Page 100 of The Other Side of Green

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lyra

“Lyra, wait please.”

I stopped walking, knowing it was coming, but hoping for an alternative outcome. A fool’s hope, Grams would have called it.

I turned for Greene.

“Come and sit.”

I dragged my feet back over the shiny, wooden floor.

“You’re blocked,” he stated simply. “Why?”

There could be no denying I was blocked. While everyone else had been able to gain an initial grasp of the programming to block thoughts and fears, my fingers had trembled on the strings.

“I think it’s a bit more complex than worrying about whether an audience is going to like me.”

“But not because of the whole Collins foundation thing,” he mused in return. “This goes deeper.” Greene nodded to himself for a moment. “But I know you can play, I’ve heard you. The way you performed at the Collins’ Charity Gala you sounded like an artist twenty years into a successful career, not a freshman. So you can play.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “You do know that.”

I nodded, that empty feeling filling my chest, like an endless search for something I couldn’t find. It knotted like indigestion that no amount of peppermint tea would be able to shift.

“Tell me about playing when you first started out.”

My cheeks warmed. “I really need to get to English, it’s my last lecture of the day.”

He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got time.” He patted the seat next to me. “Lyra, I’m not here to tell you that you aren’t good enough, or that you can’t stay. I want to help.”

I grimaced. “I sucked. Grams bought me the violin from the thrift store. She thought it would give me something to do. We had a new music teacher at school. He was so cool, made music sound almost effortless like it flowed through him. I think I must have talked a lot at home about the lessons because Grams just came home one day with this battered violin.”

Greene nodded. “Then what?”

“I started to play. I paid more attention in class, tried to learn music. Then when I was home I’d—” I cut myself off from mentioning the sound of piano coming from next door. “I guess I just tried to play the way he made it sound, tried to make it feel the same.”

I searched for the feeling, only to find emptiness again in my chest.

“Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened next?”

I stared at the violin case in my hands. “Mom told me I wailed like a cat. That I was making the whole neighborhood miserable with my scales and screeching.”

“Your mom doesn’t like music?”

I snorted a laugh. “No. She hates it.” Unless it’s a good time in a bar. “She said I had to stop the lessons, that we couldn’t afford it.”

“But you didn’t?” Greene asked softly.

I shook my head. “No. That music teacher, he offered for the school to fund the lessons,” I shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess he saw something. He came to the house once to see Grams to discuss the help we could get with tuition fees.”

I paused, feeling into a long-forgotten memory.

“Mom came home. She sounded like a banshee, she was so cross. I’d seen her mad before, more than I’d like, but this time she was almost rabid. She said I’d never amount to anything, that I’d just leave, ruin my life.” I shook my head. “I sat on the stairs listening. I never wanted to open the case again.” I snapped my focus onto Greene’s face, pulling myself back from the past. “You see, my mom’s an alcoholic, relies on substances.”

He nodded, not speaking.