Error.
My life seemed to be a constant mistyped URL leading to a 404. Paige not found. I giggled to myself at the pun. But still it was frustrating.
Picking up my cello I began practising the intricate fingering required for my show piece. Notes slid gently from the strings, colliding into harmonies, separating into counterpoints. Slowly my mind overflowed with the melodies yet, underneath was a single note that didn’t belong. Abruptly I brought my bow to a screeching halt, letting it clatter to the floor.
I was Paige Corway, 32, single, aspiring cellist and hopeful music student. It was a litany I repeated often within my mind yet it never felt quite right. An error.
“Coming to the student bar Paige?”
Walking down the college corridor the next day I bumped into Michaela, fellow ‘mature’ student and insistent party-goer. I, however, declined with various excuses on as many occasions as possible. I wasn’t that type of person. I think.
Unfortunately, this time I wasn’t so adroit with my escape. I didn’t want to appear rude I guess. So I smiled and fell into step beside her.
The student bar was, to me, overwhelming. Noise, sweat, stale beer, shrill voices and raucous laughter. I gritted my teeth and hummed a sonata in my mind. Today the TV screen was on playing some music channel. Pounding drum beats, screaming vocals and wailing guitars formed a cacophony that threatened to drown my inner music.
I sat on the edges of the maelstrom sipping a diet coke. Autoresponding to the comments that swirled around me. Losing myself in the anonymity of the crowd.
A single note, then another and another. Music found me and tugged at me. Lyrics reached out from the TV screen. Words filling the spaces, letters rearranging into a URL that perhaps would serve up a Paige I knew. A Paige that had been hiding behind a firewall created by… me?
“And all the things that you never ever told me.”
What hadn’t I been telling myself?
