Page 1 of Feral Touch
CHAPTER 1
DESPITETHECOOL, brisk autumn air outside and the changing color of leaves, the concert hall was sweltering inside. It was loud, dark and suffocatingly warm. The combined body heat of a mass of people pressed together kept the temperature high while the overworked air conditioning system blew out cool air in vain. I could feel each bead of sweat rolling down my back, plastering my shirt to my skin underneath my jacket. The only thought that ran through my mind was how much I’d rather be at home with my cello.
“Is there a coat check?” I yelled into Natalie’s ear. The concert hadn’t started yet, but music was already blasting from the speakers. Seventies disco. I assumed it was to pump up the crowd and not a preview of the band we were going to see.
The band my friends wanted to see, that is. I’d been dragged along unwillingly to a rock show and didn’t even know the name of the group they all seemed crazy about.
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Call me a classical snob, a purist, but I just didn’t understand how thrashing around on stage, screaming into a microphone and playing the same three chords could be called music.
“Coat check’s five bucks,” Nat shouted back. “We just cram our coats into a corner.”
Five bucks shouldn’t have been make-it-or-break it, but our private music academy was expensive and most of us were on scholarships. Five bucks each meant the different between real groceries or eating ramen noodles for a week.
“I’ll keep mine on, thanks.” If I couldn’t afford five bucks for coat check, I certainly couldn’t afford to buy a new fall jacket if mine got stolen. I’d just have to suffer through the concert a sweaty, sticky mess.
“I wish we’d gotten here earlier,” Jennifer sighed, despondent. “We’re so far back we’ll barely be able to make out their faces.”
“Does that matter?” I asked. “We’ll still be able to hear them.”
Nat and Jen swung their heads around with matching expressions of disbelief.
“Are you kidding?”
“The whole reason to go to a concert is so you canseethe band in person.”
“What’s the point otherwise? You can just listen to their CD at home.”
“I thought you guys were here because you like the music?”
Four eyes stared at me, uncomprehending.
“Never mind,” I muttered. “Let’s see if we can squeeze to the front.”
Despite our best efforts, the crowd wouldn’t budge. The three of us were stuck at the back, just close enough to see the instruments on stage waiting for their performers, but too far away to see the faces of the band’s crew as they did sound checks. There was a drum set at the back and two microphones standing tall, one front and center and the other off to the side.
“What a waste,” Natalie huffed.
“If it’s such a waste, why don’t we just leave?” I suggested. “It’s still early enough for me to get a couple more hours of practice in before bed.”
“Absolutely not.” Jen shook her head and linked arms with me, as if to keep me from slipping away. “You’ve been shut away working your fingers to the bone for long enough. You need to get out and live life once in a while.”
“My celloismy life.”
“And that’s why we’re dragging you out.”
I knew my friends meant well, but crowds, loud noises, being in public…none of it was really my thing.
Scanning my eyes across the pages of music notes, drawing my long bow across my cello’s strings, pressing my fingers against its neck in smooth strokes, listening to the low, mournful wail that came from its hollow body—thatwas my thing.
Playing my cello was the only time I could shut down my brain, turn off my thoughts and justfeel.
The lights dimmed and hysterical cheers swelled in the concert hall.
“They’re starting!” someone cried.
The crowd called out for the band with a rhythmic chant. I listened closely, trying to make out the words, but they were indecipherable.
Several long minutes passed. I grew impatient, silently willing the band to just get out on stage already. Did they enjoy making the crowd scream and cry and wait for them with baited breath? What a bunch of narcissistic show-offs.
