blue glow and ink streets reflecting gold. Isn’t it nice? How the windows pour in ocean light? I should be packing instead of sitting cross-legged here, reminiscing. But I’m going through memories buried deep within my closet. Fleeting and hidden in the dark corners and small shadows. The last few things that must be packed or thrown away. Isn't it funny how you can yearn to leave a place but when the time comes suddenly it’s too soon?
Ping. A silver glint hits the white carpet. Angelica’s necklace. She left this bit of metal and a scrawled letter for me a year ago. I miss her so much. How many times have we sat right where I am now, laughing? Talking? Within two weeks my closest friend was gone, states away. We never did get to say goodbye. Maybe it’s better that way. Goodbye means the end.
But now and then, I think back to laughter, inside jokes, and back to secrets passed between. Sometimes at school, when I walked through those crowded lonely hallways, full of people who underneath the makeup, sneers, and façade are the same but push and deny, I think of her. I swear I feel her presence there. Isn’t it wonderful, that we can imagine people back? Everytime I see this necklace, I see her perfectly. Incredible dark Rapunzel hair, and that huge smile, hiding a hundred secrets and scars. We went on without her as if she was never there and I felt like I was the only one who was missing her. The only one who remembered. The necklace will go in bottom of my suitcase.

Wow. I remember this! It was my sheet music for my orchestra auditions last year. A little crumpled, now. I got into the highest group, and was the youngest too. I hadn’t meant to. I didn’t practice this for two weeks beforehand and auditioned only on a whim. What a journey that was. Practicing in the recital hall every day, instead of a cold tiny basement room. It was there that for the first time I thought I am talented. It was there I saw soloists grace those grand and imposing stages bathed in hot bright lights and like a bolt of lighting a thought had stumbled in: Could I be there? Could I go even farther than them? Stand among the golden prestige of Carnegie Hall even? Once conceptualized it remained. A gash of electric blue on a white canvas. Immediately my practice hours increased and I begun to flourished in practices and lessons, challenge diminished in the music we played and the techniques we learned.
And this! Here’s that awful Tchaikovsky piece. Do you know how many time’s I wanted to shred this? But the concert was unbelievable. The best thing about that orchestra was.... Well sometimes, you’re just playing notes. An eighth note G here and and a whole note A there. Sometimes it’s much more. When you feel the emotion in the poignant melody and with the crescendo, the tension fills in every empty space where omnipresent loneliness cuts like a dull blade. You sit up straighter and play louder and fuller, the piece leaping and bounding out. The soaring first violins and resounding low bass notes have become each individually complex and beautiful but combined to be something greater. Then it’s released all at once in a tremendous beat of silence before a softer movement slips in. One of whispers and graceful tip toeing. During those moments you aren’t lonely. You blend into a dozen other people to become something mellifluous and dazzling. That’s the most magical thing, we were playing emotion. Not music. A hundred maroon seats, and brick walls were soaked in the beauty of a single stunning symphony. I will always return to that tiny auditorium, where triumph and tragedy entwine. I’ll put this in my violin case, for good luck. It will ride the silver plane to the sky with me.
It’s true though, I was so lonely in those days. Angelica was gone and everyone was so much older. Glares, irritation, and whispered comments followed me everywhere. They pull your confidence away, like it’s only a rug that always belonged to them. It’s wasn’t the most pleasant things but it wasn’t the worst. Even so the friendless afternoons and rehearsals were hard and long. The little shoves in the hallway and silences when I walk in a room. I’ve lived here for my whole life, but all those things are only what I will leave behind. When my plane takes off tonight the only thing that will travel with me, is my bags, violin, and the memories I choose to take. And I chose to take ones of sunlight and joy, of confidence and hope. But I never will forget what’s here. These things I will forever carry, just not on my sleeve.

Look out the window. Thunder and lightning are terrifying but dazzling in an alluring way. Steady rain is always comforting. The turmoil outside makes me feel calm. The forks of silver blue light up the room nicely. Too bad there’s hardly anything left to illuminate. The bare furniture, white walls, black suitcase and a one way plane ticket to NYC. I swear the brilliant skyline is etched behind the paper. The city of insomnia waits for me. For my music.
I have to go. That is where I need to be. And yet, I’ll miss this place. The lingering reminder of my best friend, of my childhood, of the first time I picked up a bow and violin. Can you hear it? Scratchy and tuneless at first, but years later smooth and delicate. A song just begun. And deaf I am to the lone cars that rush by and crickets that serenade the moon, when that piece of wood is on my shoulder. Can you see it? Outside the rain that gives way to stars. Infinite polished silver thrown to the darkness. Tiny crystalline diamond drops that cling to the deep green leaves.The calm night air enveloping a quiet suburban neighborhood. It’s time to go