The Violinist

The street is dark and musty; turning another corner Andie is affronted by the potent aroma of gasoline and the bottoms of hundreds of shoes. She sighs and continues, pulling her coat tighter. A derelict or two stares out from the darkness, envious of this fine, pale creature. Andie shrugs their presences off her mind like dirt on her red shoes. She continues onward, bound for home, all the while wishing she didn’t have to make the journey.
Passing by yet another dark alleyway, Andie pauses. The faint sound of music brushes her ears. “Music?” The patrician’s cerulean eyes grow wide with surprise. “Who would be playing music in a place like this?” Her curiosity aroused, she cautiously steps into the alleyway, listening for the source of the music. The elegant, winding notes are traced to a weather beaten door at the end of the dusky passage; faded lettering indicates its questionable status as a performance hall. Andie gently turns the handle of the door and looks inside.
Within the dark room, nine or ten people sit captivated as they enjoy a melody. Standing in a simple black dress at the front of the room, a young woman coaxes music out of her violin. The enchanting refrain hangs on the air, fragile and beautiful as gossamer thread. Andie awakes from her reverie at the doorway and studies the woman. The gifted musician isn’t beautiful, but her music makes her radiant to every eye in the room. Andie adjusts her dress consciously. The violinist finishes her song on a glassy fermata that echoes sweetly throughout the room. Andie and the other guests clap as the performer bows her head and gently puts her violin away. The violinist is still glowing as Andie turns and leaves.
Andie makes her way back onto the street, where even the air—once dank to her pink nose—is now electric with the exquisite beauty of the violinist’s music. Andie puts a gloved hand to her own white cheek and sighs, her brows furrowed. She swallows the heavy feeling in her throat and continues, determined once more to make her way home. Behind her, the violinist admires Andie’s straw colored hair and velvet gloves. The musician twists her own mouth downwards, but after a moment blinks the frown away and continues down the road, violin case in hand.