Nocturne(63)

“Uh …” James looked back and forth between me and Savannah, mouth hanging open.

Savannah addressed him, looking at me the entire time. “That won’t be necessary, James.” Her face was like stone; the only evidence of life coming from her was in the trembling of her voice.

“Savannah.” I jogged down the stairs to meet her.

She took a deliberate step back and held up her hand. “Stay away from me.”

At that she turned slowly away and marched with a stone-like cadence down the sidewalk, away from me.

I stood there, waiting for her to come back. Waiting for her to change her mind.

She never did.





Savannah


The soft strains of Antonio Vivaldi played in the background. Men and women spilled out onto the lawn in their gowns and tuxedos, as the wait staff hurried here and there delivering champagne and caviar. I held a glass of Riesling in my left hand as my eyes scanned the crowd.

I wasn’t seeking out anyone in particular. It was actually just the opposite. Until that morning in the cathedral, it had been more than five years since I’d seen Gregory Fitzgerald. Five years I’d spent mostly in Europe, living a life marked by travel and performances instead of a home and stability. A life much like my mother had, a life that sometimes felt amazing and sometimes felt desolate.

A few days ago, I’d left Moscow. The season was over for the Bolshoi Ballet, and I was unsure of my plans to return. I thought maybe I could finish my final year of college and find a job teaching music somewhere, maybe in a high school near Philadelphia.

But who was I kidding? The lure of my musical career pulled me back every time I tried to walk away.

So here I was in Boston attending the wedding of my mentor Madeline, and James, Gregory’s best friend. It was a beautiful ceremony, in Boston’s largest Catholic cathedral, and of course Gregory was there, standing at the front of the wedding party as best man to his long time colleague and friend. At one point Gregory’s eyes swept the congregation, and against my will I shrunk down in my seat a little, ducking my head behind a large man who sat in the pew in front of me. I didn’t think he saw me. I didn’t particularly want him to.

I shook my head, scoffing a little at myself. After all, while Gregory hurt me, badly, it had been more than five years. Five years was plenty of time to get over the rejection I felt as he effortlessly dismissed his feelings for me.

Five years was plenty of time to get over what was nothing more than infatuation in the first place. After all, Gregory was a selfish ass. The issue wasn’t that he hadn’t loved me. The issue was that he hadn’t loved me enough to fight for me. Or to even really admit his feelings for me to James, who pushed him to cut off contact with me.

“Excuse me … you’re Savannah Marshall, right?”

I blinked in surprise. I’d been lost in my thoughts as I stood there thinking of Gregory and hadn’t noticed the woman approach. Cynthia Dillinger. Clarinet, and in my year at the conservatory. We hadn’t been close, but it was nice to see a familiar face.

“Yes … Cynthia, right?”

Cynthia smiled. A fake smile, plastered on just like her makeup. “Oh, you remember me! I’m so pleased.”

“Of course I remember you.” I sipped my wine and returned the smile.

She turned her head away from me, scanning the crowd, then glanced back at me, and her tone of voice wasn’t precisely unfriendly, but it wasn’t all that warm either. “I wasn’t so sure you would, I was never part of the conservatory elect.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Of course you do. You ... Nathan ... Yon Park ... the professors fluttered around you and your talent. The rest of us were rabble in comparison.”

I could have tried to deny what she was saying, but there was nothing I could offer. I’d seen it happen in the years that led to me entering the conservatory, and it was no different when I was there. While I didn’t notice the extra attention while I was a student, the second I stepped away I could see that I was being groomed for one of the Big Five, and no one bothered to ask if that was what I’d wanted.

Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, I shifted the subject. “What ever happened to Yon?”

“London Symphony.” Her eye roll highlighted five years of resentment over her perceived place on the conservatory totem pole.

“Oh ... I see. I’ve lost touch with a lot of people.”

She gave me a speculative look and said, “I heard you went off to Europe right after you quit school.”

I nodded. “I took about a year studying folk music in Eastern Europe, and I’ve mostly been touring since.” I was understating it. I hadn’t gone and studied folk music in Eastern Europe. I’d wandered, mostly by bus and train, from town to town. Meeting local musicians and learning their music. Busking in subway stations in Prague. I’d learned more about music in just a few months wandering around than I did in ten years of formal classes and lessons. I learned more about myself, too.

I hadn’t left because of the sex, the kissing, or because of Gregory’s stark rejection. Not even because of my mother, or my confusion about my goals in life. None of those things, or maybe all of them. It took several months of me trying to tease out my motivations for leaving the place I’d dreamed about since I was a girl, to realize that sometimes life just takes you in a certain direction. Motivations or not.