Wendy's Melody

 Her fingers nearly bled as she put on her best performance.

She played before an auditorium in which every seat was purchased. Nearly fifty-thousand people ordered a ticket to watch her play. She was carefully navigating, as she had done in practice a hundred times before, Bach's Violin Sonata No. 1 in G minor. Now that she was on stage, an idea came unto her unexpectedly as she approached the third and penultimate section. Her experiment ran thus: in each phrase, the notes that produced the greatest contrast and inflection (the ones that produced "chills" in the audience) would be played with more legato—drawing out the emotional depth of each phrase. She had not attempted it once in practice and did not know if it would be lousy, but with an enamored audience before her, she felt some variety was necessary.

The effect was immediately obvious. The first notes had given her genuine frisson—it broke the ice of her heart that came with playing the piece dozens of times in practice. But this was her height that she had earned out of the pains of her unceasing labor—she could not know if it would land with the audience. For it is hardest of all to sing heartily after doing it once long ago in an empty house. She could only hope that the emotions she had let stack high over the years—that were perhaps too large or too small, or half-bold and half-faded, to be said—could finally come out all at once in a melodic, poetic phrase. She was not good with words or with people—her only chance of collecting everything fragmented and poeticizing into one everything unsaid would never come again. It would be here or it would be never. It was almost inexplicable: everything she held in her heart at that moment. She nearly burst into tears and dropped her violin when she closed the third section with her bow. She still had another left.

The last section began with a frenzy. It was dramatically faster than the last and the musical phrases came with precise intonation. Her fellow violinists almost unanimously found the second section most difficult, but she thought the final part was of much greater difficulty. Moreover, she was already exhausted. But a second idea came unto her that may help her close the performance with glamour and excited her to perform.

Her idea was simple: for the brisker musical phrases, she would lessen the tempo by just a hair. This would contrast the legato she had employed earlier and would subtly invite the audience to peer longer into the depth of each phrase. And since the note ending each phrase was higher, it would create a bounce that felt natural and invoked even deeper chills in the audience. She would pause on the half-note before the final note for slightly longer to accentuate those chills. This, once again, had immediate and dramatic effects. She re-incited the same spark that she felt for the piece when she played it for the first time. She never wanted it to die again. She found shame in herself that she ever grew bored of the piece—and conviction that she would never again disavow it. She clung onto that conviction. In the final thirty seconds of the piece, she started to slowly crescendo, ending on fff—the loudest musical dynamic used in standard performances. Her violin's strings nearly tore from how aggressively she plucked them. But she came to the final phrase, paused with passion, looked down, and moved her bow. The auditorium went silent until she put her violin at ease—then it erupted with standing ovations and thunderous applause.

She heard her name thrown around the auditorium as she went to exit: "Himare-chan, we love you!"

And yet, she did not know if anything she did landed as she had hoped.

Himare-chan returned home from a short trip to the post office a few days after her performance. It was already being featured in international television and magazines. And even though the post office is a mere ten minute walk from her complex, she was stopped and asked for autographs four times. Despite the impression that she appeared to be having, several unnerving thoughts kept plaguing her. She did not have time to ponder, however:
"Hey, honey! You got everything sent off?" her fiancé shouted.

"Not everything…I thought they would accept bigger parcels than they do. I had to leave some of it out, but I'll just put it all in the next batch."

"Don't stress over it—most of these people write to their favorite artists or celebrities and hear nothing. They'll be appreciative of you doing anything for them."

"Yeah…you're right. Still, these people took time from their day to write to me, I want to give them as quick a response as I can—"

"And you did all you could. They'll get it soon enough."

"You're right…"

"Also, question. Did you really only go to the post office?"

"Yeah…it just took so long because they're so busy on Monday and I had to reweigh the parcel several times and then redo it—"

"Okay, just checking, darling. Wouldn't want my beautiful violinist going rogue on me."

"Of course…hey, I've been wondering…"

Himare-chan stood silent for several moments, as if her query would be dangerous to put to her future husband:

"Do you think my performance really changed anything?"

"Pft…ahaha! You had me scared for a minute. Of course your performance changed everything! TV hosts want you, news anchors want you, your face is everywhere. I heard later this week they're going to put that performance on the big screen in the square! You should be proud of how far you've come."

"Yeah, with the violin—but where has that actually brought us?"

"What—you want them to make a statue in the square for you?"

"No, that'd be even more insulting…what has my playing really contributed to the world?"

"You think your violin should practice politics?"

"If that'd change anything…something needs to change…"

"Sweetie, change will come. You just do what you do to keep the troops humming. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah…"

Himare-chan expected the conversation to go precisely as it did—as it had several times in the past. She now felt justified in her lie she told him earlier: she did not only stop at the post office. She stopped at a nearby equipment store to buy a parachute. All she had left to do was to practice the jump.

"Say," Himare-chan asked her fiancé, "How did your meeting go with the other guys managing the property?"

"Oh, it went well. They didn't really have much to say—kinda just floating around the idea of other investments…oh! And making sure we get this one properly insured ASAP. Two of them wanted to get huge policies on this building—even though it's such a waste of money. Like, I get we get a lot of earthquakes but seven hundred thousand a year?!"

"Woof, that is crazy."

"Yeah…I'm not sure if they'll actually go through with it, but I think I saw them sign something. Either way, I'm not paying for it, so I don't really care…What are you feeling for dinner?"

"I'm…not really hungry…"

"Me either…but this new place just opened across town—we can just take home what we don't eat. Be ready in twenty?"

"I…guess."

Himare-chan woke up the following Friday eager to execute her plan. While her fiancé had been out on inspections or meetings, she grew accustomed to her parachute. She had time for one excursion to a nearby forest with a tall mountain to know what it would be like jumping from a height. She was ready. It would be in the evening when she would pull it off. She visualized it several times while lying in bed. She was more invested in her sights than she was in starting her day.

She invited the family she had left for dinner: her sister and mother. In their minds, it was another time to tell each other what was new. In Himare-chan's mind, it would be the last time they ever see her. The mother and sister were two drinks in—Himare-chan would typically drink more than the two of them combined, but she knew she would need her coordination for what was ahead. Her mother continued rambling on on her story, to which Himare-chan was mostly ignoring:

"...so, yeah, he left me alone by the horses…I swear, it's the last time I'm going on dating apps…but I said that last time!"

The three erupted into laughter, which was interrupted by Himare-chan's fiancé bursting through the door screaming:

"HIMARE! HIMARE! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! We have to go!"

The trio froze, and the fiancé began to explain himself:

"I had to go back to the lower garage after-hours because I forgot something in my car—I saw three guys putting something that looked like a bomb next to a pillar! That's probably why those guys were talking about insurance—I think the building's going to—"

They heard an explosion before the lights went out.

"Damn it…we're too late, the building's already coming down…"

In the dark, Himare-chan started to equip her parachute. She called out to the others:

"We have to jump! We're not going to survive if we come down with the buildling…there may be a chance if we land on our legs."
"No! Himare, that's hard concrete, none of us will survive the impact."

Himare-chan shattered the window open.

"I'm telling you—I'M ORDERING YOU! DON'T DO IT!"

Himare-chan muttered: "I've spent my life taking orders…"

She jumped and pulled the cord as the building collapsed behind her.