FAWC 2: Virtuoso
(Author's note: This story is a submission to the second Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story is kept anonymous, but will be revealed on August 16th, 2013, in the comments section following this story. Each story in this challenge is centered around a random determination of four "mystery ingredients." There are no prizes given in this challenge; this is simply a friendly competition.)
(The mystery ingredients for this story were Humility, Phrase, Energetic, and Color.)
* * * *
Everybody hates a prodigy. Or at least, no one really wants to be friends with one. The only two emotions that a gifted child evokes within his or her peers are unbridled jealousy or extreme awe. These children are from another world entirely, one where their fortunes have been touched by God.
Lei Qian was a prodigy. At age five, she had given her first classical violin solo performance. At age nine, she had been accepted to Juilliard. She released her debut album when she was just eleven, topping the Billboard classical albums chart. Now at nineteen, she had a number of notable awards under her belt, played with the top orchestras and musicians in the world, and gave more than a hundred performances around the world each year.
Her entire life had been spent with a violin for company.
Because of her many engagements, she had been homeschooled. The other music kids that she learned with couldn't look past her extraordinary and frequent accomplishments to be her friends. Her brilliance was so far removed from the gifted children and even adults that she played with that none could look beyond it. She had been the star among prodigies. Fortunate, and alone.
She spent most of her time with her parents. Her father was her manager and her mother saw to the day-to-day little details of her professional life. The traditional Chinese culture she had inherited from her immigrant parents had simply never made her question the arrangement. However, lately she had begun to wonder if she could come out of the persona she had become and be just a girl.
Normally, she bore the fame and fortune well enough. After all, as her mother said, her talent was a gift and she had the responsibility to herself and the world to perfect it. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wished she'd had a normal childhood - with friends and sleepovers and trips to Disneyworld. She'd had none of that.
And a boyfriend. She'd never had one of those either. Sure she had fumbled around with boys and lost her virginity in the disastrous search for one, but it had never worked out beyond those first few dates. They could never look past who she was.
All that changed the year she turned twenty.
* * * *
Lei emerged from the dressing room in a white dress that gently swirled around her calves. This was paired with white strappy heels and accompanied by a single white peony in her hair. The only touch of color, or non-color, was the black sash that tied into a bow at her waist, matching her striking black hair and eyes.
Her mother looked her up and down once, then smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You look lovely."
"Thanks, Mama." Lei adjusted the skirt a bit and smoothed her hand down the front. She looked the same as she had in every other concert she had given.
She always wore white for her solo performances. The trademark color and her name had earned her the nickname 'White Flower' in the review sections of newspapers and magazines. It suited her; not just her sense of dress and style, but her entire personality. She didn't know whether it was a case of her growing into the name or the name growing on her, but now she had become the personification of grace and beauty that the entire image evoked.
Lei walked around the backstage area and entered the empty hall as she always did before a performance, and like always, Carnegie Hall took her breath away. The colossal view of the multiple balconies dwarfed her, at the same time enclosing her in an embrace that spoke volumes with its hushed silence. The beautiful moldings and plush velvet seats spoke of the grandeur of music that demanded respect from artists and audience alike.
Bowing her head and closing her eyes, Lei gave the hall its due. She stood silently for long minutes, feeling the space flow into her body, then opened her eyes and took in each detail. The muted gold and burgundy, the pinpoints of lights shining down on her, the pools of light under each floor and the high arch of the ceiling.
These moments before a performance were her meditation, her way of minimizing distraction. After the ritual, she went back to her dressing room and spent the last few minutes concentrating on the program for the evening.
As the appointed time approached, she got deeper and deeper into the mind-space that amplified each noise she heard, made her acutely aware of each separate muscle in her hands and back, and slowed time to a crawl that would slow still further and inch forward - until she entered the actual performance, and then she wouldn't be aware of anything but the music flowing around her and in her head, the weight of the bow across the strings, the smooth wood of her instrument and the soft blackness behind her closed eyes.
The entire time on stage felt like an otherworldly experience. It couldn't be explained in words. She had tried many times, in interviews or with her parents, but had never been able to describe how time both flew and slowed down, how her body was both strung to its highest tension and utterly relaxed, how she could never really remember the notes she played or the way her body moved. It was a space devoid of all thought; it was merely the physicality of the score that her body remembered, the rhythms that were burned into her unconscious and the movements that she just knew to make to produce what she did. It was like attempting to explain the timeless fluidity of a flowing river. There just were no words.
Lei came out of the spell only when the applause started. The next half hour was bows and smiles and acknowledging what seemed like hundreds of people who wanted to congratulate her. The concert had been a success.
After thanking her well-wishers and fans, she withdrew into herself as soon as she got into the car on the drive back home. After a performance, her whole body ached as she wound down from the high and she felt as exhausted as her entire life's energy had drained out of her. Her parents knew not to address her as she fell asleep in the back seat on the long drive to her apartment.
* * * *
The next day, her parents came in to take her to the airport for the three-month long recital tours she would hold across Europe. Her parents were accompanying her as she did to almost all her engagements.
"Ready for London?" her father asked.
Lei nodded. The Europe tour was her favorite tour of the year as she got to play in some of the world's most legendary locations and they were always well-received, with deeply appreciative audiences and good reviews.
Her father continued, "Your birthday is as soon as you return. What would you like as your gift?"
Lei had completely forgotten. She took a moment to think about it but there was only one thing she truly wanted. She just didn't know if she could tell her father who had been the driving force in her life.
"Well...," she began.
Seeing her hesitation, her father turned his undivided attention on her. "What is it?"
"Actually, I was thinking...."
Her mother and father were both looking at her expectantly.
"If I could take a break," she said slowly.
"Break? What do you mean?" her mother asked.
"I've been working non-stop since I was... well, all my life. I just wanted some time off, you know, from recitals and traveling and practice and... everything."
"No practice?" her mother echoed. "How can you not practice?"
"Just for a few days, Mama," Lei said. "It's not like I'll forget anything. I've been doing this as far as I can remember."
"
Du wan juan shu, xing wan-li lu
," her mother retorted. Reading ten thousand books is not as useful as walking ten thousand miles.
