I go to the kitchen and come back with snacks and cold drinks.
While we’re eating, Zach says, “I read this editorial Ciano wrote last year about hating all those throwback trends that are coming back. Handhelds and Super8s. Directors are doing that just to get the vintage label.”
“It’s nostalgia,” I say, though I know nothing about handhelds or Super8.
“That’s exactly Ciano’s point. Nostalgia is a form of pretentiousness.”
“Maybe they just like that style,” I say, offering a counterpoint because I like to hear Zach’s voice. I love how passionate he gets about movies. Andhorrodies,for that matter. It never occurs to Zach to not be ecstatic about the things he likes.
“But that’s the thing—it’sbefore their time.You can’t be nostalgic for something you didn’t experience. How do you miss something you don’t remember?”
“You don’t have to have been there to appreciate something, though,” I say, taking a sip of soda.
“Exactly!” Zach says, beaming as if I’ve just made his point. “That’s precisely Ciano’s argument. If you like something, pay homage. Don’t try to cheapen it by, like, re-creatingit.”
And even though that wasn’t my point at all, I let the conversation end there because we’re up to some of my favorite parts of the movie. I’d warned Zach earlier that it wasn’t the stories I loved this movie for, but the fact that it was a total New Yorkasm, as Katy puts it.
“So you’re in love with New York and your viola,” Zach says, chewing on a handful of trail mix. “What gives?”
I shrug. “I like the way they make me feel,” I say.
I’ve never really told anyone about this, but when I see Zach looking at me, his eyes attentive and patient, I take a deep breath and decide to tell him about how I’ve sometimes felt like something was missing. Like maybe I wasn’t living the life I was supposed to.
“So when I started finding things that didn’t make me feel that way,” I explain, “I clung to them.”
I hear Zach’s even breath as I continue. “After all the years I’ve played, I know I’m supposed to be a seriousmusicienne,” I say with awful French affectation. “I’m supposed to be into all these little-known underground classical composers.”
“Underground classical composers?” Zach laughs. “Is that a euphemism? Because they’re all old and dead?”
“No,”I say, laughing too. “I’m supposed to be above liking something as overexposed as Vivaldi’sThe Four Seasons,but I love that piece. I love how the seasons change and different instruments, different voices, come in and out. Every season is different, but so vivid and vibrant and full. If my life was a song, I’d want it to sound like that.”
“If your life was a song in New York, you mean,” Zach says, tickling the underside of my foot until I retract it, giggling. “Anyway, I stand by my assessment: in love with New York, in love with your viola.”
And maybe someday with you,I think but don’t say. I know I might be falling for Zach—he makes me feel more alive, and I like everything about being with him—but I haven’t given myself permission to actuallybe in lovewith him. I still worry that it will get taken away.
I’ve only known him a few weeks.
Something is happening inside me, but maybe there isn’t a word for it.
And maybe I don’t need one. Not yet.
Still, assured that Mom isn’t coming down the stairs again for a little while, I lean across the couch and kiss him softly once. Then I rest my head on his shoulder, turn up the volume of the TV, and spend the rest of the day educating him on more of the things I love.
AFTER
January
The scanner is essentially a large donut that I slide through on a bed, while staring aimlessly at the plastic white ceiling. It only takes about fifteen minutes. Afterward, Dr. Overton smiles and tells me that I can change back into regular clothes and he’ll meet me and my parents in his office in a minute. There are not as many staff members or patients around today because it’s Saturday and the clinic is only open for half the day. I fill out a long questionnaire about my sleeping pattern, or lack thereof, since the doctor is sure it’s related.
My mother fiddles with the hem of her skirt while we wait. “I just hope he’ssurethat the machine doesn’t use much radiation.”
Dad sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he went to school for that.”
“A lot of good all his credentials are when they let an underage child come into this place and get a procedure. She doesn’t evenlooknineteen. And why didn’t he do the scan as soon as she came in on Thursday so we could be sure there’s no damage?”
“He said they needed consent, seeing as the machine uses radiation,” Dad says.
“If it’s so much, then weshouldbe concerned.”
