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"That's brave."
"It's just who I am. I'm stubborn, and I like to do what I want to do. I'm probably not going to get rich doing it."
"But you'll be proud of it."
"In the end, that's what matters. When you make art or music, it's subjective. It goes out in the world. Some people love it. Some hate it. But that's not the worst thing that can happen."
"What is the worst thing?" I asked curiously.
"That people don't care. Then it's like you did nothing."
I thought about that. "That makes sense. But it still doesn't feel easy to create something."
"It's not supposed to be easy. What would be the fun in that? Give me the keys for the upstairs."
"Why?" I asked suspiciously.
"I forgot something."
"What?"
He held out his hands. "Keys, please."
I handed him the keys, and he headed out the front door. While he was gone, I looked more closely at his pieces. I was particularly interested in some of the sculptural designs where the paint was part of the materials being used. I didn't really understand some of it, but it made me think. Maybe that was all that mattered.
A few minutes later, Kade returned with the violin, and I knew what he wanted.
"No way," I said. "I'm not going to write music, not tonight, anyway. I'm spent."
"You're wired," he said with a smile. "Exhausted but amped up. No way you're going to sleep any time soon."
"Well, I'm not in a music-making mood."
"You don't wait for a mood. You just do it. I'll make you a deal. I work for an hour. You work for an hour. We'll see where we end up."
"I'll end up with nothing."
"Well, at least you'll be quiet while I'm working," he said with a laugh.
"Funny."
"Take the bedroom. I'll work out here. And don't think, just play. Take your feelings to the violin and see where it leads you."
I took the violin into the bedroom and sat down on the unmade bed. I wasn't going to play. I'd just give Kade his time to work. But there wasn’t much to distract me in the bedroom. Aside from the bed, there was a dresser with a pile of clothes on top of it. That was it. No television. I did have my phone. I could waste an hour on that.
I scooted onto the middle of the bed, resting against the backboard as I took out my phone. I searched for the video of my mother again and found it quickly. As I watched my mother spring into action to save a man's life, an odd feeling ran through me. It felt like pride.
I didn't want to like anything about her, not after what she'd done to me. But she was a hero, at least in that moment.
Setting down the phone, I grabbed the violin. Maybe it was time for me to find a little courage of my own. I held the instrument for several minutes, played a few chords that didn't go together, and almost quit. But it was just an hour of trying. I could do that. I didn't have anything else to do.
Taking Kade's advice, I stopped thinking and just let my fingers play my emotions. All the fear, anger, and pain came out in notes that felt clashing but also cathartic.
When Kade came into the room, I looked at him in bemusement. "Has it been an hour?" I asked.
"It has been two." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "What were you playing just now…was it your music?"
I nodded. "Yes. But I don't even remember all the notes. I was just playing."
