Today was possibly the first warm day since the Spring started. The leaves were coming in on the trees, which meant that the first year of high school was soon coming to an end. Just one and a half more months left, Milo. The dual major showcase made time fly, especially whenever I was practicing with Sophie. She couldn’t stop laughing and getting shy every time she played the solo of the piece. I hate that she didn’t feel confident in her craft; she was the one of, if not, the best person within the strings section. I wish she was able to believe that, or at least believe me when I tell her.
“So your objective was to just shred my fingers up when you created this piece?” Sophie teased. I felt my face get hot as she giggled. “I’m just kidding!”
“I know, I know,” I said, smiling back. The real reason I wrote it the way I did because I know she would shred her fingers, but it would be the most beautiful sound to ever come out of her violin. “It was just where my imagination was going when I envisioned this part.”
“Your imagination?” Sophie questioned. “Do you have a story being told while you compose?”
“Don’t you?” I asked back.
“I play; not write,” Sophie corrected. “I’m not the one who’s a genius in music–“
“I’m not a genius,” I corrected her a bit too harsh. I know she meant it in a joking way, but it bothered me whenever she did. I turned my head and looked at Sophie; the smile had faded away. “I’m–I’m sorry, Scout–“
“No, no; it’s my fault,” Sophie composed herself, not seeming as laid back as she once was. “I shouldn’t have teased you over something so stupid–“
“Scout,” I simply said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t like when people say I’m this genius of some sort when it comes to music.”
“I never mean it in a malicious way,” Sophie began to overexplain herself. “I meant it as a term of mentorship, as in I look up to you for your talent and it being your number one priority–“
“Scout,” I said again, now in a more gentle tone. “You didn’t do or say anything wrong.” Sophie doesn’t say anything back; it was like she wasn’t convinced with my reassurance. “I appreciate that you see me as a mentor when it comes to music, but… have you ever thought that maybe every mentor needs its muse?” It was now Sophie turning red in the face.
“You’re not about to convince me that I am your muse,” Sophie flat out said. Her innocent laugh suddenly disappeared once she noticed I wasn’t laughing with her.
“Why try to convince you if it’s the truth?” I debated back. I must’ve picked up Sophie’s debate skills as we hung out more often; this was the first time I think Sophie was ever left speechless. “I can’t explain how you’ve become my muse, but I guess that’s what makes a good one. You don’t know how it got there, but it draws so much inspiration when thinking about it and feeling all these—” I stopped myself before I continued. I was scared to let out more than I can handle.
“All of these what?” Sophie questioned. She now had the upper hand in this conversation. The only I was able to get it back, as to simply kiss—
“Milo!” I heard someone call out my name. At first, I thought it was just a sick joke my mind was playing on me. I realized it wasn’t when I heard my name even louder now, and I knew exactly who it was.
The panic immediately appeared on Sophie’s face when she saw him. I turned around; it was my dad walking toward us.
“Dad?” I said, feeling confused. “What are you doing here?”
“So, this is practicing for the showcase?” He points at the table, where there isn’t a piece of sheet music in sight, and both of our instruments are not close to our bodies.
“So now we can’t take breaks in between our practices?” I asked, trying to buy some time. Knowing my dad, he wasn’t buying it; but I was shocked to hear Sophie get up from the table and speak.
“Mr. Kamalani, I am so sorry; this is all of my fault,” Sophie began to say, being apologetic. Scout, you didn’t do anything wrong.
“Sophie, I think you should go home before it gets too late,” my dad simply said. Sophie quickly grabbed her things from the table.
“Sophie,” I tried to talk her out of it, but she immediately left without turning around, or saying goodbye. My blood was boiling the further she ran away. I looked at my dad, who is now staring me down as I sit there.
“Grab your things; we’re going back to the house,” my dad demanded.
“I don’t even know what your problem is!” I began to argue. “You told me that it was okay to come hang out, and now you’re crashing it and all against it?”
“Were you just not in this park making out with her in the time you two were supposed to be practicing?” My dad spat out. I was taken aback from his question. I was trying to hide my flushed face when he said that. Knowing my dad, he knew what was going on. “My point exactly.”
“You swear you know every little thing about me!” I got up from the table as my dad began to walk away with my things. “You think you have me figured out just because you were an idiot when you were my age—”
“I didn’t screw up my passion over things most boys think are their priorities,” my dad turned around and said to me. “I was in my classes, doing my work so that I was able to go to the next grade and eventually graduate—”
“All while being a teenage dad,” I quickly spat back. “You think I’m going to fall in the same hole you were in with mom, but–“
“You are, Milo! That is what I’m getting at!” It was now my dad interrupting me. “You think me and your mom just one day decided that we were going to be teenage parents? You think that’s what we wanted as 15 year olds? It started out lying to my parents about where I was at. It escalated to not telling my friends where I was, missing important practices and falling behind in my classwork because I was busy being a kid with a passion juggling the priorities of an adult.” My dad looked at me before he said anything else. His face looked worried for the first time. “I don’t want that for you, Milo.”
I didn’t say anything else. I just picked up my stuff and began to walk out of the park, back toward the house. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion I was feeling, but it felt close to defeat whenever it came to Sophie. Every time I felt like I was able to let my guard down; let Sophie just in a little bit closer, I’m instantly dragged away from ever feeling it. It was beginning to feel like a sign; that maybe this isn’t what’s meant to be. Then why do I feel so compelled to run to her? Why do I feel the need to let everything go and follow her where she goes? The reality begins to sink in, and the thought absolutely scares me. My priority to be with Sophie is stronger than my passion for music at this point.
I look up towards the front of Mollie’s house, dreading to go back inside and spend the rest of the evening with my family, and the family that I did not choose to have. I wanted nothing more than to just hide underneath a rock to live the rest of my life in. I’ve come to a place where nothing feels right without Sophie…
To my surprise, I see Mollie sitting on her front steps, looking directly at me, confirming almost everything I wondered back at the park.
She was the one that saw Sophie and I at the park.
Letters From Liz. 