The Black violin
Petunia evens, waking reluctantly on December 3, 1969 the morning, was already aware that this birthday was destined to be just like all the others—overshadowed by indifference and tinged with a hint of sadness. The sun had yet to shake off the sleepy drape of morning fog, and as her little sister Lily sprang into the room, excitement electrified the air.
“Wake up, Tuney, wake up, wake up, wake up!” Lily chirped, her voice bright and relentless. Petunia, her hair tousled and her blanket pulled snugly around her, groaned, “Let me sleep, Lily; it’s cold.”
“But Tuney, don’t you know what today is? It’s your birthday!” Her sister’s enthusiasm was infectious, paired with an intent to share the joy through shrill bursts from a colorful birthday party whistle. The high-pitched sound pierced through Petunia’s lazy haze as she shoved a pillow over her ears.
When Petunia finally peeled herself from the comfort of her bed, the gleaming morning light revealed the mundane trappings of her bedroom: cluttered piles of clothes, half-finished homework, and a few curled-up old birthday cards hidden beneath the bed. The weight of the day ahead settled on her shoulders while Lily tugged at her sleeve, dragging her down to the kitchen.
Downstairs, the aroma of buttery batter and something sweet enveloped them, but Petunia’s eyes locked onto the sight of the bright red strawberry cake that their mother had placed meticulously in the center of the table. The sight of it, adorned with little white icing flowers, filled her with a sense of dread.
“Mum,” she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t eat strawberries. The doctor said I’m allergic to them.”
But her mother, brushing the concern away like a pesky fly, flashed her a smile that seemed unnecessary. “Nonsense, dear! You don’t have any allergies. The doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Petunia looked to her father, hoping for a glimmer of support, but he remained absorbed in his newspaper, turning the pages with calm indifference. She felt a familiar sting in her chest, like a scratch on her heart. It was her special day, but it seemed the world was just more focused on sustaining its routine without her.
“Go ahead, enjoy your cake!” their mother chimed as she placed a fork in front of Petunia, her words laced with a cheery insistence. Lily, far too hyper and blissfully unaware of the tension, dove into the cake, gobbling up two servings, her tiny face smeared with frosting. Their mother beamed at her, the sparkle in her eyes illuminating the room.
Petunia’s heart sank deeper; the insistent voice in her head grew louder, warning her not to touch the cake. “What if it does make me sick?” she thought, gnawing on her lip. The taste of disappointment churned in her stomach—she wished she could relish in her sister's joy, but it felt impossible.
Lily turned toward her, her mouth full of cake. “C’mere, Tuney! It’s really good!”
Petunia forced a smile, a mask of happiness plastered on her face. She picked up the fork and prodded the cake, the soft sponge springing back under her touch. “I’m not hungry,” she said weakly, trying to mask the truth behind her words.
“Just one bite! You can’t let it go to waste,” Lily urged, her innocence slicing through Petunia’s resolve. “I’ll share mine with you!”
Uncertain, Petunia glanced at her mother, who remained obliviously fixated on Lily. In a moment of rebellion, Petunia raised the fork and took a tiny piece of the cake, a futile act of participation.
Before petunia could take a bite The doorbell rang, and Petunia’s heart raced with fleeting hope. Perhaps her friends had come to visit, perhaps this day could still hold some magic—or, at the very least, some validation.
Petunia got up from the chair,"I'll get the door,"As she opened the front door, her breath caught in her throat. Stepping into her foyer were her two best friends.
As Petunia Evans stepped out into the crisp December air, she felt an unexpected rush of excitement surge through her. The chilly breeze danced around her, gently tousling her blonde hair, and for the first time that morning, a smile crept onto her face. Her friends, Emma and Yvonne, stood before her, bundled up in colorful scarves and cheerful hats, their eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Come on, Tuney! We’ve got something special planned for you," Emma said, grabbing Petunia's hand and pulling her away from the confines of her house.
"But what about…?" Petunia hesitated, glancing back at the house where her mother was likely still beaming over lily . Memories of her parents brushing aside her feelings danced in her mind, the familiar aura of neglect settling like a heavy cloak around her shoulders.
"Forget them for today!" Yvonne chimed in. "This day is all about you."
With a determined nod, Petunia surrendered to her friends' exuberance and let them lead her away, leaving the nagging remnants of her morning behind. They skipped down the frost-kissed street, the sounds of laughter ringing through the air, the promise of adventure igniting her spirit.
The trio made their way to the nearby park, its frosty ground glistening in the sunlight. Nearby, a group of children were eagerly sledding down a small hill, squealing in delight with every rush. Emma and Yvonne insisted that Petunia join them, and soon enough, they were hurtling down the snow-covered slope on makeshift sleds crafted from old cardboard, laughter echoing as they tumbled headfirst into the fluffy snow.
Petunia felt free. For the first time that day, she felt like a birthday girl. They built snowmen shaped like their favorite characters, decorated them with sticks, rocks, and whatever else they could find. Petunia’s heart swelled as she adorned hers, envisioning them as a family of quirky snow people come to life.
As the sun sank lower in the sky, casting a golden hue across the winter landscape, the girls started to walk to towards petunia’s grandmother Daisy Evans.
"You know," Yvonne began, her cheeks rosy from the cold, "my mom said we should celebrate your birthday properly. You deserve it, Petunia."
Emma nodded, her eyes earnest. "We’re going to have a party, just the three of us and your grandma of course”. petunia was confused, but she walked towards her grandmother’s house while her two best friends were smiling from ear to ear.
Invigorated yet chilled, they made their way to Petunia’s grandmother, Daisy Evens, who always had a warm embrace and an even warmer home waiting for them.
As the charming cottage came into view, a plume of smoke curled from the chimney, signaling the warmth inside. Petunia felt a surge of excitement. Grandmother Daisy always celebrated her birthdays in the most special way, and this year promised to be no different.
Daisy opened the door with a radiant smile, her silver hair glowing like freshly fallen snow. "Welcome, my darlings!" she exclaimed, ushering them in. The scent of chocolate filled the air, and soon enough, the girls gathered around the kitchen table where a beautiful chocolate cake was waiting, adorned with candles flickering like stars.
"Happy birthday to you, Petunia!" they sang in unison, the melody buoyed by laughter and promises of delightful memories to come. Petunia’s heart swelled; her grandmother's love enveloped her like a warm blanket, especially since she often felt the sting of neglect from her parents.
After blowing out the candles, with giddy anticipation dancing in her heart, Petunia watched Daisy turn to the kitchen. Returning moments later, her grandmother held a shimmering box wrapped in shimmering blue paper, topped with a silvery bow.
“Petunia, darling, happy birthday!” Daisy beamed, gifting the box to her granddaughter.
Emma and Yvonne exchanged knowing glances. “We helped Grandma pick it out!” Yvonne squealed.
Eagerly, Petunia unwrapped the present, revealing a stunning black violin, its surface shiny and beckoning. It was everything she had dreamed of, every yearning glance at instruments in store windows now crystallized into reality.
Without hesitation, her grandmother urged her, “Well, what are you waiting for? Play us a tune!”
With a pounding heart and a surge of excitement, Petunia positioned the violin under her chin. As the bow glided across the strings, she began tentatively. But a strange energy surged through her—a whisper beckoning from somewhere deep.
The notes transformed beneath her fingers, shifting from beginners’ clumsiness to a talent that flowed effortlessly. The melody became unfamiliar, weaving tales and emotions of longing and loss. Shadows she couldn’t fully comprehend crept through the corners of her mind—images of someone lost, someone distant, whispering that “loving you is a dangerous game.”
Every note resonated with a deep, aching passion she didn’t know existed within her. The room seemed to swirl, caught in her enchanting spell, her grandmother and friends captivated, eyes wide in wonder. The music soared, transcending their humble kitchen into realms unknown.
But as Petunia poured herself into the final, haunting note, the world began to darken. Her head spun, and she felt a sharp pain in her nose. A warmth, dark and unexpected, trickled down her face—blood mixed with the passion she had just poured into her song.
The last echoes of her melody faded, collapsing into silence as she crumpled, the violin slipping from her grasp.
“Petunia!” Grandma Daisy exclaimed, rushing to her side, her voice threaded with concern. “Oh, Petunia, my dear!”
In the haze of her unconsciousness, Petunia felt a lightness, a gentle caressing warmth that enveloped her. The familiar whispers echoed once more, soothing yet sad. “I love you, petals.”