The Sounds of Silence

[Amerist]

The Sounds of Silence

By Kyt Dotson © copyright 2005

“I can’t believe this,” August fumed.

Alyx watched him pace and bit her lower lip. She sat with her violin case across her lap and her chin in her hands. When he got into these sorts of moods there was nothing to pull him out of it, except for an act of God maybe. Sadly, Alyx was fresh out of those, so instead she stared dumbly at her ice cream sundae.

“Dude, that is so lame.” Kiara, Alyx’s best friend, sat besides her paying more attention to touching up the black polish on her nails than what August was actually saying. If she’d actually been paying attention to his rant she wouldn’t have said anything.

“Lame doesn’t even cover it!” August continued, launching into another series of curses. “How is Black Saturday going to get off the ground if we have to shut down by nine? I swear, the pigs in the government really have it out for me. This was my big break to get some of my music out there, and they’re treating us like…like…”

Alyx sighed. “Like kids?”

“Yeah.” August settled heavily into the seat across from her and buried his face in his hands. His fuzzy, orange hair which was usually spiky and wild looked like a rag-mop today, the whole Black Saturday tragedy was really getting to him.

The Black Saturday dance was named after the Goth Industrial club sponsoring the event. Alyx had been looking forward to this dance for a month now, ever since August had announced it. He was a DJ at The Black Masque, the sponsor club. He got behind his project with true passion. The rec center of a nearby neighborhood had been rented, the word was spread, fliers were made, hopes were lifted…everything looked like smooth sailing. Until this week.

The owner of The Black Masque, Derek Irons, broke the bad news to August late the previous evening. The neighborhood surrounding the rec center banded together and petitioned the local government trying to ban them. The ban didn’t quite succeed so instead they pushed through a request that all excessive sounds cease at nine o’clock. As this was also prohibited by a city ordinance with a long name and a longer number to it, the City Council agreed to enforce that ordinance.

Thus the debacle was born.

What kind of Goth dance was going to shut down at nine at night? It wouldn’t be much of a dance at all.

Normally about this time August would have been weathering her gentle questions about if she could play violin at the club. The previous week she had brought it up about Black Saturday, but since August wasn’t ever sure about anything she received the same non-answer as always, “I’ll look into it, Alyx.”

Although plying August for favors in the past had never led her anywhere, Alyx still couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him. This was his project, after all, he could have said yes… Well, that was then, this was now. And now wasn’t such a good time to hold a grudge.

Feeling for him, she reached across the table and touched August’s hand gently. “You’ll figure it out, August. You’ll figure something out.” The words died on her lips even as she spoke them, even Alyx couldn’t believe what she said. The Black Saturday Dance had been ruined, and surely there was no resurrecting it.

Of course, now all of that was completely out of the question. Poor August was being worn ragged by the ruination of his project

“Uh, it’s almost five, Alyx,” Kiara suddenly piped up.

“Crud,” Alyx gasped, withdrawing her hand and standing up suddenly. “I should go practice. I’ll see you guys at the performance tomorrow? See you August, love ya Kiara.”

Without another word, she hustled herself out of her seat and went immediately home.

Cold air swirled around Alyx’s fingers as she worked the bow across the surface of the roughened rosin. Gentle strokes as if she were caressing her violin helped to apply the powder evenly across the taut hairs of the bow. The motions also gave her muscles the preparatory warm-up they needed to remind them of the task at hand. Alyx liked to feel that she was in her perfect place, here in her practice studio.

The studio was a small space, upstairs with the angled ceiling formed from the attic on one side. Every visible wall covered with eggshell soundproofing foam. The only sound that penetrated into her sanctuary was the gentle hiss of the air conditioning running somewhere in the distance. This was a sacred place; a place all her own. Not even her father entered this room after he set it up for her years before so that she could practice in silence.

Certain that she had applied sufficient rosin to the bow, Alyx set the rosin down, lifted her violin, and tested the strings with a few querying strokes. The violin responded with a series of bright, wholesome notes and she smiled. The sheet music for her current practice piece, Niccolò Paganini’s Caprice no 2 in B minor, beckoned her from the silver stand at the far side of the room. Set there like a pedestal, the stand and its white pages contrasted brilliantly against the matte charcoal soundproofing foam.

The piece was no walk in the park for Alyx, and though she had enough troubles mastering Caprice no 1 it was her ultimate desire to master them all. All week she had spent her practice time working on the pieces she would be playing with her orchestra, the St. Ignatius Loyola Academy Symphony Orchestra, she figured she deserved some sort of reward for all her hard work, and being able to work on the Caprice was the perfect incentive.

To Alyx, playing the violin was like running her fingers over the surface of a swift moving stream. Just barely brushing the surface of the water, trying to avoid getting her fingers wet, feeling the cold of the water beneath her fingertips, but never quite breaking the surface. The vibration of the strings resonated through her chin and blurred with the sensation of the sound as she drew the bow across the strings and danced her fingertips across the neck. The cold air licked at her elbows and slid between her fingers, while her muscles felt warm and fluid, like taut cords.

The sensation continued even when Alyx mis-struck a note, or flubbed a transition, with an innate sense of her next motion she allowed the faltering sound to blur into the next note. Only when she truly faltered did she force herself to stop and restart a bar; recovery was something she’d learned from playing in the orchestra, if she could, she would absorb the error into her playing and keep going.

Alyx’s sheer enjoyment of the piece rounded and increased with each passing bar, she knew the notes almost as intimately as she did the neck of her violin, today she could almost play the score without seeing the sheet music. She found herself seeing the bright lines of the music shining like streamers of light across her vision, cast from each bow stroke and vibrating with the motion of her fingers through the frets.

The end of the sensation came when the alarm on the well went off and Alyx turned to look at it mid-note.

A chill swept over her body as she let her arms fall to her sides; the violin and bow dangled in her grasp. She felt as if she had just emerged from a blanket into a very cold room. As if the music, while playing, had enveloped her in a fleeting warmth, which had evaporated when she turned her attention elsewhere.

8:30pm, the clock read. It was time for dinner.

After properly stowing her violin and making certain it was nestled and locked securely in its case, Alyx descended the stairs from her attic sanctuary down into the mire that was the rest of her house. The home had been her grandmothers, whom she had never met, and was built sometime in the 60s. This left many of the stairwells too thin for two people to pass, and many of the rooms cut off from one another by too-thin doorways without doors.

She could tell her father was home from work already; she could smell his cooking even as she stepped from the last stair. She couldn’t tell what he was cooking, but it certainly smelled good. Thus without further pause, Alyx headed to the kitchen.

Early morning rays of sunlight were just beginning to touch the façade of the St. Loyola Ignatius Academy lecture building. Alyx had arrived early, as usual, and she enjoyed the clean smell of the morning air. The sidewalk outside of the lecture halls was still wet from the sprinklers so she walked carefully, cradling her violin.

The building was a large round thing, which reminded Alyx more of a cake than a proper space to hold classrooms. Small canopies hung over the sidewalks around the round, red brick exterior in case of rain, but from her experience, the canopies did nothing for that. The wind usually drove the rain down onto anyone unfortunate enough not to be indoors. She counted herself fortunate that today the skies were clear and blue.

With a resigned sigh, Alyx leaned on one of the blue doors that opened into lecture room L120. She twirled her keychain in boredom on her pinky finger as she leaned back. The door rattled when she touched it. Locked doors didn’t rattle. At least, they never did in Alyx’s experience. Curious, she pulled herself away and tried the handle. The door opened.

The lecture hall’s lights were all on.

The classroom reminded Alyx of an auditorium. The rounded rows of seating led down into a pit in the center, with the teacher’s desk, podium, and series of chalkboards where the orchestra would normally be. She wondered for a moment why there were chalkboards in the room; they were never used, passed over for a remote projector.

Movement across the room caught her attention. A young man was placing items in front of each seat. They looked like tiny grey walkmans, with microphone cables and earbuds connected to them. He had an armload of them.

“What’s this about?” Alyx asked. The boy didn’t notice her, and she didn’t recognize him. This didn’t worry her, the lecture had almost three hundred students in it and she couldn’t have hoped to know all of them.

She set her violin down on the table in front of her. One of the strange walkmans was laid out in front of a chair there. She picked it up and unwrapped the earbuds. It was smooth and cool to the touch, with several buttons on the top, a dial, and what seemed to be an on switch. With a gentle press she switched it on. A green light lit up on the top and loud, riotous music began to play through the buds. She carefully turned the volume down with the dial and put the bud in her ear. It was some alternative band that she barely recognized, except for hearing it blasting from passing cars every day when she walked home from school.

“Cool,” she quipped, looking the device over.

That time the boy did notice her. He turned at the sound of her voice and—not looking where he was going—tripped over a chair that had not been pushed in. He went down with a crash.

Alyx covered her mouth and grimaced. It really looked like it hurt. Figuring her violin would be okay sitting atop a table in her plain view, she descended the stairs and arrived on the scene just as he was getting up again.

She offered her hand to help.

“Uh, thanks,” the boy said, finally pulling himself upright. He was wearing one of the walkmans and took a moment to switch it off. He had shaggy black hair that covered his ears; it made the earbuds look like the white cables that connected into the sides of his head. He wore the usual attire of white collared shirt and black pants and gave Alyx a once-over. Probably wondering why she was so overdressed.

Even the girls only had to wear a white collared shirt with a black or dark blue skirt. However, since Alyx was going to be attending a symphony performance today after school, she was wearing the complete, formal school uniform. White socks, black pleated skirt, white collared shirt, with a blue crossover tie.

“Orchestra,” she explained, staring at him. The boy just nodded.

Alyx had never been good at meeting new people, but she couldn’t help but a feel a little bit at fault for his falling over. However, now that she had helped him up, she didn’t know what to say.

After a moment he broke the uncomfortable silence. “Oh, yeah, I’m just passing out these.” He showed her the radio in his hands. “For the class. We’re going to be using them today.”

“Using them for what?” Alyx asked. To her it looked like a glorified iPod, not exactly a common teaching tool. The lecture may have been “A Modern History of Music” but still.

“Music,” he said, answering as if she were stupid. Alyx gave him a look and he went on. “They’re little radio receivers,” he explained, “Mrs. Brussels will be controlling them with a computer to play music for all the students. I came up with the idea myself. By the way, my name is Timothy.”

“Alyx.”

Timothy seemed to be an all right guy. He had his shaggy hair, which now Alyx noticed was really just curly, it looked shaggy, but it really was well taken care of. He went on to explain how he was the TA for another class and had gotten transferred into this one because there were so many students that there weren’t enough TAs. The little walkmans were an aid he thought would help the student’s experience music samples more clearly without having to use the speaker system.

Her interest piqued, Alyx followed Timothy around the room as he passed them out. She even helped him with setting them out. She realized that right here, right now was a way that she might save Black Saturday and get her five minutes of fame being a performance violinist all at the same time. If she played her cards right.

After a long conversation about how the class was going—Timothy told her he didn’t know where they were at, since he hadn’t attended this section yet—a few students trickled into the classroom. Realizing that she had left her violin unguarded, Alyx prepared to go.

“Timothy?” she asked. “Can you tell me how many of these little things there are?”

“Above five hundred,” he said. “We’ve got the extras in storage right now. Why?”

“How would I get to use them for something if I needed to?”

“Well,” he said, scratching his head. “If you were going to do a presentation or something you could always get a teacher to sign them off for you. This may have been my idea, but they are the school’s property now. I just need to show them that they made a good investment.”

“Thanks,” Alyx said. “You’ve been a big help. I think you’ll be a great TA for this class.”

When she turned to go, he tapped her on the shoulder. Confused, she turned toward him.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding up a keychain with a sapphire blue musical note and a tuning whistle on it.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, scooping it up. She smiled at him before she went to her seat.

The moment class let out, Alyx rushed around a corner, turned on her cellphone, and made a call. Something strictly forbidden by school rules. Normally, Alyx wasn’t one ever to break the rules; in fact, she made something of a deliberate effort never to break any rules… Even those she didn’t like, but this was extremely important.

“Alyx?” Kiara, on the other extreme, couldn’t have cared less that rules existed. Which is why Alyx knew that she would answer her phone, even if she was in school and wasn’t supposed to have her cell on. Let alone be receiving calls. “What’s up girl?”

“Kiara, I have great news! Your next class is with September, right?” September was August’s twin sister, named because she was born a day after August and their parents had no imaginations.

“Yeah… Oomf. Hey watch where you’re going, jerkwad!” A loud muffled thump sounded in the receiver and rattled for a moment. Alyx waited and Kiara came back on the line. “Err, not you… Sorry, Alyx.”

“Okay, I hope that August hasn’t despaired completely about Black Saturday because I think that I’ve found the thing that we need to keep it going.”

“Really? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” Alyx said. “Just let September know that I’m working on something and tell August not to worry. I don’t like seeing him so down, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. He’s a mess.”

“See you at lunch.” Alyx hung up and turned off her phone.

September was much keener on how badly Alyx dreamed of playing a violin solo for an audience than August. Chances are she’d also mention that when she told August that Alyx had come up with a plan to save his dance.

Feeling giddy, Alyx weaved her way between the mobs of students on her way to her next class, hugging her violin like it was a child. After that class she would be seeking another ally in this little machination she had planned: Mr. Bruce, the Orchestra Director.

Mr. Bruce was one of the oldest teachers in the school, Alyx didn’t know his actual age but he was old. He had a bald head with a ring of white hair around the back and sides, and a white beard and mustache that circled his mouth. A mouth that was currently an invisible line as he considered what Alyx was saying and she pleaded with her eyes.

She let her glasses fall slightly down her face so that she could gaze over their rims at him with her best watery, puppy dog eyes.

“Who is this Timothy?” Mr. Bruce asked. He reached up and rubbed the side of his head. A gesture that he did a lot during orchestra practice when he wasn’t sure that they were playing a piece quite right.

“He’s a TA in my Modern History of Music, he just started today,” Alyx said. “We can ask Mrs. Brussels, she would know. But that’s not important, these little iPod things are what’s important. They’re like little walkie-talkies but for music.”

Mr. Bruce looked lost.

Alyx shook her head. “They’re like little radios. They all play the same thing. We used them instead of using the speakers in the room.”

“I see,” Mr. Bruce said. Alyx wasn’t sure he actually got it, but at least he was listening.

“Now, August and Kiara and I are doing this event on Saturday that we could really use them for. It’s a dance called Black Saturday—”

“You mean that rave you kids are having?”

“Rave?” Alyx blinked a few times. “No, not a rave.”

“I hear a lot of bad things happen at those raves,” he said. “Drugs and alcohol, I don’t think it would be proper for me to help you with that sort of a thing.”

Alyx opened her mouth to protest. It wasn’t a rave! It was a dance. Now, she couldn’t promise him that there wouldn’t be drugs there. Everyone knew there were drugs in the school already, but this was an all-ages event. Considering that Alyx, August, and Kiara were all underage for drinking there wasn’t going to be alcohol.

All of these points flashed through her mind and she was promptly interrupted by the bell.

“Sorry, sprite,” Mr. Bruce said solemnly. He patted her on the shoulder and started to walk away briskly towards the teacher break room. “I’ll see you right after fifth period to start warming up for our performance. Today you are going to be stupendous!”

Well, that could have gone better, Alyx mused. She needed a teacher to sign for the receivers, and Mr. Bruce was really her only hope. None of the other teachers had a modern music appreciating bone in their bodies—and that included Mrs. Brussels with her music history lectures. If he couldn’t be convinced the entire plan was ruined.

Frustrated, but not yet defeated, Alyx trotted off to her next class.

At the beginning of lunch hour, Alyx went searching for one of the fliers about Black Saturday. She remembered that they mentioned where the dance was being held—a community rec center—and which groups were sponsoring it, and that it was an “event for all ages.”

“Last week you couldn’t go two feet without tripping over someone with a flyer,” Kiara said, replying to what Alyx was thinking. “Today, nothing.”

Of course, handing out flyers at school was against the rules so they were handed out after school. The fact that everyone had one was just because everyone who had one kept it in their locker or backpack and would show their friends. Most of the students were careful enough not to have them out when a teacher was around. Lest it be confiscated.

“Look, August,” Alyx said. “We have to convince Mr. Bruce to help us.” He looked even mopier today than he did the day before. She realized that August wasn’t going to be convincing anyone.

“Why do you even care?” he said. “The event is going to totally bomb. Eh, I didn’t mean it like that, Alyx. Thank you for trying, but… I can’t see how any harebrained idea is going to save it now.”

Alyx scratched her head. “Mr. Bruce is a smart guy. If we can only get him to understand he’ll help us. Harebrained or not, I think this idea is great. We can make Black Saturday truly unique! Wouldn’t you like that, August?”

Kiara smiled from across the table. Her sunglasses giving her a rock star look. “Man, it’s nice to see you like this, babe. So passionate! Our little Alyx, all brains no balls, but look at you now. What’d you say, August? How can we let this go to waste?” She nudged him a few times in the ribs until he playfully shoved her away.

“Fine, fine,” he said finally. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to get Derek on the phone, today right before performance, can you do that?”

“Uh, I’m not even sure if he’s awake before five on Fridays,” August said. Of course, Alyx couldn’t refute that, he was the owner of a Goth nightclub, and if she owned a nightclub she wouldn’t care about being awake during the day either.

“Just try,” she said.

The theater was filled with noise when Alyx entered. The rustling feet, shaking leaves of musical sheets, and twanging strings seemed to echo from everywhere at once. It was a soft but vocal cacophony of sounds that made her think of a musical forest populated by birds with the voices of modern instruments and tennis shoes. It didn’t take her long to descend the considerable number of steps that ran like navy blue stitches between the mahogany rows of seats.

Mr. Bruce was standing with the cellists, all three who were available today—two of them had gotten sick at the same time. An epidemic, it seemed which had curbed the number of musicians available for this performance. Of the ten first violins only eight had been available, and six of the nine second violins. Viola also took a huge hit, as did the winds section, having only one oboe, clarinet, and flute. The double bass section, fortunately, didn’t have a single member missing. Alyx smiled when she saw the dark band of Kiara’s sunglasses gleaming from her seat, her dark face peeking out from behind her double bass viol.

The echoes diminished but the clamor rose as more musicians sat in their seats, removed their instruments from cases, and began testing and tuning them for the performance. Many had told Alyx that they disliked the sound, the dissonant chorus of so many instrumental voices singing out without pattern or rhyme. Alyx had to disagree, it was strangely comforting, that crush of sound that came with the warm up and preparation before the audience arrived. It reminded her of the sounds of dawn, awakening the birds in the forest.

She sat herself down in the second seat of the first violin section, next to a freckled boy with short brown hair who occupied the prodigious seat of Concert Master, the first seat and closest to Mr. Bruce, the conductor. His name was Salem Manchester, a debutante violinist if Alyx ever met one, but she would never speak a word of that opinion. He had transferred from another school during the year and ousted her from that same seat with his expensive violin, brand name clothes, and likely costly violin lessons.

Even deposed, Alyx tried her best to remain neutral. She only hoped he would stay out of her way today.

Her eyes scanned the room, watching hawkishly for August or September as Alyx retrieved her violin from the safety of its case. It was her second violin, purchased years earlier at a pawn shop. “That, I’m told is a real Stradivarius, I’ll let you have it for two hundred even, a real gem at that price.” Alyx didn’t care that the salesman was obviously lying and didn’t know what a real Stradivarius violin would have actually cost; it had to have been a reproduction, and not the real thing. All this didn’t matter once she played it in his little shop—it was in that moment that she knew it had to be hers. She demanded her father buy it for her then and there.

The warmth of the violin’s voice resounded through her body like a welcome warm wind as she tested the tune of the strings and added her own voice to the chorus of the orchestral forest.

Minutes passed, time was cutting short. Where was August? He was their only keyboardist; he couldn’t possibly not show up. The performance—perfunctory though it may have been, would be ruined. They would have to call it off. That would not have gone well. Each performance marked toward her grade in Orchestra, and rain-checked performances had to be made up.

It wasn’t until the seats were actually beginning to fill up with parents and faculty that August deigned to show his face. All of the musicians were already seated and ready for their conductor—save August—and the moment he came into the room Mr. Bruce called him over. Alyx stared at him intently as he walked past her, tilting her head and tilting her violin and bow in question. August shrugged apologetically and went to see what Mr. Bruce wanted.

“Late again,” Salem snorted with his usual lack of tact. “What a dweeb.”

Alyx ignored him; she kept her eyes intent on August.

Salem leaned over. “I hear that his stupid dance has been cancelled, something about the neighbors not wanting to deal with the noise. I cannot understand people who attend those things anyway. It’s so bourgeois.”

“Bours-what, Salem? Why don’t you pay attention to your music instead of gossiping?”

“What?” Salem’s eyes flickered in the dimming lights. He was already fully aware of her alliances. “He’s only a keyboardist, it’s not like he’s actually an important member of the symphony.”

Alyx let her bow lie flat across the A and E strings together and drew it roughly across, producing a horrible howl, which drove Salem back into his seat. It was her best musical impression of, “Shut up, jerk,” without actually having to say it out loud.

A loud tapping sound brought Alyx’s attention around to Mr. Bruce and the conductor’s stand. Years of playing in orchestra had trained her to respond quickly and smartly to the rapping sound, which meant “pay attention.” In that moment all sound ceased. Even the audience seemed startled by the tapping, such that they stopped shifting in their seats, talking, or even coughing.

“Welcome the performance of Advanced Symphony Orchestra. Today we will be playing select portions of Handel’s Messiah as adapted by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

Alyx raised her bow back to her violin in preparation and steadied her breathing into time with her heartbeat. She imagined herself standing back in her practice studio, where she was in control of everything. The orchestra hall vanished, replaced by the charcoal eggshell walls and hardwood floor. This was the only time that someone like Salem received invitation into her studio—but it wasn’t just him with her, the entire orchestra sat and waited in that preternatural silence. Fingers, bows, and breaths set and ready for performance.

An electric chill went through Alyx as she waited for the cue.

The wand darted up and Mr. Bruce looked at her—well, he looked at the entire first violin section, actually, but Alyx liked to think that the command in his eyes to begin involved her and her alone. This was the way it was when she was Concert Mistress, and someday it would be again.

The piece began softly with violins, like fields of grass casting emerald waves in the wind and sunlight. The violins picked up in richness and body and Alyx followed Salem’s lead and tempo while keeping an eye on the conductor’s wand. The world expanded with the addition of the cellos and double basses. Soon, the cheerful and bright tones of a flute entered into the musical landscape, adding fluttering birds and white flowers to her vision.

As she followed her own memory of the piece, Alyx could feel the other musicians around her through the sounds of their instruments. She could tell that June’s G string was slightly out of tune, and tried her best not to wince when she heard William miss a transition. The group was far from perfect together, but Alyx enjoyed playing with them every time they were together.

The evening went past in a crescendo of musical pieces. Each one more complex than the last. Handel’s Messiah contained sections that required a chorus, which were done instead with the winds mimicking voices. In one such segment, Alyx was able to rest her elbow slightly as the violins were kept in idle. Her mind wandered, wondering and hoping that August would be able to get Derek on the phone and how she was going to convince Mr. Bruce to help her when she suddenly noticed a face in the crowd: Timothy.

He and wandered down the stairs and was talking quietly to a pair of parents sitting in the second to front row. He didn’t look like he was staying long and there was still a quarter of the performance to go. Timothy would be an excellent asset, she realized, he could explain what the receivers were all about.

The conductor’s wand danced in her vision and Alyx played a succession of transitioned notes. Then came a pause. Another succession. And she was resting again, along with the rest of the violins, but she knew that this section would not last, and Timothy looked like he was about to go. Alyx’s heart skipped a beat, her chest felt tight, and her breathing became harsh.

The piece picked up again and Alyx watched Timothy carefully. The conversation was wrapping up. If only he would look in her direction.

A flash of light caught her attention. Her keychain. It was hanging from her music stand. She must have hung it there while removing her violin from the case. It was perfect.

The pause came again and Alyx swooped down with her bow, caught the keychain with the tip, and whipped it at Timothy. The keychain flung into the air, twirling end over end and out of the spotlights on the orchestra—and thus outside of Mr. Bruce’s attention. As she watched it arc through the air she caught the bright tail of the conductor’s wand and Mr. Bruce’s eyes as he signaled the violins to start up again.

Caught up in the moment, Alyx completely missed the note. Her embarrassment nearly sealed when she almost dropped the bow from her too light grip and Salem’s eyes darted over to look at her as if wondering what was going wrong. Angry with herself, she immediately caught up and pulled the next note in perfect alignment with Salem’s extending elbow.

All this in the space of a moment and her miniature missile still hadn’t struck target yet.

Timothy turned his back to go, time stood still—

To Alyx’s amazement, the keychain struck home. It thumped Timothy gently in the back and he spun as if someone had grabbed him, his curly black hair tumbling about his face as he glanced around. Notice the keychain, notice the keychain. Alyx hoped if she thought it hard enough it would happen. And he glanced down.

Once he had the keychain in his hands his face screwed up in confusion. He looked up and directly at Alyx. She couldn’t smile, but her for her eyes, as she was in the midst of following a very complex rhythm with her bow, pecking out notes and transitions from the instrument…

Miraculously, Timothy decided to sit down.

He stayed there for the rest of the performance; Alyx was able to ignore his presence for the rest of the night, spending her time instead with the music and the orchestra, where she should have been the entire time.

The recital ended with a glorious dismount by the winds, followed by the quiet reduction of instruments, and finalizing with the violins where it started. As the music tapered off, like the falling of the sun below the horizon, the conductor’s wand fell—and applause rose.

It was a small audience, but it was an audience. Alyx stood with the rest of the orchestra and bowed with her instrument. Elated from the performance, she let the endorphin high carry her for a few minutes while the orchestra began to break up and the audience stood to leave.

One bright face stood out in the sea of mahogany seats. Timothy. Alyx beckoned him with a wave and looked to August. He was going through the motions of taking the keyboard apart and unhooking its wires. He noticed her gaze and she made a telephone gesture. He nodded suddenly and fumbled at his pockets.

“Um, I think you dropped this?” She heard Timothy said behind her, a hint of chuckle in his voice. Alyx turned to face him. “When you said orchestra, I actually didn’t know you meant this orchestra. I mean, you’re pretty good.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the keychain back. “I need your help.”

“Sure? What can I do?” Affable Timothy.

“Mr. Bruce. Mr. Bruce.” Alyx waved him over as well. August was already on the cell phone.

“Alyx Vesper! The sprite of my symphony, you were dazzling tonight,” he said. Thank goodness Salem wasn’t in earshot anymore. “There were some wrinkles, yes, but not to worry, we can get those ironed out.”

“Mr. Bruce,” she said again, trying to retain his attention. Mr. Bruce was looking out into the rapidly diminishing audience, probably at another faculty member. Alyx knew she couldn’t lose him now. August and the phone were seconds away, Timothy was here, Kiara sidled up to her with a gentle shoulder squeeze.

“Excellent work by you as well, Mrs. Kaltenbach.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bruce,” Kiara said.

“Mr. Bruce,” Alyx said again.

Finally he turned his attention completely to her and scrubbed his chin. “Yes?”

August arrived, talking on the cell phone. Timothy looked like a fish out of water, but eager. As Alyx turned towards Mr. Bruce, Kiara grinned like a lioness.

“Do you remember what I asked you about earlier today?” Alyx began.

The gentle thumping of bass subwoofers rumbled like distant thunder that Black Saturday night in Burns Park. The doors of the rec center opened promptly at seven. Through those doors admitted a steadily growing stream of interested students from several different high schools in the area, and no short order of parents come to check the scene out. Chaperones had been collected from the parents of most of the students organizing the dance, and Derek Irons was a townie and thus known to most people who had high school aged children, so most simply didn’t worry.

Neighbors milled on their porches in the distance, staring at the black clad youngsters who filled the banisters and windows of the rec center. The clocks rolled around to eight as the music pumped up, featuring many tunes that some of them recognized from twenty years in the past. Angry tones and petulant discussions cropped up among the older houses, complaints and hushed breaths threatening retribution for the slightest note after the allotted time. Though none of these words were heard by the revelers.

At eight fifty a single dark figure exited the rec center. Alyx wore an Edwardian inspired, elegant black dress with an open bust that displayed a white lace wrap flowing half-way up to her chin. She had tied her blonde hair up in a bun, sporting a pair of sticks that reminded her of oriental fashion. Her white gloved hands flashed in the darkness while half-a-dozen prying eyes watched from across the street as she opened the back of Kiara’s steel blue Mercedes.

From there she procured a violin case. Not the usual violin she took to orchestra, but instead one she had bought months earlier, with all of her savings, for just this sort of performance. An aptly named Yamaha Concert Edition Silent Violin. When she played, the smooth black plastic looked skeletal in her hands as the strings lay against the spine of the violin, with only a plastic silhouette resembling the memory of a missing soundboard. Her refined costume had been carefully chosen to compliment the instrument.

Eight fifty-five PM, Black Saturday, Alyx walked back into the rec center, the door closed behind her, bad-tempered thoughts waited by warm telephones waiting for their chance—and then, unexpectedly, as the magical hour struck, the lights inside the rec center dimmed and silence fell.

For the two hours earlier, visitors entering the door were greeted by a grinning girl wearing shades indoors and a leather outfit. She took their entry fees, stamped their hands, and handed them a small device that looked like a clip on radio and a pair of headphones. “You’ll need these for later,” she explained, and also, that they would be collected at the end of the night.

As Alyx walked towards the stage, the lights dimmed around her. A spotlight illuminated a silver music stand in the center; then it swept across the room and lit her path. The stillness and silence put an uneasy hush over the dancers, most of whom were sweaty and disheveled from dancing. Those on the dance floor stepped aside to let Alyx and her violin pass as she made her way through the beam of light.

Tonight would be the night. Everything had come together just as she planned. Her she was, standing in the spotlight, her fingers could barely grip her violin for the exultation that ran through her limbs. Every eye in the room was on her, a thousand dots of light it seemed, twinkled, amplified by the hush.

Kiara joined her on stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said addressing the crowd. “I am happy to present to you the young lady who has so valiantly championed this very event in the face of certain failure: my friend, Alyx Vesper.

“As you all may know, it is nine PM. The time at which we were told we would have to disband our little dance…as to not offend the delicate ears of our neighbors. As it is that time we are turning off the speakers to respect that request.”

Grumbling and a soft booing rumbled through the crowd, but Kiara raised a hand.

“However, the music will not stop! At the beginning of the night I gave you one of these.” She held her receiver over her head with its dangling headphone wires. “Find the little button on the top, turn it on, and put the headphones on.”

Most of the crowd had forgotten they were wearing the receivers and they began putting the headphones on. Surprised faces sparked into smiles and laughter scattered through the assembled group.

“We will be using these for the rest of the night. This is to keep the volume down, though you don’t need to worry about that.”

The sound of Kiara’s voice seemed an inch away in the headset after Alyx put hers on. August had stealthily slipped away from his post in the DJ booth to help plug a wire into her electric violin.

“But before we return you to your regularly scheduled evening…” A smile crept into Kiara’s voice. “I am very proud to present you with Alyx Vesper and the beautiful music of her violin, here tonight, only for you, and not the stingy neighbors. Playing with accompaniment by August Lane, your DJ tonight. She’s here to dazzle everyone with her rendition of The Phantom of the Opera.”

With those words, Alyx set her bow to her violin, breathing in the rising beat and sound of the music pouring from August’s keyboard. And there, in the darkness, she drew the first note from her violin strings with the bow.

And, with her violin as her partner in this midnight waltz, joined everyone else as they danced to the sounds of silence.