The Makings of a Virtuoso

I listen as the notes emerge from the violin, scratchy and drawn out as if being pulled out against their will.
He’s wanted to play for for years, but life’s expectations and the budget’s stringent demands continued to push the dream farther down the road. After his mom died, he unexpectedly received a small sum of money; the debt for the funeral was satisfied and an overage of insurance money was given to him and his brother.
One day recently, he looked at me, an idea suddenly appearing. “ I could take those violin lessons I’ve been wanting to take! I think mom would approve of me using the money to improve my skills that way.”
I agreed, of course.
If I’m honest, it’s hard listening to the early stages of a budding violinist. But as I listen to him tonight, his violin rasping up and down the scales, my eyes fill with tears. Yes, those embryonic notes are astringent and jagged, but when he asks me tonight how it sounds, I can honestly say that it sounds just like a dream.

[Dedicated with all my love to, Jay O'Toole]