Smile

He couldn’t stop smiling.

It was December, and as 8 year-old William held his mother’s hand, he felt the snowflakes glide onto his cheek and land like those little airplanes on the coastal sea. His first trip downtown to the theatre to see a real orchestra.

All he could think about were the players: the violinist, the oboist, the cellist and how it must feel to get to play for an audience. A real audience. William only knew what is was like to play Ode to Joy on a piano for a small crowd of parents who had to be there.

William continued to smile, he knew this was what he wanted to do when he “got older.” He couldn’t stop smiling.

***

“Open it,” his father said as he handed William the college stamped letter. “I want to know if my son is going to Julliard or not!”

“Dad,” the eighteen-year old sighed, “I didn’t even apply there. This place has a musical program, too.”

“I know,” his dad laughed. “But a guy can pretend.”

William still had his dream, the one from that snow-globe December night, and it stood tall in his mind. He had applied to the local university, knowing it had a competitive program for the musical arts, but his two years as first violinist in his high school orchestra pushed him to work every day at his craft.

As he opened the letter, he couldn’t stop smiling.

“What?” his mother asked. “Good news? Bad news?”

“I’m in,” William said without looking up. He almost fell down when his dad blindsided him with a hug.

***

It was William’s first week at school and his first orchestra class. He almost forgot his violin as he rushed out of his dorm. When he finally found room 145, he sat down and exhaled for what felt like the first time that morning.

“Excuse me, I think you’re in my chair,” a hard voice said as William pulled out his violin.

William looked up and witnessed beauty for the first time in his life. Her blonde hair rested on her shoulders in the form of a golden waterfall. Her blue eyes resembled miniature galaxies, endless and bright. William couldn’t see.

“Can you move, like now…” her voice remained hard.

William shifted over to the second seat, he couldn’t stop smiling.

“I’m Billy-I mean William,” he muttered. “I play violin.”

“Yeah… I got that, from… the violin,” her voiced softened as she sat down. “You were in my seat. I’m Christina, and I’m the first violinist.”

Her hand was out, and as William went to shake it, he knew he wanted to hold that hand forever.

***

The crowd filed in to the hall at a pace slower than usual. There was a greater weight than normal in the theatre. Everyone felt it. There were mumbles as people sat down. The benefit concert would be William’s last performance. This location had been where he saw his very first concert. It was the place he and Christina went on their first date to see Beethoven’s 9th, his favorite. He sat next to Christina as she played first violin for the symphony for 20 years. She glowed with a bow in her hand. The violin wasn’t an instrument to Christina, it was her oxygen. Her natural fluidity with the violin always made William smile. She was the polar opposite from him when she played. For William, the violin required focus to find its perfect pace and rhythm. For Christina, she never stopped smiling as she played, because the violin was Christina’s home, where she felt comfortable, and where she could relax.

William was always by her side, welcoming the role as Robin to her Batwoman. She always laughed at that, and she couldn’t stop smiling when he snuck a Batgirl Lego onto her musical stand before a concert. Then, one night, before they were to play a Christmas concert, he snuck a ring onto that stand.

“Of course,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes. “Now shut up and get ready to play.”

That night was one of William’s best performances.

Now, William looked out at the crowd, and for the first time since he was a boy, he wasn’t sure if he wanted play.

The disease first took Christina’s legs away. Which didn’t bother her, because she could still “go home” to the violin. But then…

“Honey,” he heard from their small rehearsal room at home. “Come here, please.”

William walked in and saw the bow lying on the ground. “I can’t pick it up,” she said. “I can’t go home.”

William couldn’t pick it up either, he didn’t want to. He rushed to Christina’s side, and they both cried in the silence that surrounded them.

She was gone 18 months later, and William was lost.

“Dad,” his only daughter Olivia whispered, “The concert hall wants to do a benefit concert. They want you to play.” Olivia had started working in the administrator’s office as a college student, and was now part of the director’s committee for the entire Metro Orchestra.

“Dad,” Olivia’s hand on his shoulder brought William back the benefit concert. She sounded just like Christina. “It’s time. I put something special out there for you. Mom left it for you.”

William walked out on stage, where two chairs sat, with two musical stands in front of them. The crowd applauded. After he acknowledged the crowd, William pulled out a Lego, and placed it on the first stand. Then he hesitated, seeing a violin bow resting on the first chair. He picked up Christina’s bow, and felt his heart rise in his chest.

He looked over at the empty chair. Her chair. He naturally sat in the second chair, like he always had.

As he closed his eyes, thinking back on every moment with tears flowing down his cheeks, he played his violin like Christina always had: Smiling.