38 Levi
I received a call from Denise and she spoke words I’d never wanted to hear. “Your mom’s in the hospital.”
“What do you mean she’s in the hospital?”
Denise’s voice was low, almost mute. “She had a bad reaction to one of her new medications and tripped down a few steps in the clinic. The doctors aren’t giving me all the details yet.” She was crying into the receiver, her words getting tangled up with her thoughts. “She was doing so well, Levi.”
She went on to tell me how scared she was for Mom, but she knew nothing about being afraid.
Being afraid was currently being eight hundred miles away from your injured mother, feeling a million miles away from your dying father, and not having any idea what you should do next.
* * *
Music was what resided in my mom’s soul. Every day before she and I would have our violin lessons, she would quote Friedrich Nietzsche, saying, “Without music, life would be a mistake.” It didn’t matter how she was with her mental stability. When she was mentally all with me, she would quote Nietzsche. When she was so far away in her own mind, she would still quote Nietzsche.
Even when her mind had taken her to the darkest places inside of her soul, music was still there for her, her medicine, her life support.
On Christmas Eve I found myself standing inside Soulful Things, unsure what my next move should be. Lance sat in a chair behind me, not making a sound. I’d never heard Soulful Things so silent. After I filled him in on what had happened with Mom, he said, “Why do the most bullshit things happen to the best kinds of people?” He apologized multiple times until no words were left to be spoken.
“How do I choose?” I whispered, my hand rolling over my neck repeatedly as my mind raced. “How do I choose which parent to be there for?” Did I stay with my father who I’d never had a chance to get to know, who was currently living the last days of his life? Or did I go home to my mom who was struggling from her accident and needed me by her side?
How do you choose which need is more important?
How do you choose which parent to stand by when they both need your support?
Lance pushed himself up from the chair and moved into the storage room. He reentered with a case wrapped with a red bow. “I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but I think you might need it tonight.”
I opened the case to find a brand new violin. It wasn’t just any new violin, it was the Karl Willhelm Model 64, the same one I’d been eyeing in his shop since I’d arrived there. “Jesus, I can’t take this. It was over three thousand dollars.”
“Paid in full. I went ahead and set it up for you, too. It’s yours.” He smiled.
I picked up the violin and stared at it in my hands for a moment before bringing it to my nose to smell. For a musician, smelling a new violin was the equivalent of a reader smelling a new novel. It was a homelike scent that made you realize that the world wasn’t a completely terrible place, that there was still beauty that existed.
“Get lost, Levi,” Lance said in the most caring way possible.
“Thank you,” I murmured, to Lance, to music, to my soul.
I fine-tuned the strings. I messed around with the bow.
Lance turned and walked upstairs. The moment he disappeared, I shut off the lights, filling the space with darkness.
Everything was exactly the same, but somehow completely different.
Colder.
Sadder.
Lonelier.
This feels right.
My fingers discovered the sounds of apologies that the violin offered me. The strings cried for me. Music understood me when I didn’t understand myself. It was my blanket of protection from every real fear that existed. I rocked back and forth as I traveled down the road of pure escapism. I became lost in the moment, forgetting all of my surroundings, all of my pain, all of my hurt.
I played until my fingers ached.
And then I played some more.
I played until my body shook.
And then I played some more.
I played until my heart broke.
And then I played some more.
My fingers ripped the bow away from the violin. My hands were pale as ghosts from my intense playing. My body shook with nerves and a clouded mind, but I knew the answer to the question.
I knew who I had to chose, and it broke my heart.
Hold it together, Levi.
I needed to calm myself, to control my panicked breaths. I wondered if what I was feeling was what it always felt like for Mom. Were the panic attacks so painful that they traveled from her toes to the tip of her head? Did she feel the walls screaming at her? Was it always this ugly and terrifying for her?
I needed to find a place of peace.
But I wasn’t sure how.
The truth was that Mom was my peace. From day one, she’d been there for me. Even when she was battling the ugliest of wars, she was still my stillness. I was the hurricane and she was somehow the eye of the storm. She comforted me when Dad’s cards stopped showing up. She held me when he said he didn’t want to see me anymore. She’d been there from day one, and I’d left her.
What’s wrong with me?
How could I have ever hated her?
She was sick, and I walked away.
She begged me to come home, and I ignored her.
She was my true music. Not the kind of music that I played in a darkened space. Not the kind of sounds that the shadows applauded. She was the colors that found the strings. She was the purples and blues, the yellows and reds that bled love from the vibrations of sound.