Page 90 of The Love of My Afterlife
And then another…
Jonah is still out there, you know.
I blink at the message as I realise I haven’t thought of Jonah in almost two days.
Whether you want him or not, surely it’s worth one last push before you just…give up? Kissing Jonah will save your life. It seems to me that you’re having too much fun to just leave it all behind…Come on, Delphie. Isn’t this all worth fighting for?
xoxo
The message disappears and I exhale, trying to slow down the furious pounding of my heart.
I open the cubicle door and walk over to the big mirror on the wall. My cheeks are red and my eyes are wide with terror.
I bite my lip and try to reconnect with the me of a few days ago. The one who was sure that not pursuing Jonah was the exact right thing to do. The one who made the choice not to spend her final days chasing after something already proven to be futile. Because it was absolutely, definitely impossible. Right? Jonah was never going to kiss me. Not after the shit show at the gala. It was impossible. I would fight if I thought it was going to work. I’vebeenfighting. But I can’t waste these last hours on a wild-goose chase that will almost certainly lead to nothing.
Can I?
40
I walk back to the music room to find that everyone is gathered in a circle.
“She is here!” comes an electronic voice from the middle. I see that it’s Mr. Yoon on the VOCA.
“What’s happening?” I ask as Aled sets up a silver music stand and Cooper reaches into his rucksack, pulling out a hard black violin case.
Mr. Yoon places the VOCA on the table behind him. He opens up his crossword puzzle book and carefully leans it against the music stand. Has he lost his marbles? Why is he putting his puzzle book on the music stand?
Cooper hushes the other guests. I’m about to ask what the heck is going on, when Mr. Yoon draws his bow across the strings of the violin and begins to play.
Gosh.
I expected that he would be good because there’s a literal picture in his cupboard of him winning some kind of award. But that picture was taken years ago, and I’ve never seen or heard Mr. Yoon play an instrument in the whole time I’ve livednext door. And after his anger at me finding the picture, I never thought I would.
I don’t recognise the music but it is slow, winsome, and yearning in a way that makes my heart fill up with melancholy anticipation. Mr. Yoon closes his eyes and starts to relax into it as the piece becomes louder and full of longing. Around me I hear gasps and murmurs from the other party guests, and as I watch my grumpy old neighbour play, it occurs to me that this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt. The notes transform into a quicker, more cheerful crescendo, and I don’t realise that I’m crying until Mr. Yoon plays the last note, his trembling hand creating a vibrato that oscillates around the airy room. He opens his eyes, and I see that his eyes are filled with tears too.
The applause is loud and enthusiastic, and I’m clapping harder than anyone.
“Bravo!” Frida shouts from behind me.
“A star in our midst!” Jan cheers.
The other guests eventually return to milling about, getting to know each other in that stilted, awkward way that I now realise is the way that pretty much all new relationships start out. Mr. Yoon points at the violin and then beckons me over.
When I reach him, he taps the crossword book on the music stand, and I see that resting on the pages of a puzzle are two sheets of paper covered with bars of music. They’ve been neatly written onto the paper in pencil.
“You composed this yourself?” I gasp. “Mr. Yoon!”
He points to the corner of the paper, and I see there in his small neat print:Delphie from Next Door. A Sonata. The date at the top is from two years ago. In fact, I remember it’s the dayafter my birthday. The morning I took him a slice of my cake for breakfast.
My eyes fill with tears again. My throat is so thick with emotion I can’t say anything. I just catch my breath and smile as I look at the paper full of scratches that just produced the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. A piece of music named for me.
Mr. Yoon picks up the VOCA from the edge of the table behind him and types into it, his eyes squinting at the letters. I make a mental note to ask Cooper to arrange an optician’s appointment.
Mr. Yoon presses enter on the machine.
“Started writing this a long time ago but I never finished it. I was too afraid to play.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why were you afraid to play? Is that why you got angry with me for finding the picture?”
