Buzzed Hearts

65: perpetually perplexed

A FEW DAYS HAVE passed since Laurent called, and it's all Camila can think about. Even one of her classmates has noticed the perpetual perplexed look she dons.

    Stirring sugar into her black coffee, she sits back and looks at her composition. Trash, she thinks, as she plays it in her head. Digging out a pencil, she uses the eraser to change a few notes and add a few more. Still trash.

    She wishes she were Nina, who composes—and she's not exaggerating—a full blown symphony every week. Okay, that could be an exaggeration.

    The nagging thought of Laurent is hindering her and she knows it, so she sighs, finishes her coffee, and decides to take a walk.

    New York makes her feel important yet not, all at the same time. Camila is of the special elite, as she's been told over and over again, because she got into the most rigorous and selective program for arts. Yet there are so many others, in this dense population, who excel in talents beyond her belief.

    Nina, for example, a musical genius. Creates beauty out of thin air.

    Many others, who have been playing Carnegie since age six, and still, Camila is nothing amongst them. Or perhaps she is. She's opened for countless recitals and is a laureate of many, many prestigious awards—a portion of them from conservatories abroad.

    When she's not thinking about Laurent and her friends, she's thinking of her inadequacy.

    Not going back home for Thanksgiving, she chose to spend it prepping for the Memorial Recital and for ChamberFest. A bit too early but she needs to weed out any flaws.

    "Music, music, music. Your mind is completely obsessive over it," her father said to her on the phone one day. "You weren't like this when you were still here. What's changed?"

    "I'm sorry, dad. I just can't come home."

    "Everyone else is! All your peers are as well. Where are you going to stay? How are you going to feed yourself?"

    "The residence halls are open. I'll find food."

    "Camila, just come home. You've been so distant lately." He sighed, and Camila can almost see him rubbing his temple.

    "I know, I'm sorry."

    "Don't tell me you're not coming home for Christmas."

    "Dad," she began weakly. "ChamberFest."

    Thinking of that phone call reminded her of another phone call. One that ruined her more than that conversation with her dad, when he realized his daughter wouldn't be back for the happiest time of the year. She was lucky her mother didn't pick up the phone, or else Audrey Bean would have flown all the way to New York to sort her out.

    Camila strolls around, thinking about the growing pile on her plate. Desperately, she wishes she could just fly home and hug her family—Mom, Dad, Cameron, and Vanilla. Instead, she braces herself for the cold to come and wondering when music will relinquish the vice-like grip its starting to have on her lately.

    On some days, dread seeps into her skin when she sees the practice rooms. She can't complain though—a full ride here doing what she's been training to do since four and a reluctantly-supportive family (at least they didn't forbid her from going here though at times, it got close).

    Walking back, she sits on a park bench and texts Elle.