Rebecca

"How was the library, Rebecca?"

I sit down at the kitchen table and rub my forehead. "Fine."

"Did you get a new book?"

"An audiobook." 

"That's nice."

The sink turns on, and Mom scrubs at a pan. The rain is still pouring down outside, but maybe a bit lighter than it was before. I tap my fingers on the wooden table, breathe in the smell of fresh pasta and the lemon scented soap Mom uses.

"Did you talk to anyone?"

I don't know why she always asks that question.

"Just Mrs. Summers."

I hear Mom sit across the table from me, the squeak of the chair against the floor. The heating system hums, and in the apartment next door, I can hear the muffled sounds of a television.

Mom slides a plate of pasta to me and I dig in. God, she makes the best pasta. But I know she's not eating, and I feel like she's staring at me. 

"Are you staring at me?"

"No," she says. She's lying. "Hey, that voice competition show is on TV later. You want to watch with me?" 

"I don't know, I'm kind of tired." I twirl pasta around my fork, the silverware scraping against the plate. 

"Okay," says Mom. She runs her fingers up and down the chain of her necklace.

After dinner I go to my room and shut the door, and flop down on my bed. City noises seep in through my window; sirens, cars honking, rain - I love it. I don't think I'd be able to fall asleep without the sound of the city in the background.

I breathe in my comforter, which smells like lavender cleaning detergent, and run my fingers over the soft fur of my teddy bear. I've had him since I was a baby. I used to pretend that my teddy bear was blind, too.

I sit up and pull the audiobook out of my backpack, but I don't feel like listening. As I was checking it out, Mrs. Summers informed me that it was a cheesy romance novel. One of her favorites. I love Mrs. Summers, but I can't say that we have the same taste in books.

I brush my fingers across my lips and breathe deeply, remembering the violin. The notes have been ringing in my ear ever since I left the library.

I knew the musician was standing near me, because I heard them leave the room and pause in the hallway briefly. I wonder if I should have said something. Maybe they were freaked out. Sometimes, people get nervous when they realize I'm blind.

Maybe they'll be playing there again later this week. I wonder why they're playing in an individual study room in the library instead of at Carnegie Hall. 

I lie down, press my teddy bear to my chest, and run the song over and over again in my head.

~

The next evening, I go back to the library. The musician isn't there. I go the day after that. Still, study room two is empty. 

I don't mean to be stalker-ish. Besides, I am really looking for audiobooks. It would just be nice to hear the song again. The melody is starting to fade out in my brain. Maybe I can introduce myself to the musician, so they can tell me the name of the song.

It's getting colder out, so Mom makes me wear a coat whenever I step outside the building. During the day she usually keeps me locked up, though. I'm home-schooled and take a program online, so I sit at the kitchen counter and listen to the lessons through my headphones. 

I like to think about what a normal high school would be like. According to mainstream movies, there are a ton of mean girls that would bully the crap out of me. But there are parts of it that seem nice, too, like gossiping daily with friends over lunch.

The only people I interact with daily are Mom, John in the lobby, and Mrs. Summers. And the monotone female voice that reads me boring schoolwork through the computer. Sometimes, I can really feel sorry for myself.

But other days, it's not so bad. I love autumn. On nice days, when leaves are rustling against the concrete and cold wind makes my cheeks tingle, Mom will let me walk around by myself, and I breathe in the smoky scent of fallen leaves and car exhaust and cigarette butts and fresh air. Okay, a weird combination. But that's what it smells like here in the fall, and I love it.

"You're going back to the library? You just went yesterday." That's what Mom says as I'm pulling on my coat and sneakers by the front door. 

"I already finished the audiobook." A lie. A small lie, though. 

"Was it good?"

"It was alright."

"I'm making meatloaf for dinner. Don't be out too late."

"Okay. Do my clothes match?"

"Yes, you look cute, honey." I can hear the smile in her voice. "All the boys will love you."

"Mom."  I finish lacing my shoes and button up my coat. "Good grief."

"I love you."

"I love you too." I swing my backpack around my shoulders and smile at her. "Bye."

I tap my cane impatiently against the elevator door, like that would make it move faster. A violin quivers in my brain. In the lobby, John walks beside me, whistling softly. John smells like pine trees, and for some reason, I like to think of him with stubble on his face.

"Have a good evening, Ms. Bishop. Off to the library again?"

"You bet. Hey, John?"

"Yes?"

"Do you like classical music?"

He hesitates, thinks about it. "I suppose so. Do you?"

"Yeah, I suppose I do too."