Fifty Words for Embarrassment

Forgive me, but here things slowed down quite a bit. For the sake of keeping your attention, I'm going to tell you this next part of my story on fast-forward. A week passed and things were good. Reed and I had a couple of adventures, hiking and going to the art museum. He called me most nights and texted me most days and I was deliriously happy. During the week after that, we saw each other almost every day. He told me things, private things that I will not share here for his sake. In exchange, I told him about my own dark corners and shadows.

Time passed.

Graduation came and went. I spent my summer working alongside Florence as a barista in our favorite music cafe. Reed visited sometimes, alone or with the band. Caleb moved in with his mother, who lived in Maryland. He promised to come to my next all-nighter with Flo.

Notice one thing I do not mention: Reed breaking up with his girlfriend. Want to know why I'm not talking about it? It's because he didn't- though I was naive enough at the time to hope that he had and that he just wasn't mentioning it to me yet. This left me in a rather difficult situation. Reed said so many nice little things to me, complimented me frequently enough, found ways to be casually close to me. He called regularly and together we made and carried out plans galore. Things were painfully good, cruelly uncertain.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing was that I couldn't say anything to him about it. How could I? If I brought it up and he broke up with her, it wouldn't have been his decision, but mine. He might regret the break-up. He might regret me. But I wanted so badly to be able to ask. July came. Reed and I decided that we would travel together next summer. We started making a list of the places we would go.

Everyone has a breaking point. I hit mine halfway through July. I was fed up with uncertainty and waiting. It was making me feel sick. Each day I was convinced that he wasn't really interested in me after all, despite all evidence to the contrary. I had reached the point where Reed was making me more anxious than happy. The boys and I played a show one weekend. We had by that time developed a system. We opened with our version of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, which Marcus had, bizarrely enough, turned into a break-up song. It was a real crowd pleaser. We followed it with a couple of cover songs- sometimes these involved me, sometimes not. Then came more of the classical revamps, by which time we had the crowd hooked.

This show was special, though. It was the one that won us our popularity. It gave us our regular show and a string of bookings for the next several months, with more coming in all the time. Then followed the merchandise sales, which were designed and handled by Gus, who fancied himself an artist. All of this presented me with the unforseeable predicament of having more than enough money to not only move out of my mother's house, but to pay for college out-of-pocket, so long as I was taking only a class or two at once and as long as I kept my part-time job. Why was this a predicament? I'll tell you: I was accepted into a local university with a reputable music program. While the pursuit of music as a career had always seemed impossible, it looked more feasible every day.

I decided to go for it.

This decision was accompanied by another. I was cutting Reed loose. It had been four solid months since New York and he had said not a work about breaking up with his girlfriend since, though he continued to occasionally take hold of my hand when we were hanging out and to say flattering things to me. Then one day when I had asked Reed whether he was interested in going with me to the art museum to see a violinist who was playing there, he said he couldn't because he was going out of town, up to see Sadie, his girlfriend.

He came back and they were still together. I knew how to take a hint. I cut out all one-on-one time with him. I acted friendly when we were in a group setting, as though nothing had changed. And really, maybe it hadn't. Reed said not a word about our spending less time together. I felt put out for a bit, but- forgive me for saying this- I got over it. I got over him, at least for the time being, though always I held a special fondness for him.

Well, my music classes were fantastic. I had a class about composition and was able to turn in a couple of pieces that I had made for the band already. I even convinced a few classmates to come along to one of our shows. I also joined the college's orchestra and manged to place into being fourth chair even though I was a freshman.

Here is where our little fast-forward stops.

I walked into orchestra on that first day, nervous and excited and dearly hoping that the e-mail that the conductor had sent me assigning me fourth chair had not been a mistake. It seemed that everyone already knew each other. People were congregated on the outskirts of the room, not because they were shying away from the public eye, but because this was where the cases for their instruments were left. The size of the clusters of people varied, but there was the same general tone of excitement in every voice I heard. Though I was not in on any of the conversation, though I was anxious and had not the foggiest idea why everyone seemed to be so cheerful, I couldn't help grinning. Hopefully rehearsals were always this happy.

I won't keep you in suspense any longer. You should know that rehearsals, though almost always fun, didn't usually have such energy. It seems that, on top of being the first one (always special), word had gotten out that I would be playing with them... and it turns out that was an exciting prospect. I was known. One of the second violinists I recognized from my composition class. She had been to each of our shows ever since finding out about us. I suspected that she had something to do with everyone knowing of me.

I didn't realize any of this until later, though. At that time, I simply unpacked my violin, found my seat, and looked up to find myself inside of a ring of strangers, all looking at me with unmasked curiosity on their faces. "Hi, are you Rhea? From Back to Bach?" one said, a girl with rosy cheeks that clashed a little with her copper hair.

I smiled at her, pleased to be recognized. It was still new and wonderful. "Yes. I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"I'm Cindy. It's so cool that you've joined our orchestra. You know, I've been to three of your band's shows." This sort of conversation, though no longer new to me, was something that I was certain I would never grow used to. Things had blown up quicker than I would ever have believed. Just seven months ago, I had been only joining the band. Six months ago we had played our first show together. It was incredible.

The crowd dispersed a bit because the conductor had arrived. I had heard good things about Rob, which is what he insisted we call him. He brought with him a stack of papers, which he took no time in passing around. It was a survey. He said that he was absolutely determined to play Saint-Saens' Bacchanale, but that the rest of our song selection would be decided as an orchestra. I voted for the ones that I had never heard of, since I hoped that I could learn these well enough to transform them into pieces for the band. My stand partner finished voting before me and, once I had passed mine in, immediately held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Riley O'Brien."

A handshake? How unusual. The only time I had ever shaken a hand had been at job interviews or with those who hired the band. I took his hand diffidently. "Rhea Donovan."

"I hear you're in a band," he said.

I wondered what kind of reaction he was expecting here. "I am." My eyes met his, which were a strange light brown with a golden tinge. I fished around for something I could say to keep the conversation going. Already the air between us felt a little strained, though perhaps I was imagining that.

Luckily, he was better at making conversation than me. "Do you really write all of the music?"

I knew I was blushing. I felt like I shouldn't be taking so much credit. After all, the guys helped pick the songs and Marcus came up with the lyrics, which might actually be more important than the music they're set to, anyway. "Well, yes. But not the words."

"Very cool. I tried to write a song once."

I saw a flash of dimple. "How did it go?"

"Terribly. I somehow managed to slip from A minor to C major without realizing it partway through... but only for the violins. I'm sure you can imagine the result." I winced. I certainly could, and it was a painful thing to bear witness to, even in your own imagination.

"Basically, this is my way of saying that I'm really impressed." His smile widened. I knew that I was staring at him, but if you could have seen that expression on his face, you wouldn't have judged me because you'd have been staring, too. He was glowing.

"Oh, no. It's not really that difficult," I said, going for modest though I didn't really feel that this was true. "I mean, I'm only reworking other people's songs. That is completely different from coming up with it on your own." I didn't get to hear Riley's response to this because the conductor drew his wand and passed around the sheet music for the Bacchanale. It was time to play.

After rehearsal, I lingered over my violin case, hoping that Riley would come over and talk to me. He didn't. He did, however, give me a cheerful wave as he left.

It was a start- the start, even. The start of my first post-Reed dalliance.

The next rehearsal was much the same. I got there early, hoping that I could make some friends. Riley got there early, too, and he introduced me to his friend Justin, who was a cellist. Justin then passed me off to his friend and stand partner Alice. These four, I later found, were to be my core group. After rehearsal had finished, we all went out for coffee. In fact, we went to the cafe where I worked. I didn't complain about it. I was far too pleased about hanging out with them to say anything that might ruin this.

Alice seemed determined that we be close to each other- both physically and otherwise. We were walking from campus to the cafe since the day was beautiful and it was only a mile away. Alice immediately linked arms with me and hurried us past the boys. She leaned in toward me and whispered in my ear, "I'm absolutely determined to make Justin ask me out before Halloween," she said. "It's imperative that he be given ample opportunity to ogle my bum."

I laughed. I liked Alice immensely already. She didn't talk like others did and she was more open than anyone else I knew by far. Let's take a step back for a moment so I can paint you a more complete picture of the scene. Riley was wearing a black t-shirt and white suspenders. His dark hair was on the long side of short, curling up a bit at the ends. He had been insisting all rehearsal that he was getting a haircut soon, please don't laugh at him. He walked next to Justin, who was a little on the short side and compensated for it with his big personality. He had shockingly blond hair that looked a little strange with his tan, insisted both were natural, and had the sort of laugh that was so startling, you couldn't help but laugh along.

Then there was me and Alice. We were walking a couple of feet ahead of them, swaying our hips because it was amusing and because Alice was actually being serious about using her bum to lure in Justin. Her hair was the same shade as his and hung straight down her back, swaying a little with each step. She was a dress girl, I could already tell. Today's was red with white cabbage roses. I could only imagine how I looked next to her. She as taller than me, skinnier than me, and her hair, though not in any fancy style, put mine to shame.

I did my best not to notice, but I was simply out-classed. She was the sort of girl you could easily despise for being so lovely, if only she weren't so kind.

Enough of that. We got to the cafe, got our drinks, and settled in at a corner table. I wedged myself into the back, hoping that a particular one of my coworkers would not notice that I was here. Her name was Sue, she had just gotten into work, and she was convinced that we were dear friends. She was wrong. Though well-meaning, Sue was difficult to spend any amount of time with. She was so miserable in her own life that she spent time alternately complaining about her hardships (normal things like that her paycheck wasn't for another few days and that her car needed an oil change) and talking about what a good person she was. It was insufferable.

"Rhea, when's your next show? We'd love to go," Alice said.

"We're actually playing at the festival this weekend," I said. I was really nervous about it. It was going to be our first time playing so out in the open. Before, we had always had shows where people were going specifically to listen to music. Here, people might be aggravated about the noise. They might be less receptive to what we had done with the classics. I said none of this, of course, to Alice.

Riley looked at me, his eyes meeting mine. I was astounded once more by the color of them, the light that radiated out. "Excellent. We'll all go and maybe afterward, you want to come bowling with us? We always bowl on Fridays." I grinned and agreed.

When I went home that night, it was with that selfsame smile on my face.