#The Red Violinist
By William Levenberg
Author note :
All characters and events are fictitious. The characters stories are based around the life of the author with some creative freedom. The author himself experienced some of the events; some of the events and characters were edited to protect the rights of the innocent. Some events were distorted and made up to make this book a work of fiction.
Prologue:
No music , no substance:
Envision a world without music. Is it even possible? No music on MTV or Myspace, no more orchestras, no more swing dances and big bands.
A perfect world without the constant , yet annoying, city life as it roars and echoes as cars beep their horns and constructions crews yell and argue.
While In this city, I pictured a strong woman controlling a jackhammer as it destroys the concrete surface. As my favorite band, Sum41 once said “I tried to be perfect but nothing was worth it, I do not believe it makes me real.” As I struggled, I wrote this, as I wrote this, I wondered, the more I wondered, the more music played a factor in human life.
But life is not perfect as Sum41 describes in one of their songs. A clichéd saying once said Music equals life, as I wondered a bit it really does.
ONE: wasted
“And it's all too familiar
and it happens all the time.”
“All the cards begin to stack up twisting heartache into fine
little pieces that avoid an awful crime, but it's you I can't deny.”
(“You I can't deny.”)
“Taking back Sunday”
“My Blue Heaven”
“Louder now.”
Reality bites:
Life is a complex reality. Every reaction has a flip-side or Reverse reaction where In my case it was usually worst than the original reaction. All in all ,It was a typical weekend for me.
I Was up on the Emo-rocker scene of course, me being twenty-Five and married, it was the only way to relax by going clubbing And stuff. However, I was considered too old, even though I know How to play the simplest songs to the metal pain of guitar, And know how to make the best of things.
God or faith what have you must of change it. It all started when I was playing a show, at a punk bar in the middle of long island, it was show time. The metal screams of guitar arose through the air; the bar was filled up with teenagers and adults.
They were entertained by mosh-ing in the mosh pit. Mosh-ing was the art of dance and fighting social injustices and differences people faced in life through heavy hardcore metal music which in return, usually turned violent. The irony of it all was that the kids who were mosh-ing felt victimized by society. But here they are dancing violently to heavy metal music. Kids were kicking, screaming, shouting at random people. And because of this the police usually broke up the bands for promoting self autonomy and non-conformism.
Some of the previous bands played songs that were so ironic such as “blame no one but yourself” and “peace and love for all.” I don’t hurt myself for suicide just to show you I care.”
It's funny looking back at time and how it stares back at you, if you want to know my life story, I worked for a small music store. My "dream" was to become a professional musician instead doing shows in bars but bars of magical music.
I wanted to envision myself playing for my hometown. Or at least something other then bars. But that’s how life turns out. I wasn’t perfect, as a kid I had problems, and The only dream and goal I had was playing for The Boston Symphony Orchestra or Even farer away from home, New York.
After the show the band members dabbled in pot or coke. I promised my wife I wouldn't do it again. As usual I drank instead, the alcohol filled my stomach by the time I was out the door I was drunk. I hobbled a little but I was all right.
I don't remember who I gave my keys to. In some strange way, I got home back in the city. I fell into bed next to my wife. That night, the complex of my nightmares had just begun.
The next day the alarm didn't ring, so I slept in, the street roared an echo that awoke me up. My wife had ready left, when I looked at the time it was already eleven AM.I rushed into the shower I didn't know what today was, so I assume it was Monday. I wash my long black hair; I wash my body, and got dressed in my blue ripped jeans and black infamous straight-jacket that I got as a birthday present. I was truly a scene kid ready for work.
So I ran out the door and down the block to the small music store that was trying to compete with Sam Nash and other big named music stores, it was a mom and pops type of store where many people knew my boss because of his crazy deals.
"Your late." He roared.
"I know." I said putting the guitars carefully on the guitars racks where other people tried to play them.
Then a small chubby kid came into the store, he was with his mother. He was about thirteen. I remember when I was his age.(damn, I’m getting old.) He picked up a black and white bass guitar that the mother couldn't afford.
"Mommy I want this one" he wined.
"Mommy can't afford this" she said looking at the price. “It’s about three hundred dollars." She roared back.
"I want the guitar" he screams with velocity and annoyance. She pick it up, went over to the counter and pulled out her credit card. I quickly swiped it through the scanner, it's said denied. I knew she couldn't afford it, but the spoiled child look onward as I ask the manager for help ,I tried to scan the credit card once more. The lady looked down at her feet and sighed out of embarrassment. Looking at her face, it seem that she was a working class person that struggled with the hardships of music and the reality of living in a world that you cant afford anything. I been there a couple of time especially when I was young I resorted to going to pawn shops and thrift shops to look for parts for my various assortment of musical instruments and stuff that was broken. I put the guitar back in the used bin and showed her where she Could find all the used guitars, I knew it was unethical, sue Me, the kid saw the same guitar and he didn't know it was used. maybe I felt bad for the kid , I didn’t know what drove me to do that.(All I know is that god works in mysterious ways.)
"It was sixty percent off used guitars today." "That would Be A hundred and fifty dollars please."
The credit card passed through the scanner perfectly, with no problems.
"Thanks", she said as the kid held the guitar case like it Was a dog on a lease. The door close as the bell rang over the door. Christen code, The stuck up annoying boss (I hated him,) came from the back of the office on the other side of the room; it was about a three weeks before Christmas vacation. I almost had enough for that cruise you see on the TV.
"I have bad news ladies and gentleman, our sales figures had been through the roof this month, but we got to fire someone." He preached onward not caring about others. He was more concern about his well being. That was understood but, I didn’t like when people cared about themselves.
"Laura ,since you hasn't been here in couple of months you're getting a promotion." I felt like I deserve the promotion because I bring in more sales(,illegally of course.)
“Thank you” she said kissing up to him.
"What the …?" I questioned in head, I keep all my thoughts in there. I save the good one liners for myself. that’s how I get by in my intricate days.
"Oh yea I forgot Michael your fired." "Clean out your desk." He calmly like I never existed.
"Ok, what?" I said trying to get a firm hold of reality.(,which I never had.)
"Your -f-i-r-e-d. He said imitating and motioning like a mentally handicapped person. "Just go..."
"Why I am I fired" I yelled at the top of my lungs Throwing guitars around and making a scene which was Ironic because I was a scene kid. So after incident with the Guitars and I didn't want to know the reason why I was fired because that form of unhappiness, just happens to me. To the bar I went, the show wasn't until nine, but I got free drinks anyway so I didn't really care, I tried to escape the world for awhile.
unfortunately , somebody I knew was there , my mentor who was a teacher that I knew since middle school, He was the only orchestral teacher in Boston that ever understood me. I was a weird kid , I'm still weird but kind of grew up since then, I sat next him his name was Franz- Ferdinand like the band. I called him frank for short, he was pissed that I failed every class and not orchestral, in grade school. He had this sort of this symbolic like teaching its goes like this:
“you can achieve and believe if you can pass the class, (or classes in my case,) in return you would create a balance that would help in the music world."
I didn't know what he said back then but it helps me a lot. He called me a failure ever since middle school. I don't hate people but I wouldn't mind kicking his ass. Then I realized and rationalized that violence is to stupidity as stupidity is to lack of common sense. I know I should have been an English teacher because I think creatively and form metaphors in my mind.
"Michael my boy, how are you" he said like he cared once, but I guess people change.
"I am Doing great, I guess, could be better." "Say can I buy you a drink."
"I listened to your CD, it was Ok, and you were screaming half the CD, so I had to turn it off, but it was okay."
"Well that was um nice of you to say but I kind of understand your point of view I guess." I lied of course I knew what he meant. He meant he didn’t like it because he’s conservative.
"So how life", he asked as the bartender filled his shot glass with bourbon, as the bar scene went loud with food and drinks like a restaurant but, less boring.
"Well life is a ever changing experience in an irregular world." I replied helplessly.
"That's nice, you were that kind of a person that failed and got up off the ground." "What did you do now?" he asked bluntly, with a sound of unforgiving taste of hatred.
"Well just got fired from this music store." I tried to explain. When I did, words fell short of what I had to say.
"It was Minimum wage right?" he attacked with words that could of started a war of who’s more bitter.
"Yeah sort of." "Still teach?" I responded with a quick temperate angry tone.
"Yeah." He said as The first of the Bourbon shots went down. There were a lot in the time that we met at the same bar.
"I had a silly dream once of becoming a professional violinist or bassist for some orchestral." "Sadly it was a Dream.” I said starting to get drunk.
"A dream is a dream you should chase after them like clouds in the sky." the old man poetically spoked. He either lost his mind or previously was drunk to begin with. My teacher, got up and started to make it out the door; he had to teach a class. It was about four o‘ clock , when I nearly miss hitting the bar room door, I walked to my apartment , an eviction notice was stuck in between the door and the door hinge, I heard movement in my apartment that's odd I said to myself. Michelle doesn't get home , until seven. I quickly unlocked the door.
I was drunk, I stumbled into the living room to the bedroom door , Michelle was home alright ,but she was in bed with a coworker from work, who I learned later, who had my car and got pulled over by the cops, and my car is somewhere on auction I didn't care. I didn't know him. I closed the door I fell on the couch. I fell asleep it was a long day. by the time I woke up it was a quarter to eight , a note was left on the table . I read it over and over until it equilibrium stuck into my mind.
Dear Michael :,
You were a good husband but I had fallen in love with this guy who is handsome and Swear, he was brad Pitt cousin, I supported you with you your music, but I had enough of you leaving in the middle of the night, so I am going to live in Las Vegas. Where we are going to get married in one of those chapels like our little Dream remember I left the rent money on the nightstand that's should cover you , for awhile.
Bye for now Love Michelle.
My soberness awaken from a deep sleep, As I got ready for my show at the bar in Greenwich Village, it was a typical night again with less drugs and drinks, more Emo-ness. The rooftop slathers, my band played eight songs Straight, which was overtiring ,and annoying because the Lead guitarist didn't show. It was me, Slamming Sammy, “rock Brock” Roxie it was us guys and the girl who had a crush on me since high school , who was married to two husbands who high maintenance cause them to stress out and runaway. she wasn’t perfect, she was the drama queen of the three of us. She was beautiful, because of her beauty she won prom queen of '95 , I was the average Joe who believe what she was doing was wrong and I said she should stop, and I won class “bitch” of '95 , I was never popular in high school , but she liked me anyway , I should of gave her a chance or like the kids today say it , I would of hit that. But I didn't, we became the greatest friends, Sammy was her first actual friend in the reality of the stuck-up high school. Sammy was also my only black friend. It wasn’t my fault that I grew up in a white suburban town. In Boston as a child , it was the only time I really cared for anything.
Racism hit me harder than anyone ever did. Because in the town, I grew up, it was racially divided up into two parts the north and the south. It barely helped me pass US history because it was the civil war of our time. The only setback, The north was where, the poor social classes and the minorities lived. I didn’t care as much. On the other hand, the south was the rich suburbia where everyone looked down on us and I guess they weren’t with the times. people were different. Sammy showed me how to play guitar , and which kept me in school, Roxie showed me how to have a good time , not the way your thinking; obviously , she started the band. The music lasted about an hour, it was a good ending to a bad day.
