The City Sleeps for Me

2 - Emily

Emily

I look out the window at the streets flying by, my violin case resting on my lap. Rain pours down the glass, distorting lights that flash from cars and buildings. I love the rain.

In the reflection, I can faintly see my own face. I push my light bangs out of my eyes and turn my attention back to my violin case. I run my hands over the smooth leather.

Someone sitting across the aisle is staring at me. The city bus isn't too full yet, so luckily, there's no one squished in the seat beside me.

"Is that a violin?" 

I glance up at the stranger. It's an older woman, wearing a crazy assortment of mismatched clothes. Her hair is white and frizzy around her face, and wrinkles curl on her skin as she smiles at me.

"Yes," I answer. 

"I love the violin! Are you any good at it?"

I try to smile. "I'm alright."

"I have a granddaughter who plays the violin. She's only six, so she's not too great at it right now."

I laugh politely. The bus hisses to a stop at a red light and I glance down at my rain boots, picking at chipped nail polish on my fingers. I wonder if the conversation is over.

"Where are you going?"

Guess not. I look back up. The old woman is leaning comfortably against the window.

"The library on 26th street," I say. "That's where I practice, usually."

"That's wonderful." The woman nods like she approves. "My ex-husband, he worked at a library. Libraries are just wonderful. Aren't they?"

I wonder if the woman really believes all things are wonderful, or if it's just a useful word. Then I wonder why I'm wondering things like that. "Yes, they are."

"What's your name?"

I hesitate, scrape nail polish off my fingernails. I know, I know, don't give out information to strangers. But what could a first name do? Besides, this old lady looks harmless enough.

"Emily."

"Emily! What a wonderful name. I'm Beatrice."

I smile and curl my fingers around the edges of my black rain jacket. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Have you always lived in the city, Emily?"

Well, I guess we're getting personal now. I glance briefly out the window behind the woman. The library is only a couple minutes away from where we are now. "Yeah. I was born here. Um, what about you?"

"I suppose I've lived here for nearly twenty years. I think I'd like to retire and live on a beach, though. Somewhere on the Atlantic. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Yes, it would be."

I can't imagine my dad retiring on the beach. I can't imagine my dad retiring at all. He's going to work until he dies, right at his desk, probably. He's never away from the office. Most days, the apartment building is empty. Not that I mind that. But the walls are too thin to play there.

Beatrice leans forward like she's about to tell me a secret, even though we're multiple feet apart. "Good luck practicing, Emily."

The bus squeaks to a stop in front of the library and I stand up, holding onto my case tightly. "Thank you, Beatrice," I say, and smile. Why is it that old people like me so much, but I can hardly talk to anyone at school? 

I step down from the bus into a puddle, pulling my violin close to my chest as I squint into the rain. Cars honk and pedestrians walk quickly around me, and I hurry up the library steps to escape the cold, wet rain.