the death of a violinist
...and a bassist. And a guitarist. And a...ukulelist?
Up until I started college, strings were my thing. Whatever it was, I had probably tried it. My family never hesitated to let the kids try whatever they wanted to try, as long as it was within reason. Music was very often within reason.
Even though it was arguably the most practical, I hated guitar and thought six strings were too many for a species with generally five digits on each hand. I preferred the four-stringed instruments: ukulele, bass, violin. I did the best on the ukulele, though the general sentiment of hating on what teenage girls liked took hold in my brain until I eventually stopped. I borrowed my brother's bass instead, swapping it for my guitar until they both took up permanent residence in the other's rooms. And then after I tried that, my parents bought me a violin to keep me busy during the pandemic. I loved it.
When I went off to college, I took the violin. I haven't played it in more than a year now. And for the few short weeks I was last at home, I never once touched my ukulele or bass.
Sometimes I take the violin out just to clean it, or hold it. My calluses from a lifetime of strings are gone now, so I couldn't play well even if I wanted to. So I just sit on the floor with it, looking at the glossy finish, turning the bow over in my hands. This is something that belonged to 17-year-old Valentine. Is it still mine, even if I'm no longer her?
This past month I've been thinking a lot about going back to the guitar, my first and least cherished instrument. I sing a lot more now, and I'm almost done with college, and I keep running into instances when I think damn, I need accompaniment. I've been looking at secondhand guitars online, but I know I should probably hit the physical stores first to see what kind I prefer. It's been such a long time. I hope I can find some with narrow necks; my old guitar was so difficult to play.
To more music in our lives!