pgawk

I quite like writing... I don't think I'm any good at it but I really enjoy laying down thoughts and emotions onto paper. I love the way that language works, how sentences can be punctuated and manipulated in beautiful ways; carrying all the glory and impetus of a crescendo, or the agonies and pain of a fiery dissonance.

I wrote this story earlier last year. I guess it stemmed from a place that hit really close to home... My grandfather had a really bad case of Alzheimer's that progressed at a terribly rapid case (one minute he was forgetting his wife's name; the next, he was forgetting how to chew and swallow). Seeing him waste away was the first time I ever really considered how fragile we really are. I guess that's what sparked an interest in Neurology for my brother and I.

This story was inspired by my grandfather, as well as anyone else who has fallen victim to dementia. It's not really a sob story, nor is it really a story about Alzheimers. I know it's glossed over with a Hollywood sheen in terms of how it deals with the disease but that's not really the point I was trying to make. This story simply juxtaposes the fragility and complexity of the human mind with the strength and simplicity of the love between a girl and her grandfather. The music is supposed to be a physical embodiment of that connection... I might have been able to pull it off if I was a better writer lol.

Anyway, here is the story (called Encore):

Waves of sound flooded through the room, illuminating the grandeur of the concert hall with the beauty of Beethoven’s Violin sonata. Victor’s face softened as he was absorbed into the sweet languor of the opening phrase, the string below his second finger articulating a delicate cry of emotion as he drew the bow across. The audience’s faces darkened with glorious hesitation as they anticipated the introduction of the notoriously difficult second verse ‘Allegro Molto e con brio’.

The opening came to a close.

And it began.
*
Jesse was late for her Grandfather’s concert. She felt her side tear into a stitch as she ran across the glistening pathway, receiving a prude glare from the clerk as she burst through the doorway and into the reception.
‘I’m here to see Mr. O’Neil, please!’ she cried between sharpened breaths, ungracefully sheathing her umbrella and fumbling with her purse before pulling out a small, paper docket and driver’s license, which she slid into the woman’s expectant hands.
Jesse felt the clerk’s attention slither down her body, and focus, with concern, on her shoes, which had indented the clinically clean carpet with a muddy dampness. The woman licked her lips, with stressed absorption, pulling them into a tight, unsatisfied purse.
‘Second door on the right.’ she answered, her attention still on Jesse’s shoes, as she tentatively handed back the license and docket, careful not to make contact with her hands.
‘Oh. And Dear?’ she sneered;
‘You’re late.’
*
The violin seemed to scream in agony as Victor’s hand rapidly danced across, his fingers gliding along the metal, plucking and sliding through the heavily syncopated rhythm. Age may have worn his technique, however he still felt symbiotic with the instrument, the robustness of the mahogany simply an extension to his arm.
For a moment it felt as if no one was in the room but himself and the violin.
Almost mechanically, he worked through the interlude; the instrument responding to his every touch; his emotions floating, like butter, across the sweetness of the melody, melting into a wonderful cry of angelic beauty as he finished with a solemn vibrato.
*

Jesse stood beyond the entrance to the room, the sound of Beethoven’s sonata seeping through the cracks of the door and into the hallway. She remembered the recordings her Grandpa, ‘the great concert violinist’, had forced her to listen to as a child, pointing out the subtle intricacy of each variation and often demonstrating to her how to achieve those perfect harmonics in the upper string.
When it had ended, Jesse silently opened the door, slipped through the crack and found a seat at the back of the room, where she watched, with awe, her Grandfather; standing proudly erect with eyes wide open and mouth torn into a smile, the old violin comfortably resting on his shoulder.
*
Victor thanked the audience, the sound of applause erupting through the theatre and enlightening his spirit, as he lowered himself into a bow.
The cacophony of cheers and clapping proved as rewarding as always. In fact, he was so engulfed in the sublimity of it all that he failed to recognize the familiar face of his granddaughter, amongst the sea of spectators.
Victor held a hand up to the crowd and the applause reverently subsided.
‘Niccolo Paganini; Caprice number 24’ he announced; the few in the audience who recognized the piece answered with ‘Ooohs’, exchanging glances of excitement before once again focusing their attention on him.
Like so many times before, Victor slid the instrument below his chin; raised the bow and drew it across the string.
*
Nothing equated to the happiness Jesse felt as she watched her Grandfather play. Years of practice may have eaten at his joints, but nothing could erode the bond he shared with the music and that she shared with him.
The nursing home seemed to fill with a terrible dissonance as her Grandpa clumsily tugged at the strings with trembling hands, however the joy in his face transmuted the sound into liquid gold, as he relived the glory of his youth. Jesse looked around his room, at the moth eaten sofa, the urine-stained carpet and the odd arrangement of framed black and white photos atop the drawer, fading just as unmercifully as her Grandpa’s memory. However, for all she cared, they could have been in the Sydney Opera House
She averted her attention to him, standing elegantly on top of his bed with his eyes closed, and violin in hand. The instrument was missing a string and severely out of tune, but to him it sighed a sweet melody. The room was empty, were it not for the two of them, however Grandpa probably thought that he was playing for thousands.

When he finished, Jesse made sure to cheer the loudest.

She always cheered the loudest at her Grandpa’s ‘concerts’.