One of the best in the English language.
Yet, as I looked inside myself, trying to understand everything I felt for the boy sleeping not six feet from me on the couch, I found so much more than that.
My head was racing.
My heart was too.
I put it down to post-concert excitement and everything that happened.
Usually, when I felt like this, I would play.
But I couldn't...
Looking down, I saw my violin and stopped.
I could.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice the alcove with the small stage in the lobby downstairs. There'd even been a sign that said,open mic night. It was probably all closed down now. My cousins and Tolliver fell asleep at a quarter past midnight. But energy was coursing through my veins. I'd slept on the way here, and I felt wide awake. And my emotions were screaming at me to do something.
So, I did.
Moving as silently as I could I grabbed my violin case, made sure I had my room key, and headed for the door.
"Can't sleep?"
With a gasp, I turned toward the couch, saw Tolliver who was now sitting up.
"I thought you were sleeping," I whispered.
"Nope."
"Well, I was just going downstairs for bit."
"Want some company?"
I nodded. "Sure."
We rode the elevator down together and walked to the front desk. The lady working there was nice, said it was fine if Tolliver and I wanted to sit in the alcove, and yes, of course, I could play—so long as it wasn't jazz.
I assured her that it wouldn't be then walked onstage.
There wasn't really time to warm up.
But I loosened my wrists, played a few notes, made sure my violin was in tune.
"I may be a little rusty," I warned Tolliver.
"That's okay." He took a seat at one of the tables. "Pretend I'm not here."
With a nod, I closed my eyes.
But all I could see was him.
Looking concerned when we first met.
Then smiling at me.
Rearranging my bookshelves.
