Being Kalli(57)

Right then, he has me. He feels exactly like the level-headed person I need to make me listen. I’m shit scared, but if Mum’s at home, back to smoking a joint, I know she’d hate for me to screw up this chance. Managers and label execs are here tonight, and imagining me missing that opportunity for the possibility that Mum’s high is a regret I couldn’t get over.

“You’ve worked for so many years to have a moment like this. Next year you could be running this show. You could be having your own concerts. An album or something. But you throw away tonight and they’ll never ask you back. You deserve this. You’ve dedicated so much of yourself than other idiots can fathom. Kall,” he says, rubbing my cheek. He steps in and cradles me by my waist. “I promise after your performance I’ll do anything you like, but you know you need to do this. She’s a big grown woman. She can handle herself. You don’t need to be a mother tonight. Be you.”

I press my lips tight, holding everything in and nod, resting my head against his neck.

I go back, trying some sort of meditation through calming breathing to get my headspace in the zone. No point not being here and not checking on Mum either. I need to rock my second performance.

When the break is over I’m visualising my sheet music, playing over the piece in my mind. All of us crew and performers get together and it’s easy to remember why I love nights like this, us joking about stuff-ups gone unnoticed on stage, gorging on the catered food, and making performance jokes only us types get.

As the second half of the night continues, I help organise performers and setups. This concert is run by volunteers, and it’s how people like me can get a chance.

“Kalli,” one of the lead organisers says, tapping my shoulder. “Make sure you’re ready in five.”

When it’s my time, I get into position on stage and let the audience fall away. The lights are bright enough to block them, and my thoughts drift into space. This is the piece I wrote, and I can’t help but close my eyes and see waves of Scout asleep next to me, me straddling Nate and more wash over me. I snap open my eyes to focus on my fingering, and then I gaze out to the audience, sweeping my attention in and out like a yo-yo in slow motion. Excitement builds within my core, like I’m getting closer to a prize. I find myself daring new things. I’ve never stepped off the stage, but I walk down the steps this time, getting close enough to the audience that invigorates me, and makes me divide my attention between my bow, my fingers and the melody.

The whole time I’m super charged, and if I was aiming for somewhere between a technically sound performance and an entertaining one, I feel I’ve hit both. My last note is a long bow, a sweeping vibrato that earns me another standing ovation and endless claps, which begin before I finish.

Once off stage, a group of performers and crew latch onto me, and are touching me and congratulating me.

“You were better than André Rieu!”

“OMG, I really sucked. I just realised watching you, Kalli.”

“Your family must be so proud!”

And I snap out of it.

Family.

I thank them as quickly as I can, pack away my violin and text Nate:

Kalli: Come to the back door again ASAP.

By the time I dash to the door, violin in hand, he’s waiting there, chest moving as ragged as mine, looking like we ran and stopped at the same time a second ago.

He shakes his head. “You did good, but she didn’t show, Kall.”

“Take me. Take me now.”

I text Scout, knowing it’d take too much time discussing face-to-face. And I know. I’m fucking it all up but this is my bargain. I stayed for both performances, as I needed to.

But now I’m done, waiting on impatient toes, bouncing on the spot and flooded with worry and thoughts.

We get home in thirty minutes with Nate looking out for cops and speed cameras, and gunning it when we were clear. Mum won’t answer her mobile. He pulls up in my driveway and the second we hit park I jump out of the car, slam the door accidentally and running as quick as I can. Hooking my heel straps over my wrist, I dash for the door with speed.

The front door is locked when I rock the knob. I knew it. She left. Did she get in an accident? Oh, crap.

“Nate!” He comes up beside me and he too tries the handle. “She’s not here. She left but why wouldn’t she have been there?”

I, of course, am not sure if I need that answer, and luckily Nate can’t answer for me.

“Here, we’ll call the local cop station, search the streets. Just take a drive and see what we can do. She’s probably fine.”

I take in our lonely house in the dark of night and the lamppost illuminating the front bit of the lawn. And, as I look around the sides of the house, I notice there’s light on in the garage.