Seasons

Winter
“Hey, mom.” 

She sits on the sofa curled in a ball, watching some cheesy romantic comedy. I watch a perfectly sculpted couple kiss in front of a golden sunset on the screen. How boring.

I throw my backpack by the door. Ages of missing assignments clatter onto the floor. I contemplate picking my bag up only to throw it down again just to hear that BANG.

She looks up at me. “Oh!” Her high pitched voice makes me want to scream. “Hi there, Piper! Don’t you want to do our nails together? The polish’s in the kitchen. Have you talked to your father this week?”

“No.”

“You really should talk to him, sweety.” She pauses the television.

“He doesn’t want us. You know that.”

“Your father-

“I’m going to babysit.” I stomp out the door.

The kid I’m babysitting lives a block away, so I walk. I take out my phone because no one’s gonna catch me without it. 

I find my mind drifting. 

This’ll be a new kid. Right now, babysitting my cousins and another boy, I make fifteen dollars a week. With this new kid, whose families gotta be crazy rich to pay me ten dollars an hour, it’ll be fifty. What could I do with all that money? Couldn’t I pay for college? Go into something that could make things better for kids like me? 

Don’t be stupid, Piper.

There’s no way I’m going to college. No way I’m getting out of this town. And no way in hell I’m getting a job for anything but the money.

I walk up the pathway. The kid’s house isn’t half as fancy as I expected. It’s a small stone building with only a few windows and a well kept backyard. 

“Hi!” A small girl opens the door before I ring the doorbell. She has large brown eyes, black hair set in two small pigtails, skin three shades darker than mine, and a huge smile. “Are you Penny?”

“Piper or Penelope. Not Penny.”

“Okay! But I do like the name Penny. So I might call you it sometimes. Sorry. I’m Hadi! Come inside!” She pushes me in the door, bouncing on her heels. “We’re gonna have so much fun! There’s two games we can play. You can choose. But I like the first one better, so I’d really like it if you chose that one. What do you think? School or tag? I want to be a teacher when I grow up. Playing school is so much fun! But we can really do any game you want. Besides hide-and-seek. I don’t like that one. You have to be alone in small places. Usually in the dark. I don’t like that.” She rubs her arms.

Good God. Is ten dollars worth this? No wonder they pay so much money to deal with this kid. “Why don’t we… watch a show? Where’s your TV?”

“We don’t have one. And I don’t like watching things on the computer. It’s so boring. But if you really don’t want to play school, you can read me a book! I like books when they have pictures. Not like the books my brother reads. Here! Lemme go get my favorite!”

I lean against a wall, glad for a moment without Hadi.

“You can sit on the couch!” Hadi sticks her head out from the hallway.

I oblige. Remember those ten dollars, Piper. They are the only things keeping me from walking right out of this building. I take out my phone and text Hadi’s father. I’m here. Everything’s good. See you in a few hours. Oh, it was certainly not good. A few hours seemed like a very long time to waste.

“Here you go!” Hadi skips back into the living room. “The Peace Book.”

“Fine.” I read the book, and she sits down on the couch with me, leaning forward.

“I know that one!” Hadi bounces in her seat.

I stop myself from reading the next line.

“It says ‘di-” She brings her finger under the line. “f-f-er-ant.” 

“Different! Very good.” I find myself smiling. I finish the last sentence. “Amazing, Hadi! You’re really a good reader!” I look up at her. “I’m so proud of you!”

She grins.

I look up further to see a man standing by the door. He looks young, with the same dark skin as Hadi. He has her eyes, her hair color, her large lips, but his smile seems ages older. As though he’s seen the world. 

“Penelope!” He walks over and shakes my hand. “Thank you for watching my sister. I’m home early. Please don’t mind me. I’ll go catch up on some practice in the office.” He points vaguely in the direction of a hallway. 

I nod. So this is who I talked to about Hadi on the phone. No father. Weird. Although not too weird in this town.

“That’s Amari,” Hadi explains after he disappears. “He’s my big brother. He’s twenty-one!” She puffs out her chest.

“What do you want to-” I stop. A sound is coming from the hallway. I know what a piano sounds like--I’ve heard it before. But nothing like this. “What-?

“Amari plays the piano.” Hadi taps her fingers along the couch in time with the music. “He’s really good. He plays at all these fancy places. He even takes me sometimes! Do you wanna play school now?”

After I am finished babysitting Hadi, Amari pays without a word. 

“Do you need a ride?” His voice is soft but commands all my attention.

“Umm…” I don’t. My house is only a few blocks away. I don’t need to chance him talking to mom (why does she always bring up marriage?) or seeing the disrepair our house has fallen into. 

But a car ride sounds nice, and he is cute…  

“This way.” He leads me into the garage. The car is small, probably electric. Not fancy. Disappointing.

I hop in the car. I give him my address and we drive in silence. I pretend to be absorbed in my phone. When we pull into my driveway, I mentally punch myself for not convincing mom to repaint the faded walls or water the grass, but Amari’s expression remains unchanged.

“Thanks,” I mumble and get out of the car.

“You have a violin player’s fingers.” Amari stares at my hand.

“What?” I pause, the car door open.

“Violin player’s fingers.” He smiles. “Have you ever considered playing an instrument?”

“No.” That takes work, time, and initiative. Three things I don’t have.

“I can teach you, if you want. No charge.” He meets my gaze for the first time. “Think about it. You know my address when you decide.”

I nod and he drives away. 

Was he trying to ask me out on a date? 

I walk slowly up the cracked cement pathway to my house.

Maybe he chose the right girl. ’Cause I haven't had that sort of adventure for a long, long time. Maybe ever. And right now, I need excitement.  

The Next Day

DING-DONG. 

I step back from the doorbell and smooth down my hair. I’m wearing my best red dress which compliments my light brown skin, dark hair, and freckles very nicely.

Amari answers the door. He glances at my outfit without a word. Rude. “I’m glad you came. This way,” he takes me down the hallway into a small white, undecorated room. He hands me a violin, puts it on my shoulder, and places my fingers in the correct position.

“This,” He points at the farthest left and widest string. “Is G. This is D,” he points to the next string to the right, “This is A, and this is E. Don’t worry, you’ll memorize them soon. You don’t have to think too hard about it now.” 

Sure, Amari. You have that covered, at least. What I am thinking about now is how dark your eyes are and how those large red lips would feel on mine. 

“Now, take the bow. No, like this.” He adjusts my fingers. “And pull it across the D string. Very good. Try again. Harder this time. Don’t be shy.”

No, it’s not good. And I’m not sure I can hear that sound one more time without splitting my eardrums. 

But I do as he says. 

I wish he would lean forwards and kiss me. 

“Exactly. Now put one finger on this,” he demonstrates. “That’s an E.”

The rest of the lesson passes similarly. Violin, it appears, is even more difficult than I had anticipated. It’s boring and repetitive. In the entire half-hour, he doesn’t even hold my hand. Not that I don’t admire his self-restraint, but it’s dull. Very dull.

“Well, it looks like time’s up.” He glances at his watch. “Very good progress today, Penelope.”

“It’s Piper. Sorry to be blunt, Amari, but I don’t think we got anywhere.”

He smiles. “I know it can seem that way sometimes. You’ve gotten far. I promise.”

“No, not in that. Although I already did forget which one’s D, I’m talking about our--you know--relationship.” I try to drag out the word in a way it should sound sexy.

“What relationship?”

He should play poker. Or become an actor. “C’mon, Amari. Why’d you invite me here?”

“Would you like me to be honest with you, Piper?”

Duh. “Yes.”  

“Penelope- Sorry. Piper. Piper, I drove you home yesterday. I know how you live.” 

I straighten. I wonder if running out the door now would cause me less or more embarrassment. 

“I saw your mom through the window but I’m guessing your dad’s gone or never home. I’m sorry, Piper. I’m trying to be blunt.” He leans forwards and touches my shoulder. “I know what that’s like. What do you want to be when you are older, Piper?”

I stare at him. 

“I know. I know how that feels, to be so hopeless.” He leans back, taking his hand from my shoulder. “I want to help.”

“I don't wanna be your charity case.”

“Then don’t come learn violin. But know you’re good. And you can be really good if you try. In a way you could stand on a stage and make a living.” No adult has spoken to me that way before. “Piper.” He reaches down to hold my hands. I don’t blush. I don’t want to kiss those lips anymore. “Just trust me with one thing. Then you can leave and never come back. Do whatever you’d like.”

“What do you want?” My hands are shaking.

“I want you to trust me with your story.”

“My story?”

“How you got here.”

That’s simple enough. I draw in a deep breath “Okay. I guess that’s not a secret.” I pause. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I shift in my seat. “Well, my family doesn’t make very much money. My dad used to work at Burger King, but when my parents split up, my mom was left on her own. We don’t get on very well together, her and me.” I speak as quickly as I can without stumbling over the words. “She’s too fragile. I don’t want to be like her. So I guess I get angry with her sometimes. But my dad doesn’t want me, so I’m with mom. We’re not doing too bad.” I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk. When was the last time someone listened?

Amari slowly releases my hands.“No, Piper, I’m sure that’s hard. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” I don’t look up to him.

“Thank you for coming here. You won’t end up like your mom.”

“How do you know?” I glance at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

“I used to be a lot like you.”

“What happened?”

He shakes his head. “I- not now. Do you want a drive home?”

Spring
A Month Later

“We’re gonna work on this today.”Amari hands me some sheet music. 

My first real song! After nearly a month of lessons, I think I’m more than ready for this. I glance over it. ‘WINTER (Simple) - THE FOUR SEASONS’. I glare at Amari. Couldn’t he have at least cut the ‘Simple’ part? 

“I’ll play piano.”

I nod. “One, two, three, four,” I mumble.

We begin. 

I screech through two bars before stopping to watch him play. How could he have gotten so amazing? How can someone move their fingers like that?

“You’re really improving.” He stops playing. “Let’s try again from the beginning.”

“Incredible progress today.” Amari helps put the violin in its case.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. Hey, do you want to go to a concert tomorrow night? We’re one seat short of a full crowd.”

“Alright.” Why not? It’s a night away from home.

“Penny!” I watch Hadi’s pigtails jump onto a red velvet chair. “I’m here!”

I push through the throngs of people to take the seat next to her in the front row.

“Aren’t there so many people?” Hadi bounces in her seat. 

“Mm-hm,” I nod. 

Hadi turns to the elderly woman next to her. “My brother’s gonna go up there!” She points to the stage. 

I take advantage of their conversation to glance around the room. But ‘room’ doesn’t describe the space it’s- what did Amari call it? A concert hall. Thousands of velvet seats cover the room, some floors above me. The closed curtains are so brightly lit it hurts to look up at them. 

All this for one person.

Amari.

How did he convince me I could somehow, someday, stand on a stage like that? It’s too big, too grand. The dress I’m wearing is thousands of shades duller than those curtains. 

I don’t belong here. 

“Welcome! Welcome everyone!” The crowd silences instantly. A woman jumps out in front of the curtains and introduces the concert. “And without further ado, I present to you Amari Diallo!” The audience applauds. The curtains slowly roll open.

Amari stands in the middle of the stage, holding a microphone, unflinching posture and gaze suggesting he knows just how well he belongs here. “Hello and welcome.” He says when the crowd finally calms. “Thank you for coming here tonight. I have a very special person I would like to dedicate tonight’s performance to. She’s a new student of mine on violin, and I don’t think she understands just how amazing she is.” 

I feel my face growing warm. Don’t do it, Amari. Don’t do it.

“I would like to dedicate this to… Piper Aboroa!”

“Yay! Penny!” Hadi jumps up out of her seat. 

There is polite applause. 

“Calm down, Hadi!” I push her down. 

She grins. 

I’m actually smiling.

The woman comes out and whisks Amari’s microphone away. He sits lightly on a black, polished piano bench, adjusts his suit, sets his fingers on the instrument, and begins to play. 

Music fills the hall, large and jarring. The notes jump lightly from one octave to another, almost like leaves in the wind. I watch his hands, but they dance across the piano too quickly to perceive, until the notes become indistinguishable, becoming a sound. No, not a sound- a feeling. A feeling that makes me want to sob and laugh in the same instant.

I start to cry.

I look at Amari’s face and he seems ready to weep too. His head sways in time with the music as if he isn’t really here. As if he’s where he learned to play like this. Or when he resolved he would be here one day. 

What on Earth made his face look like that? 

A Week Later

“Here, Piper, we’ll work on some new music today.” Amari sits to ruffle through some papers and hands me a piece of sheet music. 

I brush it aside and hop onto his neatly made bed. “Actually, I have a question before class.”
“Yes?”

I try to fasten his deep brown eyes to my own. “What do you think about when you play, Amari? Like last week, at the concert.”

Amari sighs and rocks onto his heels. “I think of our story.”

“Will you tell me?”

He slowly stands and sits on the bed beside me. “I grew up in southern Cameroon, Africa. My childhood there was fine, as good as you could expect. We weren’t rich, but we didn’t go hungry.” 

I am amazed by how easily Amari’s voice fills the room. Like it does when he plays piano.

“It was the way we lived. But then this man came to our village.” 

“Who?”

He stands and walks to the piano bench. “I don’t even remember his name. I suppose he worked with a human rights group, or as a reporter. But he also played the piano. He had a concert one night. Everyone in my village--there weren’t many of us--crowded around the keyboard. Then he asked for our stories. I snuck behind him. 

“I wanted to feel the keyboard, see how someone could make a sound like that. 

“I played a note. And after that note, I knew there should be another note, so I played it too, and then another. It wasn’t a beautiful song, but I must have stood up there playing for minutes. Everyone watched me. He told me he could teach me if I wanted. I remember jumping up and down. 

“It just took one lesson to realize I didn’t want to stay there. He told me about a life that was more than dirt roads and self-made houses. Before then I was just like you. I didn’t care where my life went. I never thought I was ‘good enough’.” He uses air quotes.

“How’d you come here, then?” 

“The man gave me a small keyboard. I started playing at concerts. I got a scholarship to the University of Southern California. I took Hadi with me. Sometimes I miss Africa, but I know I could have never come this far there. That wasn’t where my future was. And in university, I decided everyone has a future.

“I think that’s why I really offered to teach you, Piper.” He turns to me. “After I saw your house, I knew you were like I used to be. I thought maybe I could be like that man in your life.”

“I was your charity case.” I don’t mean to sound cruel, just to make an observation.

“Yes. In the beginning. I’m sorry. But you’re a lot more than that now, Piper. I really believe in you. You’ll have a future, I know that.” He smiles at me.

I smile back. “Do you wanna start?”

“Sure. You’re ready?”

“Yes.” I take the violin and the music from the bed. ‘SPRING - THE FOUR SEASONS by Antonio Vivaldi’. I glance over the music. Sheesh. It’s way harder than anything I’ve played. 

“One, two, three, four.”

I press two fingers on the D string and listen to the note. Screech. C’mon Piper! 

Amari’s words echo through my mind. Everyone has a future.

I play the note again. I try vibrato, something I’ve never done before. 

Amari glances up from the piano. I grin. 

I prepare myself for the next note. But the bow is already there. I let my fingers race across the violin faster than I can direct them. I don’t look at the sheet music. I don’t have to. I know what comes next. 

I don’t play individual notes. I play the song. I let the violin dictate my movements. 

Trill. My fingers dart over the instrument, only stilling to hold out the last note. 

Amari jumps up before I stop playing. “Did you hear yourself, Piper?” He takes the violin and lifts me out of my chair. “That was beautiful!”

Hadi runs into the room. “Was that you, Penny? Oh my gosh! That was so good! You’re so good!” 

I laugh and hug them back. 

I glance one last time at the sheet music by Antonio Vivaldi. Vivaldi. Vive. I remember my last English class. Vive: life. How fitting.

Summer
Three Years Later

“Our next contestant is Penelope Abaroa on violin.” I hear polite applause through the curtains. “She will be accompanied by well-known concert pianist Amari Diallo!” I listen to a louder round of applause. 

“Amari!” My voice is trembling. “I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can.” He leans over the piano to look at me. I wonder how I must look; in the new dress my parents bought me, with an extravagant amount of makeup, hair braided in plaits, standing in the middle of a huge stage, clutching a violin to my chest. “I know it’s hard, Piper. You should have seen me in my first piano recital.” He smiles. “But you know this by heart. You’re going to be outstanding.”

“No, I-” I feel my heart rising to my throat. 

“So please welcome Miss Penelope Abaroa!” More applause. The curtains slide open.  

The lights blind me. 

“Smile, Piper!” Amari sits on the piano bench.

I look down on the thousands of red velvet seats, the golden chandeliers, the rows of smartly dressed people. I can’t do this!

Everyone has a future. 

I close my eyes and picture the sheet music. SUMMER - The Four Seasons, by Antonio Vivaldi. 

I bring my violin to my chin. I start to play.

I play the first notes softly. But as the song quickens, I let myself disappear into the music. I let the violin control my movement. My fingers dance across the strings. 

I let myself think of my house, with its broken shingles and peeling paint, and my mom with her high pitched voice and beauty products. I think of my parents' recent divorce, my step-mom.

And I put it all into the song. I make all my sorrow into something beautiful.

I hold out the last note.

I slowly lower my violin.

Applause.

“Penny!” Hadi jumps up and down in the first row.

Next to her, I watch my parents- all three of them- rise to their feet, clap, and hug each other.

I let myself smile. 

“Now for the winners of our annual music competition.” I sit in the front row of the concert hall with the other contestants, watching a neatly dressed man pace along the velvet curtain. “As a reminder, the third-place winner will receive one thousand dollars, the second-place winner five thousand, and the first-place winner ten thousand dollars in scholarships.”

So much money! If only it wasn’t in scholarships.

“We would like to thank everyone who participated in this competition, and again thank the people who made this contest possible-”

 His voice easily drones into the background. 

If I did win, what could I do with that money? 

“Where are you going to college?” The boy sitting next to me whispers.

“Umm… I’m probably not. Going.”

“Oh.” He turns back forward, his forehead creased.

But why couldn’t I? If I got all that money?

“Now for our third place winner!” The announcer booms. “Miss Maria Colly!” Applause. “Congratulations! And our second place winner is…” He pauses and looks down at his notes. I cross my fingers. “Andy Kristian! Congratulations to you as well.”

It’s disappointing. With how well everyone said I played. 

“And now, our first place winner.” I let my mind wander. This can’t be me. “The winner of our ten thousand dollar scholarship prize is… Penelope Abaroa!” 

The crowd cheers. “Yay!”

“Penny!”

“Go Piper!”

“You did wonderful, Penelope.” My mother’s hand holds my shoulder.

I blush. 

Amari raises my hand to acknowledge the applause. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. I am.” I grin. “Ready for the future.”