Crescendo

Chapter Two

My job is so boring. Like, seriously. I've worked here for four years, and it's always been this way. Honestly, I'm surprised the store hasn't shut down already. But there are those few people who do come in, usually looking for mouthpieces or strings. Every so often you get someone in here looking to buy an actual instrument. And at the beginning of the year we get a ton of parents in here buying those crappy little recorders that elementary schools force kids to play for whatever reason. But those days are few and far between. Most days it's just me sitting here, texting my friends or checking my social media page. Waiting for the stupid clock to tick by faster so I can get the hell out of here. And summers... well, they are the absolute worst. I'm convinced time ticks slower in the summer. It's like it knows how badly I want to go to the beach or the movies, and so it taunts me by adding thirty seconds to every minute so it takes that much longer. Man, talk about torture.

Oh, and to add to my misery, there's a lesson room right behind me. It is so hard some days to sit here and listen to five year olds slam their little fingers against piano keys, or middle schoolers using their flutes as whistles. There are days when I leave with the most agonizing of headaches. Headaches that can only be cured with real music and the lake. Maybe even a Hudson burger, if I'm lucky. My mouth waters, and I can't help it. I look at the clock. Ugh, it's only been three hours! I still have five left! I slam my head against the wall behind me, and I hear it make a hard thunk sound.

My phone bings, and I look down. A text from Sam asking me what time I get off work. She wants to see a movie. Some new superhero movie, no doubt. She's obsessed with those. I smile at the thought of eating salty, buttery popcorn and ice-cold diet pop while sitting in a cool movie theater. I honestly don't care what we see. I'm just excited at the prospect of doing something other than sitting in this store. Waiting and watching as time continues to torment me. I send her a text to let her know I'll be off at five, and then I lean my head back again, softer this time.

A little boy with ginger hair walks in with his parents. I sit up and smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Locke. And hello, Hunter." The boy smiles sheepishly at me and hides behind his father's pant leg. He can't be any older than six. "How are you today? Enjoying the warm weather?"

Mrs. Locke grins at me. "Oh, the weather is so beautiful outside. Hunter here can't wait to go to the splash pad later." She pauses briefly, wiping her auburn hair out of her eyes and placing her hand on her son's shoulder. "Anyway, how are you, Lauren? Have any exciting plans for today?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Not really. I'm working all day. But my friend is talking about going to see a movie later. So there's that, I guess."

"Oh, what movie?" Mrs. Locke asks.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll want to see that new superhero movie. That seems to be her thing. Action. Damsels in distress. Radioactive whatevers. You know, typical stupid comic book turned movie stuff."

"Watch your mouth, young lady," Mr. Locke says teasingly. "I grew up on 'stupid comic books,' you know."

I laugh. A genuine laugh. I have a soft spot for this family. Their kid, Hunter, plays the violin. Or at least, he's learning. That's the only instrument I can stand to hear in the back room. I don't know, I just love the sound of someone trying to learn my instrument. I've been playing the violin since I was younger than Hunter. My mom plays piano, and she came into this very shop when I was about three to get... I don't even know. Something for the piano. And she says I walked right over to the violin, picked it up, and started playing it. Just like that. No practice necessary. It was like whoever owned my soul before me was an expert, and I just inherited their talent. Kind of crazy. I remember how she told that story at my party. The one where we all celebrated me getting into Juilliard. And I feel a knot start to form in the pit of my stomach.