It’s been so long for both of us that birthday sex only lasts five minutes, but you can bet your ass those five minutes are downright epic. I tell her about LVMH afterward, and she squeals with excitement. Then we have cake for dinner. It makes us feel sick, and we eat leftovers to settle our stomachs, laughing with each bite.
Truly, the best birthday ever.
FORTY-SIX
Anna
I decide it’s time to return to the Richter piece. But this time, I give myself a hard talk first. I can see now that I can never go back to the way things were. It was foolish of me to think I could find a magic key to turn back time. The truth is art will never be as effortless as it used to be, not now that people have expectations of me. All I can do is go forward, and to do that, I must stop chasing perfection. It doesn’t exist. I can never please everyone. It’s hard enough just pleasing myself. Instead, I must focus on giving what I have, not what people want, because that is all I can give. I don’t mask anymore if I can help it.
I begin the Richter piece for the last time. Practice is slow and arduous. I make many mistakes and I go back and correct what I can, but I don’t go all the way back—except for one more time, which I regret. I hear the voices in my head, criticizing me, judging me. Oftentimes they get the best of me, and I finish practice feeling despondent. But I keep going anyway. Fighting the compulsion to start over, to seek perfection, to outwit the voices, is exhausting, and most days I can only manage for a few hours before I know my brain has had it. This is a necessary thing for me to learn, though. If I’m sensitive to my own resource levels, I can keep myself from falling sick again. A slow me is much better than a sick me.
In this manner, I make it to the end of the Richter piece. When I tell Quan, he pops a bottle of champagne and celebrates with me, even though I still have many other pieces to prepare for this record and upcoming tour. But one by one, I get through those as well. I go to the studio, and I record them, permanently saving my renditions in digital format even though they’re not one hundred percent flawless.
It never gets easier. I fight every time I set my bow to the strings, but I stay true to myself.
I play from my heart.
EPILOGUE
Anna
Today’s the day.
I’m performing for an audience today.
It’s been over two years since my dad’s funeral. It took me that long to heal and to fight. I often despaired that I’d never make it.
But here I am, behind the stage.
The crowd is small, only fifty people, but I’m so nervous there might as well be thousands out there. These are my people, though, the select few who came from all corners of the country (some farther) to hear me. They are honoring me with the precious gift of their time. As much as I battled through these pieces for myself, I also battled for them. I treasure this small group of people who understands me.
I hope my art makes them feel. I hope it makes them think. I hope it has an impact.
I get the signal that it’s time, and I swallow my nerves and carry my violin onto the stage.
The lights are bright, and I don’t let myself look up at them. There, in the front row, is my honey, Quan. He’s beaming at me, holding a bouquet of red roses in his lap, and I’m so overwhelmed with love for him that I feel like my chest is going to burst open. Next to him is my mom. She’s wearing an evening gown and her finest jewelry and proudly sitting with a group of her posh friends. On Quan’s other side are two faces that I’ve never seen in real life, but I recognize them right away. Rose and Suzie, my good friends who tried to be there for me and didn’t fault me for disappearing when my life got too hard. I’m excited to go out to dinner with them after this performance.
This group is small, but it’s good. It’s all that I need.
Feeling emotional and very much alive, I lift my violin to my chin, and I set my bow upon the strings.
I play.