Your Mark on Me

Chapter 21: All different kinds of butterflies

I phoned him late in the night, after rolling around in bed for hours, trying to fall asleep.

When I had chosen my repertoire, I hadn't actually thought I'd have the guts to play at all. That was why all the hard pieces were left for the second round, thinking that maybe I wouldn't even get to play them.

Now, my recital in the morning would have to be a tour de force. I would need to be calm, controlled, absolutely serene to be able to pull it off properly. There was no way I could achieve that light touch of rippling, shining, shimmering water in the Ondine or the quiet, subtle changes between piano, pianissimo and pianississimo in Le Gibet it if my arms stiffened, my hands started shaking and my mind was all over the place, like I knew would happen.

More so, I didn't want to do badly in front of Mark. It was stupid, since the very reason he'd come was to boost my confidence, but I couldn't help it.

I got up and sat at the piano, pretend-playing the Ravel, my hands moving on top of the keys, but not pressing them. It was late at night and Mom and the Whites were fast asleep.

I dialed Mark's number.

"Were you sleeping?"

"No. I was thinking. Late night is a great time for thinking, you know?" He sounded a little bit strange, but I wasn't in the frame of mind to inquire any further.

"Right. I need you to take me to the hall. I want to practice. Can you give me a lift?"

"I can, I don't know if I should."

"Look, I know it's crazy. But I can't sleep. That Ravel is tormenting me. I need to go through it at least once, so I can get it out of my head. Please."

He paused, then sighed. "I'll be there in five."

I snuck outside without anyone noticing and Mark picked me up from a couple of blocks away.

"You're insane," he said to me as we were driving towards the hall. "You're just making yourself tired before tomorrow."

"Do you think I don't know?" I cried, my voice higher-pitched than usual. "You're supposed to make me feel better, not stress me out even more!"

I choked, a sudden, cold fear taking over me.

He pulled over and stopped the car. I was curled in the front passenger seat, hugging my knees, shaking, breathing irregularly, trying hard to stop the palpitations of my pounding heart.

"You're having a panic attack", he said. "Come here."

He undid the seat belt and I slowly uncurled myself. He pulled me towards him, my chest stuck against his chest, my hair covering half of my face as I let my head hang limp against his shoulder, like an injured bird in the nest of his arms.

"I can feel your little heart going crazy", he said, softly. His proximity was not the best cure to my palpitations.

"Now close your eyes and breathe in slowly with me."

I nodded and followed his lead. His chest going up and down steadily and gradually against mine, I inhaled deeply, involuntarily following the rhythm of his body, my chest raising and falling in sync with his. We kept breathing in, and out, and in, and out, slowly, perfectly synchronised, for over five minutes, until my heart rate eventually slowed down and the cold fear started to lift off.

"Good girl." He unwrapped his arms and pushed me back to my place. I put the seatbelt back on. I didn't say a word until we reached our destination.

His scent and the heat of his body were still lingering on me, and they kept lingering, for a long while, in my head.