Author's Note: Hey, writers. I decided to take a little break from the Blacktie and Whiteshade series and write this short story from the perspective of a young violinist about his unlikely romance with a troubled young lady. (I might even turn it into another series ;]) I'd call it a romance comedy, with just a few serious moments. Enjoy!!!

November 3rd, 2001. I was 17 years old, and I remember it like it was yesterday. My mother had just dropped me off at the annual Winter Season Recital. It was a cloudy winter's morning and the winds danced in unison to the melancholy tune of Mozart's requiem in D minor. As I made my way to the auditorium, my violin case around my left shoulder, I could feel the beginnings of a light drizzle upon my forehead. "Goodness," I sighed, "Where on Earth did I leave that umbrella?" As the rain began to pour harder and faster, and the winds began to dance zaidi angrily than before, my light trot had become a full-fledged sprint to the auditorium door.

"Hello, Marcus.", smiled Mrs. Watson, my violin instructor, "We're going to be on next. I hope you're ready for that solo." "Hi,", I replied as I wearily extended a single hand, "I-I'm ready." We both let out a light chuckle as we exchanged a gentle handshake. "Marcus?", added Mrs. Watson, "Come on over here I saved wewe a seat....please do try to be on time inayofuata recital." "Uh, okay...thank you."

As I sat down at the end of row two and laid my violin case against the wall, I was delighted to see who I was seated inayofuata to. It was none other than Adam, my "partner in crime", as I called him. Adam was a tall, red-haired dude, a little older than I, yet far less mature on any siku of the week. "Well!", he ejected, "Nice of ya to onyesha up, Marc!" "Shhh!, I warned, "They're about to start the inayofuata piece!" "Geez, Marc." After a few short moments of stage transition, a lone pianist took center stage. Adam had positioned his body such that it was nearly impossible for me to make out the image of the beautiful young lady, about my age, in a wine-colored dress until she had gracefully taken her kiti, kiti cha in front of the piano, and begun to play.

I remember closing my eyes, and marveling at the sheer beauty of Schubert's Serenade. It was as if every note lifted me higher and higher into euphoria. And then it happened. Just as the final notes began to float through the auditorium, the beautiful pianist gave a terrible cry that shakes me to my core even as I write these words. It was as if someone had stabbed her in the side, the way she had collapsed upon the instrument.

"Woah,", laughed Adam, "Did wewe see th-." "Hey man, stop it. Something might be wrong with her.", I protested. "Oh," responded Adam with a slightly amused grin, "You didn't know?" At this point, I was at a complete loss for words. "Dude, that's Amy...Amy Walters. She's a nut. I'm surprised they even let her play this morning, Marc." Adam's jovial explanations of the incident continued to drone on as I skillfully grabbed my violin case and made my way over Mrs. Watson. The crowd was in a state of complete and utter shock, and no one had moved a muscle. "Mrs. W?", I called, "What happened to Amy?" My instructor wore an expression of quiet confusion. "I-I don't know, Marcus...I think she just...I don't know."

kwa this time, the young lady and the kinanda had vanished from the stage, and a lone spectacled man in a red suit koti, jacket took the floor. This was Mr. Jacobs, the recital's director. "Attention everyone! Attention!" The man cleared his throat. "It would appear that we are experiencing some...minor difficulties, and the rest of the recital will have to be cancelled for today. Thank wewe for joining us this morning and we are sorry for the inconvenience. Have a wonderful rest of the day." The distraught audience, including Adam and Mrs. Watson, slowly exited the building with sighs of mild disappointment. I, however, remained standing against the ukuta in the empty and quiet auditorium. Where was that young lady? How was she doing? And what on Earth had caused her to cry out in that manner? Despite the peculiarity of the incident, what stunned me the most was that I was vitally determined to find the answer to all three of these questions...and I had no idea why.

"Hey, kid. wewe gotta leave now. onyesha aint' happenin' today. wewe heard Mr. J." The usher's name was Ralph. I'd seen him at many of these recitals in my time, and he'd never been the sweetest Candy in the jar. I'd have to play it cool if I wanted to find Amy. "Oh, um, hi Ralph.", I replied, "I'm leavin' in just a minute. Gotta go...uh...find Mrs. Watson...and do, uh...that thing!" I couldn't feel my face right then, but I was sure I looked awfully stupid. Then again, this was Ralph I was talkin' to. "Ahhh,", he chuckled, "Alright, Marc...and would ya please tell her to call me later tonight." "Uh, no problem Ralph.", I smiled. I never told her.

Now that I was alone in the theater came the real challenge: Finding Amy. I placed my violin on juu of one of the empty seats in back and headed up to the stage. The curtains were drawn, so I had to crawl my way under them. Man, what a dusty floor! All I remember about those brief moments in the dark threshold behind the curtains was just that: the darkness. After looking around aimlessly for a bit, a dimly lit doorway behind the stage caught my eye. "Gee,", I thought, "Talk about creepy." I stepped through the doorway quietly as not to make a single noise. There was another door at the end of the hallway, and I could see zaidi light pouring through the bottom. Right as I lifted my hand to knock on the door, I stopped myself and began to brush myself off, straighten my tie, and pat my hair down. "Okay, Marcus.", I thought, "This could be Amy...or it could be Mr. Jacobs...or even worse, a closet full of clown masks." Without a single moment passing, I lifted my hand once again, but this time, I knocked.

"Who is it?", sobbed a distressed female voice, "Go away! Leave me alone! I don't want to talk!" My moyo sank as I slowly wrapped my hand around the cold brass doorknob. I reluctantly turned it and opened the door a little...and then some more...and then some more, until I stood looking at a scene that made my moyo sink even further down into my stomach. There sat Amy Walters, her face buried in her arms, crying.

"Uh, hello...I'm-" "I don't care who wewe are! Get out!", cried Amy as she lifted her head to look at me. Her sleek auburn hair still held the radiant quality it had when she had sat down to play her piece, and her caramel-colored eyes peered deeply into my soul. Once again, I was at a complete loss for words. "Uh..um...I-I saw your performance earlier...you were very...skillful...wait no! I mean, wewe played nice...I mean nicely...you played nicely the piano. Er, wewe played the kinanda nicely." I gave a frustrated sigh, and Amy's expression of anger began to soften. "I liked your performance it was good." The small studio had come ablaze with light chuckles, and I thought I saw Amy smile for the very first time. She began to speak, stopped herself, and then began again. "You. I've seen wewe around town. You're...Matthew, right?" "Uh, no I'm actually-" "Oh, yes that's right, Martin!" "Uh..no I'm-" "Marty?" "...I'm Marcus. But most of my Marafiki call me Marc." I thought I saw her blush. "Okay, well, I'm Amy." She nervously extended a pale hand and I extended my brown one. "Uh, it's nice to meet wewe I guess." I couldn't think of anything else to say at that moment. "Nice to meet wewe too...er..Marcus?" "That's right."

At that point, I remembered why I had really come to find her here. I remember clearing my throat before beginning. "Amy? What happened earlier? Why did you-what made wewe have to leave the stage?" The girl's face had become flushed with worry. "Well,", she started, "I just...I had a thought." "Elaborate.", I grinned. "Well, let me just say that I've been having some problems lately. wewe see, my parents...they're never at these recitals." My jaw must've dropped with my surprise at hearing that this was the reason for Amy's breakdown. "Well, my mom didn't come today if that helps." "No, Marcus. wewe don;'t get it. They never come. Ever. And every time I play-" Her voice began to crack a little. "I have to look into the front row and see two empty seats, staring back at me." Amy began to cry once again, zaidi quietly than before. "Okay.", I thought, "What on Earth do I do right now?" Rather than allowing myself to be overtaken with the moment, I placed my hand onto her back and began to coax her gently. "I understand why that could be...difficult." "No wewe don't. They are never around, they don't come to see me play, they never say they upendo me au that they're proud of me, and nothing is ever good enough." All of a sudden, I realized that this girl's problems were far zaidi deeply seeded than I had realized. So, I did the only thing I knew how to do with the aliyopewa circumstances. "Well, Amy,", I whispered, "I think you're amazing, and quite lovely." She stopped crying for a moment a wiped her eyes. "Thank you, Marc. You're very nice....and quite handsome."

A jolt of excitement surged throughout my being and I lifted my hand from her back. "How about some music?", I offered, "No kinanda though." "Alright.", replied Amy quietly. I had seen a rack of old records lying underneath the clock upon entering the room, the record player sitting on juu of it. Whoever this studio belonged to was old school...really old school. I fingered through the records until I found the only one on which I could read the title. "Here we go.", I exuded excitedly as I began to read the title, "Nat King Cole's Unforgettable., a duet with Natalie Cole." "Hmm.", I mumbled, "Sounds like somethin' Gramps listens to." Amy let out that same laughter that I so cherish today. "Put it on, Marc!", she urged. "Alright, alright." I removed the covering from the record and placed it onto the record player before taking a kiti, kiti cha inayofuata to Amy. (with her permission of course) It came as a pleasant shock to me that the machine still worked. The first notes of the tune began to play.

"Wow, this is such a beautiful song.", ametoa maoni Amy as she turned and smiled at me. "Yeah...I guess it's alright." No longer was she the distressed soul I had found crying kwa herself upon entering the studio. She was rather a radiant and enthusiastic Angel of a girl, whom I could not help but smile back at. "You know what?", I alisema impulsively, "Let's dance, Amy." It was like magic the way those caramel-colored eyes lit up and the way those cherry lips curled into a smile I can't even begin to describe with words. "Okay!", she replied as she stood up from her kiti, kiti cha and grabbed my hand. "Here we go." "Marc?", she inquired. "Yes, Amy?" "I've never...danced this way before." "What way?" "You know...this close." "Shhh.", I reassured her, "I've got you." As the song came to a close, I felt her rest her head onto my shoulder and a smooth, soft hand slide down my side before gently taking my own. "Marc?", she whispered once again, "I don't ever want to let wewe go." "I don't ever want to let wewe go either, Amy.", I whispered in return.

To be continued???