And yet, as the woman played, she was talking, as if on a lazy morning stroll.
“You have a very pretty tone. And I notice you play just a little sharp. You’re a bit of a diva, aren’t you?”
Katrina had heard the term “diva” in drag and queer circles, but here, in the context of music, the sound of it made something inside her swoon.
“It’s fine to be a diva,” the woman said with a wink. “But you have to own it.”
And then, where there had been the practice exercises, suddenly there was music. Katrina could still recognize the original exercises, but now there seemed to be two violins. And now there were three …
The music was sunrise, permeating the park. People stopped midsentence, midstroll to listen. Even the ducks seemed to stop squabbling.
The music was every hope Katrina had abandoned, every dream she had released. It was hamburgers on the grill, fruit punch in the cooler, a bag of Costco beef jerky for everyone. It was dancing without knowing the steps and not caring. It was her mom holding her, her dad calling her his little girl.
And then, it stopped.
“Whoops. I guess I got carried away,” the woman mumbled.
Katrina’s eyes focused on the woman before her. Her breath was shallow, and her body was shaking and unsteady.
Slowly, carefully, she sat back down. She was perspiring. But when Katrina touched her, she was ice-cold.
“Are you okay?” Katrina asked. “Should I call a doctor?”
“No. No.” The woman winced. Her eyes seemed focused on something distant.
“It’s just a friendly reminder … that my playing days are over.”
The woman gently handed back her violin.
“My name is Satomi.” She coughed. “Water.”
Katrina handed a bottle to her. She took a sip, and another. Color slowly returned to her face.
“Thank you. I used to be a violinist. But now I’m a teacher.”
The woman looked closely at Katrina, and Katrina panicked. She was bracing to hear, “Wait, you’re a boy.”
Instead, the woman’s gaze never changed.
“And I could teach you.”
Katrina’s heart skipped a beat. To be able to play like that? To make music that could do that?
But private lessons?
Katrina looked around. The sun had set, and the trees and buildings were now jet-black against the fiery evening sky. The badminton players were already warming up in the gym.
Soon the park lights would come on, and the softball people would be playing softball.
In the meantime, Katrina didn’t even have a place to live.
“I don’t think so,” she said softly. “I mean, thank you. But no.”
Katrina gathered her stuff and made ready to leave.
But the woman reached into her purse, took something out, and put it in Katrina’s hand. It was her business card.
“Shizuka Satomi. Please come see me. Or you can meet me here,” she offered. “Maybe next week?”
“Maybe,” Katrina heard herself say.
5
It was nearly dark when Evan finally let her inside. Inside was more cat hair, more smell. Evan showed her the sofa. He pushed some boxes of queer paraphernalia to the side.
“You can put your bags on there when you aren’t sleeping. Um … how long are you going to be here?”
Katrina could only shrug.
Evan rolled his eyes. “Skylar!” He shouted to his roommate, who wore clothes with a lot of patches.
“This is the Katrina I was talking about.”
Skylar glanced up. Katrina was about to introduce herself, but Skylar went back to her phone. Evan went back to his phone, as well.
Not much later, Skylar’s friends Jewel and Ethan arrived. Apparently, there had been plans for dinner.
“How about hot pot? I just discovered this vegan place on Yelp that is totally authentic,” said Jewel.
“Show me?” Evan looked at Skylar’s phone.
“I was there,” Ethan declared. “I think there were Mexicans cooking in the back.”
The two of them laughed at the thought of Mexicans in a Chinese kitchen.
Eventually, they decided to order vegan pizza. Katrina offered to buy. It was not exactly in her budget, but she was a new guest.
Once they heard that, they added toppings and ordered some wings.
This happened the night after, and after. They ordered vegan pizza. They smoked. They talked about shows they were binge-watching. They smoked. Once in a while, someone would mention some sort of creative project. They’d either dismiss it or say it was badass and fierce, and then they talked and smoked some more.