Here is the next submission for our Sunday Snippet review. Attentive readers might note that I have changed Mal’s musical ability – now, she is a conservatory drop-out, instead of a self-taught fan. We’ll see what happens….
As noted before (but always worth repeating) – this is a first draft. I’m jumping around in the story a bit, trying to find both footing and a better sense of how to approach it. I expect that there are many holes to fill and rough spots to smooth, and I look forward to hearing people’s suggestions.
I’m continuing to play with the concept of how I want to tell this story, in addition to the prose itself. It’s entirely possible that as this project goes on, it will morph into an altogether different form and style. Hopefully, with lots of show and emotion.
Thank you for your time,
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Mal paced her creaking floors for an hour, listening to the wind pick up outside and biting her nails. Every five minutes or so, she would walk over to her cell phone and look at it expectantly, as if she could have missed it ringing. She confirmed that the ringer was not on silent. Twice. She picked up one of the songs, and began reading it as she walked.
Timmy knew she didn’t play anymore. Mal had put down her guitar, had dropped out of the conservatory program she had almost finished, two years ago. He knew this. He even knew why. One of the reasons they had been able to remain friends was his ability to not ask questions.
When Mal withdrew from Berklee, her friends and classmates assumed she would return in less than a year. It made sense that she would want some time off after everything, that she would want privacy to reorganize her life and make arrangements, but no one believed that anyone who loved music as much as she did could ever just quit.
For Mal, their lack of empathy simply proved their lack of understanding. She understood that she was not the first person, or the only person, who had lost her family too quickly. She knew that many people used their instruments to grieve, or to hide, or to reconstruct. What she couldn’t explain to others was that she had only ever been able to play because they listened. Without her family to be her audience, she no longer wanted to play. It seemed senseless and even selfish. It was brutally lonely, and she was lonely enough.