War of the Nerds

War of the Nerds
         Full orchestra was NOT my idea. In hindsight the entire notion was stupid. It’s no secret that there’s a war between the band and orchestra at Lakeview High School. The feud started a long, long time ago when the band director and the orchestra teacher got into an argument. From that moment forth no wind or percussion player set foot in the orchestra room and no string player, except a couple piano players and some very brave jazz bass players, set foot in the band room. Well, we’ve been through several teachers since then, the feud is no solely within the musicians. I think full orchestra was the attempt to bring us all together. Well, it didn’t exactly work out as smoothly as they hoped. But looking back, I’d say it’s the best thing that ever happened to me, ever. Let me tell you I was skeptical at first, but sometimes the greatest things come from the place you least expect. Welcome, to my senior year.
         I wasn’t happy when Mr. Jacobs called my name. But I got up anyways with my trombone in my hand followed a slightly angry line of my classmates down the hall and into the orchestra room. We filed in proudly, as any band member should. After all we are the strong ones, all the orchestra players do is move a stick of wood across another. The orchestra kids looked at us. There was a tension in the room as we stood there looking at each other. The orchestra room was smaller than the band, and so was the orchestra, yet another reason why the band is stronger. The orchestra teacher, Ms. Handford, sat us all down. There was one other trombone to my left, but to my right the band ended and there was an empty seat.
         “I have a pass!” a girl in worn jeans and a purple t-shirt that says in big black letters ‘I do all my own stunts’ declares holding up a pink piece of paper as she barges into the room. The band members stare at her for a little while before going back to their conversations, the orchestra kids never even looked up. The girl went into a back room and came back carrying a oversized violin about as big as she is, a standing bass. She made her way to the back and set the thing down next to me before running to the other side of the room to get her over sized bow. She sat on a tall stood and began to warm up, dragging the bow and back and forth across the bass. I could see now that her sneakers were probably black and white when they started life, but now they have been colored on with every color of sharpie imaginable. Her hair is a hazel color with bright purple streaks pulled back into a ponytail that hangs lazily from her head.
         I turned my attention to the music that Ms. Handford is putting on my stand and begin to read it. It wasn’t a very hard part.
         About half way through I notice that the girl next to me is staring at me.
         “Yes?” I ask.
         “How do you know what notes your playing?” she asks.
         “There are positions, you just sort of get used to it,” I explain briefly, I don’t want to get caught talking to her more than I have too.
         She goes back to her own music.
         “Okay everyone!” Ms. Handford says from the front of the room. “Let’s just see what happens. One, two three four,” and we’re off.
         The first thing that hits us is a strong, but elegant sound, which I realize is being produced by the girl with the oversized violin sitting next to me. She plays beautifully.
         My entrance comes next. Our sounds begin to mix. Her line is moving up and down moving the piece along and it would fly away if it weren’t for mine to weigh it down. The first movement is a first trombone and bass duet we discover. As we hit the last note and Ms. Burton signals the sound to halt the room falls silent.
         “What the hell was that?” the girl remarks, finding some problem that no one else sees.
         “That was music Miss Lener,” Ms. Hanford tells her. “I picked this piece because I believe it will bring you all together, and well no one has ever heard a trombone and bass duet.”
         The girl looks at me, and then looks back at Ms. Handford. “Well it’s stupid. I’m not gonna play it ever again.”
         “Well that’s too bad Miss Lener, because we don’t have another bass player that can play that part like you can, so get over it,” Ms. Handford smiles.
         “But I don’t like him! He plays funny!” the girl complains.
         “Actually you aren’t going to find a better suited match to your sound than the one that Mr. Warner here makes,” Ms. Handford informs her.
         “Well, I don’t like playing with him,” the girl declares.
         I must admit, this whole conversation hurts a little bit, but oddly it feels more as if I’ve simply been caught in an ever going fight between student and teacher.
         “Well, you’re going to have to get over it or fail the class. I know that you don’t realize this but when you two play together it is as if you were created to play together,” Ms. Handford tells us.
         The girl pouts at Ms. Handford and rolls her eyes. “Fine, but I don’t like it.”
         Ms. Handford smiles and then tells us to start at the second movement. The second movement sounds like a train wreck. Or perhaps a dying animal. In any case, not good.
         “You’re flat,” the girl next to me says.
         I adjust my mouth piece a little bit to make her happy.
         Ten minutes before the period is over Ms. Handford tells us to pack up and make friends. Then she calls me and the girl into her office.
         “Sit down,” she tells us. We sit. “Listen, you two are solely responsible for the success of this piece, a good third or possibly more is trombone and bass duets and solos. You are both very talented musicians and I don’t care if you both have hated each other since preschool you’re playing this piece. And don’t think I don’t know about the band-orchestra rivalry. That’s why we’re playing this piece. If you two can come together and play this right, then everyone can come together. Got it?”
         I nod a little. The girl gives Ms. Handford a look.
         “Good,” Ms. Handford smiles. “And I suggest you two learn to get along because you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Starting this afternoon, be here at 2:45, now get out of my office.”
         And that was how everything started.
         The girl wasn’t there that afternoon. Ms. Handford kept me around though with a couple other kids, she had me give some lessons, copy some music, and worked with me on my music a little. At 4:30 the girl showed up.
         “How nice of you to join us Miss Lener,” Ms. Handford greets her. “I was just about to send Mr. Warner home for the day.”
         “It’s cross country season,” the girl says. That does explain why she’s currently wearing shorts and a t-shirt, showing off her thin but muscular limbs.
         “Well it would be lovely if you’d feel the need to warn us when you’re going to be late,” Ms. Handford scolds. “Well, on to the music. First movement please!”
         The girl quickly tunes and then starts the piece. Once again the low rich tones she creates float about the room. Then my own sound starts. The two tones dance awkwardly together for a few measures and then begin to flow once more.
         “NO!” the girl shouts halfway through the movement. “No! No! No! It’s all wrong!”
         I look at her.
         “It sounds dull, dead, lifeless, this isn’t music, it’s noise!” she declares before setting her bass down with a gentleness that you wouldn’t expect from her, and then grabbing her bag and storming out of the room. “When you’re ready to play music I’ll come back!” she shouts.
         “I’m sorry, Miss Lener can be a bit of a handful sometimes, but I’m sure she’ll come around to you,” Ms. Handford tells me as I put my trombone away and head home for the day.
         The next morning in band Mr. Jacobs sent us over to the orchestra room once again. The girl next to me was late again.
         “I have a pass!” she declares announcing her entrance in the middle of tuning.
         “Take your seat please Miss Lener,” Ms. Handford tells her.
         The girl goes into the back room and comes back out empty handed and furious.
         “WHERE IS IT?!?” she shouts.
         “Where is what?” Ms. Handford asks.
         “MY BASS. WHERE IS IT?!?” she fumes.
         “What do you mean where is it?” Ms. Handford asks.
         “I MEAN IT’S NOT IN THERE!” she shouts.
         “Calm down please,” Ms. Handford says shuffling pass the angry bassist and into the back room.
         “There are plently of basses back there, what are you talking about?” Ms. Handford asks coming back out just as the girls eyes lock on the bassist furthest away from me in the line of three bassists.
         “YOU!” she shouts. “WHY DO YOU HAVE MY BASS?!?”
         The kid shrinks back in his chair. The whole room is silent except for a mummer down in the violin section. “It’s, it’s not yours! It’s the schools!” the kid tries to say.
         “I ALWAYS play this one! Give it to me!” she shouts.
         “No!” the kids argues. “Why should you get the good one everyday?”
         “Because it’s not the good one! This is the retarded one that only I know how to make work!” she shouts.
         The kid hands over the bass and bow and the girl hoists the thing over her head and carries it to her seat.
         “Are you done now?” Ms. Handford asks the girl. The girl gives her a look. “From the top.”
         The girl quickly starts the piece and soon enough my sound mingles with hers. The notes begin to dance elegantly across the room between violins and French horns. The last note comes to a close. And silence fills the room. The girl looks skeptically at her music, as her bow, her bass then she looks over at me. She grabs my music off my stand and scans it looking for the error. “There, you didn’t articulate that right,” she tells me. “It has an accent.”
         “Sorry,” I say. I could have sworn I got that one, but hey, no one is perfect.
         “It’s okay,” she says.
         “Second movement,” Ms. Handford calls out, and our conversation comes to a close.
         The piece continues, highlighted by low and rich sounds.
         “Mr. Warner and Miss Lener after school again please, and Ms. Lener I talked to your coach, be here,” Ms. Handford instructs.
         The girl pays no attention to this and goes about her business.
         “Are you going to play music today?” she asks me skeptically.
         “Yes,” I answer.
         “Good, because I’m not missing cross country to listen to your noise,” she informs me before lifting her bass over her head and carrying it into the back room.
         “Don’t let Adrian mess with you to much, she’s just mad. She likes to run, last year she won state, and she gets mad when she can’t. But don’t worry she’s a music junkie at heart,” the violist in front of the girl tells me.
         “What did you say her name was?” I ask.
         “Adrian,” the violist tells me.
         I nod.
         “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to her,” the violist assures me.
         And suddenly everything made sense. Adrian had many myths surrounding her. Some say she’s crazy, others just say she could have had better parents. Some say she was dropped on her head when she was a baby. But everyone agrees on one fact she can do anything she wants, and she will never take the normal means to get there. She’s a genius, musically anyways, and a good athlete. Problem is she has a mouth and a mind of her own.
         That afternoon Adrian seemed particularly on edge. She rushed the notes and her bowing was off. “I hate this piece!” she declares angrily. “It’s stupid!”
         “Adrian,” Ms. Handford says in a warning tone.
         “Don’t you Adrian me! This piece is stupid! I don’t wanna play it!” she shouts.
         “Do you want to fail?” Ms. Handford asks raising an eyebrow.
         “You can’t fail me!” Adrian shouts.
         “Yes I can, participation is the majority of your grade,” Ms. Handford informs her.
         Adrian mumbles under her breath and glare at Ms. Handford.
         “From the top,” Ms. Handford says raising her hands.
         The song starts. “NO NO NO NO NO!” Adrian screams. “It’s all wrong!”
         “Adrian, did you take your medication this morning?” Ms. Handford asks.
         “No, I haven’t taken that crap in months, it shuts down my mind and the notes stop flowing,” she says grabbing her head. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” But the room is silent. Then she straightens up and begins to play something, I’ve never heard it before, but it’s beautiful. She closes her eyes and her whole body seems to flow with the music. When she finishes she seems calm.
         “From the top,” Ms. Handford says raising her hands again.
         We get further this time.
         “NO!” Adrian shouts stopping abruptly. “It sounds bad! I’m going home.”
         And with that she gets up puts her bass away grabs her back pack and heads out the door.
         “I’m sorry you had to see her like that,” Ms. Handford apologizes as I put my trombone back in it’s case.
         “Why are you sorry?” I ask confused.
         “I should have known she wouldn’t have taken her medication,” she tells me.
         “For what?” I ask.
         “Adrian is a prodigy, but like many geniuses she’s insane. There are voices, people, in her head, her medication is supposed to help with that but she says it blocks out the musical flow. She can hear things in music that no one else can. That piece she played, she made up on the spot,” she explains to me.
         As the days progressed the signs of Adrian’s insanity became more and more clear to me. It wasn’t that she was just a free spirit like most people thought she was, it was that her entire thought process was so different that she couldn’t be normal even if she tried. Surprisingly though I began to like this about her. After a week or two Ms. Handford left us to practice the piece on our own.
         “You have to play it like, like, like you’re holding a lover!” Adrian says trying to explain it. “You’re playing is good but it lacks emotion.”
         “Well it’s hard to shove emotion through a hunk of metal,” I inform her.
         “That’s just it! You can’t just shove emotion through something, you have to let it flow!” she says moving her hands as she talks as if wildly moving her hands and bow will help me understand.
         “Well how do I do that?” I ask.
         “You just do!” she tells me. “It’s, it’s what makes music so magical, so captivating.”
         “Okay, okay, I get it. What emotion do you want me to get out anyways?” I ask.
         “Like you’re trying to impress someone you love, like you’re completely in love and your playing to her as if to prove your worthiness,” she tells me.
         “Well how can I play an emotion that I’ve never felt?” I ask.
         “You’ll just have to fall in love with someone. And until then this thing isn’t gonna get any better,” she informs me before getting up and putting away her bass. “When you’re ready you let me know,” she says grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
         “Hey, Adrian?” I ask just as she gets to the door.
         “Yeah?” she asks.
         “Who were you in love with?” I ask her.
         She looks at me.
         “A boy.”
         “No kidding, what was his name?” I ask.
         “I can’t tell you.”
         “Why not?”
         “Because I still love him.”
         “Just tell me who he is.”
         “No, I’m sorry.” And then she left.
         That was perhaps the first of the two times me and Adrian ever really connected. It was in the instant I could tell what was driving her so unstable. This boy didn’t know she loved him, he might not even know she exists. And it’s hurting her.
         Ms. Handford still insisted we meet after school to work on the piece even though me and Adrian knew it wasn’t going to get any better. Instead we sat around, I did my homework usually.
         “You know before this I never did my homework,” she tells me one day.
         “Really?” I ask finishing a math problem.
         “Yeah, my teachers and parents are completely shocked. My parents are convinced that you’re having some huge effect on me that years of physiatrists have failed at trying to achieve,” she smiles.
         “Well, we know it’s just boredom,” I smile.
         I looked up at her right as she went for her bass she had a look in her eye, as if the notes were falling right before her eyes and she was scrambling to catch them. And then her bow hit the strings and a calm fell over her. Her whole body swayed with the strokes of her bow.
         Sometimes I forgot about her insanity about her genius. When you spent enough time with her she seemed, normal just with a few little quirks here and there. Like her fingers which were never painted the same color at the same time, her shoelaces which didn’t match and changed day to day. Her hair changed a lot too. She gave me her number one day and on the days she went to cross country or we just didn’t have practice and the weekends we’d text each other. But we never spoke outside of full orchestra. I mentioned before the rivalry between the band and the orchestra, things wouldn’t end well if anyone found out that me and Adrian were friends. Not that I think she cared, actually I don’t know why she kept quiet for so long. But we all knew it would end some day.
         It all started one morning, a Wednesday I think. I was standing next to my locker talking to a couple trumpet players when the world began to explode.
         “Oh look here comes crazy,” one of them laughs as we turn to see Adrian storming down the hallways. Sam snickers beside him.
         “Oh calm down she’s not all that bad,” I say defending her.
         “I here she’s so crazy they kicked her out of the mental institute,” the other laughs laughs.
         She gives me a smile and a hi as she walks past.
         I give no response, and I suppose that was my first mistake with Adrian, I should have known better.
         “I know you heard me,” she informs me backing up.
         “What’s your point?” I ask trying my best to sound indifferent.
         “Why didn’t you say hi?” she asks confused.
         “Why would he say hi to you crazy?” the first scoffs.
         “Because we’re friend’s genius,” Adrian says giving him a glare.
         It’s too bad they weren’t smart enough to shut up then.
         “Friends? Please, he only talks to you in orchestra because he feels bad for you,” the second says deciding things that I don’t remember ever saying.
         Adrian turns to me punches me right in the jaw, I can tell she’s holding back. It stings and is sore for days but I know if she wanted to she could have broken my jaw, easily. She held back for reasons I didn’t know then.
         Later in full orchestra Adrian wouldn’t even look at me. When Ms. Handford had us play the piece it sounded like crap. Adrian was right about something, this thing did need the emotion to make it work, and trust me both of us had the emotion. The thing Adrian failed to mention was that we needed to use the same emotion.
         As I sat there pleading with her through my trombone, it was as if we were having an argument only no one was talking. It was almost like the instruments were arguing. Of course to anyone who wasn’t looking for it you couldn’t tell any of this. The notes still danced around the room as our sounds mixed. I suspect only me and Adrian knew we were arguing.
         I also suspect that that single moment in time, just a couple minutes changed my life completely. For the first time I began to understand what Adrian could here that no one could, the arguments between the notes, the story they told. But more importantly I found myself realizing how important she had become to me. A string player, how could I?
         That afternoon we sat in silence for a while.
         “Adrian?” I ask softly.
         “What?” she snaps.
         “Why didn’t you break my jaw?” the question had been nagging at me all day.
         “I didn’t want to get expelled,” she tells me softly.
         I knew that wasn’t the truth, but I also knew about Adrian’s limits. She’d tell me when she was ready.
         We sat in silence for the rest of the hour.
         Adrian’s mysterious behavior bothered me for the rest of the day, and because it was Friday I mentally prepared to being dwelling on it for the rest of the weekend. I was still thinking about it around 1am when something hit my window.
         I got up and went to the window, and there standing below was Adrian. I quickly dressed and rushed down to meet her.
         “What are you doing here?” I ask walking towards her.
         She looks up at me, her eyes are red and puffy, her cheek looks bruised.
         “What happened?” I ask delicately.
         “They kicked me out,” she says softly.
         I wrap my arms around her and we stand there for a minute. I feel her entire body shake as the wind picks up.
         “Come on, let’s get inside,” I tell her and lead her in.
         Adrian never talked about her home, or her family or anything other than school, music, and cross country. Not until that night anyways.
         “Who kicked you out?” I ask sitting her down in an arm chair in the living room.
         “My parents,” she tells me. “I know I’ve never told you about them or anything, but we don’t get along. They were never exactly excited about having a daughter who was mental.”
         “Did they hit you?”I ask eyeing her cheek.
         “Yeah,” she says putting a hand to her cheek.
         “Do you want some ice for that?” I ask.
         She nods.
         “What happened to make them kick you out?” I ask handing her the ice.
         “I don’t really know. I’ve being doing good lately. I guess it started when I lost my meet on Tuesday. My dad’s a big sports man, I guess they figured I could make them proud or something by being a start athlete. After I lost the meet my parents found out I haven’t been taking my meds because it cuts off the music and they were pretty pissed. Today we got in an argument about it. My dad hit me, and they kicked me out. Said if I didn’t want their help then I could just leave. I don’t know why I came here. I’m sorry,” she explains.
         “Why are you sorry?” I ask her curiously.
         “For coming here, I’m sorry, I know you don’t want anything to do with me,” she tells me.
         “Adrian, that’s not true, at all,” I tell her.
         “What are talking about? I’m not def!” she reminds me. She’s on the verge of tears again.
         “They’re band jocks, I’m sorry. I never told them any of those things. If anything I told them how normal you really are,” I apologize.
         “Then why didn’t you say something?!?” she asks.
         “Because, because I want to keep the friends I have,” I tell her.
         “Then clearly you have a choice to make it’s me or them,” she says quietly.
          We sit in silence for a while.
         “I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll leave now,” she says.
         “Adrian, you don’t have anywhere else to go, do you?” I ask her.
         “No,” she says.
         “Then stay,” I tell her.
         You can only imagine my parents’ reactions to finding her when they woke up.
         “Who is she?” my mom asks.
         “She’s Adrian,” I tell her.
         “And who’s Adrian? Your girlfriend?” my dad laughs.
         “No, she’s a friend. She’s the bass player I’ve been practicing with so much,” I tell them.”Her parents kicked her out.”
         “Why? Is she pregnant or something?” my mom asks worriedly.
         “No…”I say not knowing how to say it without alarming them.
         “Because I’m insane,” Adrian says getting up.
         “What happened to your cheek?” my mom asks now very alarmed.
         “My dad,” she says looking at her feet.
         “Poor thing,” my mom says hugging Adrian.
         “We ought to call the police,” my dad says sternly.
         “Oh god! Please don’t!” Adrian begs.
         “Why not? Your parents don’t exactly seem to be fit parents,” he scoffs.
         “You try raising an insane child, and then having her twin die,” she says tears returning to her eyes. She looked up at me and I wrapped my arms gently around her. “My brother was normal. And the voices, they weren’t there until after he died. I don’t blame my parents, I’m not easy to take care of.”
         And suddenly, just like that, everything made sense. Her brother was the boy she loved, and she still loves him, but he’s dead.
         Adrian went back home a little while after that. I made her promise to call when she got there, and if her parents wouldn’t take her back she was to come right back to my house. Her parents took her back, and after that I didn’t hear from her until Monday.
         She seemed fine. As normal as ever. The bruise on her cheek was still there, she told kids she fell. Every time we passed in the halls and out eyes met, I saw her waiting for my answer. My decision. Whether to stick out and be friends with her, or to stick to the band like I had for three and a half years. Little did she know, I already had chosen.
         That day we didn’t have full orchestra so I didn’t see her then, but we still had our practice after school.
         “Why is your trombone out?” she asks me as she walks in.
         “We’re playing today,” I tell her.
         “Remember what I told you, I’m not playing that until you learn to use some emotion,” she reminds me.
         “I know,” I tell her.
         “What changed?” she asks suspiciously getting out her bass.
         “I fell in love,” I tell her.
         “You did huh,” she says indifferently.
         “Well let’s see if your bluffing or not,” she says quickly tuning her bass.
         We start the piece, and there is something different about it. It’s hard to describe. It was like the instruments were talking, again. But this time there was harmony and peace, and something else that I just can’t place. I don’t know what it was, but there something profoundly different that time.
         “You’re right,” she says after a moment of silence and the last note finished drifting through minds. “You did fall in love.”
         “Aren’t you going to ask me who?” I ask her waiting in anticipation.
         “No, I’m not,” she tells me.
         “Why?” I ask confused.
         “Because the voices in my head tell me I shouldn’t. It’s rude to be nosy,” she smiles.
         “Since when did you worry about being polite?” I ask.
         “Since the voices told me to,” she tells me.
         “Well then I’ll just tell you,” I say.
         She gives me a look.
         “You Adrian,” I tell her.
         For a second she looks stunned, shocked. She starts to mutter to herself, I can only guess arguing with the voices in her head.
         “I guess this means you choose me?” she asks timidly.
         “Yeah,” I tell her.
         “Well good. My doctors say you’re a good influence on me,” she smiles.
         I kept waiting for her to say she loves me back, but then there was silence.
         “And it doesn’t hurt that I happen to like you,” she smiles.
         I grin at her, and she grins back. And somehow in that silence an agreement was made, we were together from that moment on.
         But of course none of this sat very well with the band and orchestra kids. In fact we were cast out, of pulled apart for days. The guys in band threatened me, and the girls in orchestra kept her busy. But on Thursday we had full orchestra, and well I hesitate to say that something magical happened.
         I believe kids started to open up their eyes that day with the concert just a day away. When we practiced the piece with everyone it was something no one had ever seen before. The sounds came from everywhere and somehow came together to mend into one powerful final push of greatness. And when the song came to an end Ms. Handford broke down in tears, and the band kids and the orchestra kids looked at each other. Adrian smiled at me. But no one said a word.
         Things, well they calmed down, a lot after that. It was weird and honestly no one thought it was exactly possible. And things remained hanging in their weird balance until the next night at the concert when in front of a packed audience the band kids came out for the full orchestra piece. After a bit of shuffling around everyone was in place, Ms. Handford raised her hands and Adrian’s deep rich sound echoed. Her notes dancing around and then mine joined her, and together the sounds danced about the auditorium exploring places it had never seen before. When the movement came to an end there was nothing but silence.
         Ms. Handford quickly ushered the beginning of the next movement and the kids who sat in front of us took off onto the next movement. When the last note of the last movement was called to a close Ms. Handford turned to the crowd and took a deep breath before saying anything.
         “Most of you know about the rivalry between the band and the orchestra here. Well, a few months ago we set out to get rid of it. I, I just wanted to recognize the contributions that your two soloists made to this. If those two kids didn’t find a way to come together and make this work, and believe me things did not look good at the beginning, but they pulled it off and I think those two kids are the people responsible for bringing this music department together again. Would you two just stand up and let them clap for you?” she asks turning back to us and staring right at me and Adrian. I think she’s gonna cry.
         We stood up and the crowd burst into applause. People started to stand up. I looked over at Adrian, she looked like she could explode at any second.
         “You okay?” I ask.
         “NO!” she practically shouts. “And you were flat the entire time!”
         We quickly take a bow and sit down. Adrian grasps her head in her hands muttering things. Meanwhile the rest of the orchestra and band are now standing. Adrian got up and ran off the stage. And just like that she was gone.
         Adrian dropped out I think. Well she never came back. The bass she always used sat in the back room next to all the other ones and no one ever touched it. No one ever heard from her after that night.
         Sure, her sudden disappearance was alarming, but somehow it seemed just like her. She never answered her phone, never called back. I don’t think anyone ever reported her missing, she was just gone. You would think after all that we’d just gone through that it would have been harder on me. But surprisingly it was more of a humbling experience than anything else.
         I graduated that June with the rest of my class. I kept hoping Adrian would show up at graduation, I even called her and told her the details, but she never showed. I started at Berkley the following fall on a full music scholarship. I found Adrian there, well not there; I found a flyer for a concert featuring her.
         Of course I went; it was a big deal and everything. Tickets cost around $50 a piece, so I went alone. Being a college student cash wasn’t exactly something I had a lot of either. But it was worth it to hear her sound again. Of course it wasn’t the same as when she had been playing on the schools beat up bass. She looked different too. She was dressed in black dress pants with black shoes and a white shirt. Her hair was tied back the same way she always had and I could see she still had the bright purple streaks. She looked older and while her playing was still good it seemed less graceful, less willing to come out. After the performance I went back stage to find her.
         “Do you know where Adrian is?” I ask a musician.
         “She’s the one throwing the fit,” the guy says pointing down the hallway. I can hear the shouting. “You know her?”
         “Yeah,” I say quickly making my way down the hall.
         “It’s wrong! It’s wrong! How many times are you going to do it wrong?!?” I can hear her shout.
         “Adrian no one is perfect!” someone says trying to reason with her.
         “But that’s no reason to stop trying!” she shouts.
         “Adrian!” I shout walking in on the argument.
         I find her with the conductor, her bow is still in her hand and she has it pointed at him.
         She turns to me.
         “Remember me?” I ask smiling.
         “Of course,” she says practically tackling me.
         “What happened? It was like you disappeared,” I ask.
         “There was a scout in the audience that night. He talked to my parents. I got a contract with these people and I just couldn’t take school anymore,” she explains. “At least now no one yells at me for not taking my meds.”
         “You should be taking your meds,” the conductor corrects her.
         “Except him,” she says. “But people respect me here.”
         “Why didn’t you ever call?” I ask.
         “The voices, they told me not too,” she says very seriously.
         “The same ones that had you running of the stage that night? You know you’re a legend back there. We both are but everyone knows about you ‘cause you’re the crazy one,” I tell her.
         “Are the band and orchestra still fighting?” she asks.
         “Not really. Some of the hard core people still hate each other, but there’s no more fights or big deal about it,” I tell her.
         “That’s too bad. I always liked the rivalry,” she laughs.
         “Adrian who is this?” the conductor asks.
         “This is my best friend from high school,” she smiles.
         “So this is the man we here so much about,” the conductor says looking me over.
         I give Adrian a look.
         “The voices,” she tells me.
         “Adrian is one of our finest musicians, but I wish she would take her medication so she could be less of a handful and a liability,” the conductor explains to me.
         “Well that’s too bad because I always thought her being a handful made the music better because no one else expects perfection,” I counter him.
         “Well as much as I would love to stay an argue with you I have other things to do,” he says before leaving.
         “What have they done to you?” I ask her as soon as he’s out of the room.
         “These people, they all think I’m this whack job! They’re always lecturing me about being professional and crap, it’s awful,” she tells me sitting down on the ground. “How did you know?”
         “Your playing. It doesn’t sound like it used too. It sounded too forced,” I tell her.
         “You did learn something!” she smiles. “No one else would be able to pick up on something like that.”
         “Thanks. Well listen, Adrian, I should probably take off,” I tell her.
         “It was nice to see you again,” she smiles.
         And that was the last time I ever saw Adrian. Well, technically I saw her many times because her face was soon everywhere. She was famous in the classical music world, but I still think her best work is on a CD I have of our performance that night. No one believes me when I tell them about how I used to know her until I show them that CD. There’s another CD to which she recorded and dedicated to me.
         There’s a big picture of us in the orchestra and band rooms. It’s a picture of me and Adrian from that night after the piece was done and Ms. Handford had us stand up. In the picture I’m smiling and so is Adrian, but her eyes look so lost. And beneath the picture is a brief explanation of who we were and what we did.
         Adrian died at the age of 31. She killed herself. It was all over the news. She just climbed over the rail of a balcony in her hotel room and jumped. I suspect the voices in her head told her too. I was invited to the funeral but I decided not to go. With Adrian’s death a chapter in my life had ended. Things felt complete I guess you could say. I felt freer as if when Adrian was alive she had tied me down, even though we never spoke any more.
         It’s sad though that she killed herself. She was a genius, insane, but a genius none the less. With her death the world suffered a great loss, but I guess it suits her to have gone out in style and young. With her death the War of the Nerds truly came to a close.