So, I kind of miss playing cello, but also this story came to me on one of my sleepless nights. The question that popped into my head was: Why do things matter?
Okay, that was kind of vague, but what I mean is that we care too much about human made concepts. Take the economy for example. Humans created the economy, but now it is described as having a life of its own. Sometimes we love the economy, sometimes we fear it.
This story is about gender roles. We created gender roles and in order to be 'normal' we have to comply with these rules and boundaries. This is like women's roles in the family way back in the early 1900's. Good stay-at-homewife. And the men's roles in the family. Strong hard-working-bring-home-the-bacon breadwinner. We've broken those traditional rules. Now I think we should open our eyes again.
We can't exactly be who we want to be, but life is short and unpredictable. We do not know what will happen tomorrow. Live for today. Carpe Diem. That sorta thing. So why do we try so hard to fit in with roles created by society?
In the end, does anything really matter?
--
There was something strange about this person; this person that walked into our classroom, interrupting the music.
The door screeched unwillingly as it opened. Our teacher dropped her baton and we stopped playing. I held my bow against the side of my cello, signaling to my oblivious stand-partner to stop. Everyone’s head turned as we watched the new kid enter the class.
“Is this…the advanced class?” the new kid’s voice called out. I heard the voice before I saw the person. The voice was husky, but not low. It was like an alto merged with a tenor. That grey area in between.
The new kid sat beside me, observing for the first day. I thought that if I asked for their name, I would be able to figure if he was a boy or if she was a girl.
“Nice to meet you,” I smiled, “My name’s Julie.”
There was no facial expression; the new kid just stared at my cello. “Alex.”
My genius plan was foiled. A unisex name. Why is he making this difficult?
I had to hide my disappointment.
I called him a he…
A “he” he is then.
His medium-short length hair didn’t help much either. Neither did his long eye-lashes. Nor his baggy clothes. I felt invasive, like I was checking him out, inspecting every inch of him. He shifted away under the pressure of my gaze. I had to admit though; he was attractive with his slight feminine features.
My eyes scanned his chest. Flat.
My eyes scanned his throat. No prominent bulge.
What is he?
***
It was late afterschool; I decided to stay behind to practice. Lost in my own music, a firm, solid knock on the door of the practice room awakens me.
I stopped playing, and leaned back on my chair to allow the intruder to enter.
It was Alex. He had his violin and sheet music in hand. I had heard him play before in class, it was beautiful.
I couldn’t help being attracted by this stranger. I was attracted by his presence and his music.
“Mind if I join?” his husky voice asked.
I stared at him, nodding stupidly.
“I have a cello-violin duet piece I’ve been wanting to play. You’re the best cellist in our class.”
I blushed, he was making me blush. Why is he flirting with me?
He handed me the score, and together we warmed up.
Playing with long, lusty bows, the music danced back and forth. The music was feverish, making our skin boil and crawl with intensity. The music rocked back and forth with the clash of notes. The dissonance. The consonance. By the end of the duet, we were both breathing heavily. Breathless.
The lights then flickered off. We were alone in the practice room, locked in. Everyone would be gone for the night. We had forgotten about the time as we played our duet.
But here it was; reality slapped us in the face.
I placed down my cello, and he placed down his violin. I got up to try the door once more in the dark, but I tripped over the belt for my cello.
He caught me, and because of this, I had him pinned against the back wall.
Our lips inches apart, I couldn’t help the feelings; the feeling of wanting to kiss him. But I also couldn’t help the feeling of knowing. I had to ask.
The room was warm with our heavy breathing. I could barely bring myself to utter the words.
“Are…you a boy or girl?” This question never came up before.
I could see his eyes flicker in the darkness. “Does it matter?”
“I don’t know. Does it?”
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, “And I want you to take me for me, not for what I am.”
My mind was racing, I couldn’t think. What if he was a girl? What would happen? What would that make me?
There was no time to contemplate about this. I wanted him. Or her. But mostly him.
So I leaned in closer and kissed the person in front of me.
The kiss was exhilarating; unlike the ones I’ve had in the past. This one was mixed with passion, danger, and lust. When the kiss broke, it left us both breathless.
I didn’t want to speak, I just wanted to kiss him some more, but he had something to say.
“Julie,” he called out, still out of breath, “I will tell you who I am, but it may not be who you love.”
I nodded, but just as he was about to speak, the lights flickered on.
“Hey! What are you kids still doing in there? School ended hours ago!” The janitor unlocked the door, inviting a rush of cold air.
I turned to leave, but he grabbed my hand.
“I’m a girl,” he said.
Or she said.
It didn’t matter to me anymore.
