Hiroshima Dreams by Kelly Easton

Hiroshima Dreams by Kelly Easton

Author:Kelly Easton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group


I look forward to orchestra and seeing Ms. Nga, the one person I know at this school. But she isn’t in the orchestra room. I hesitate at the door, then make my way to the front so there’ll be room for my cello. I hear whispers. “Ms. Nga is getting married.”

She told me last lesson that she was engaged, but hearing it again makes me feel sad inside, like the time I saw the Strausses’ orange cat lying in the street, unmoving.

The whispers grow into loud talking. Five minutes pass. A couple of students put their instruments back in their cases.

Finally, Ms. Nga comes in. She holds her finger up to her mouth and gives a fierce look at the students, who grow silent, immediately.

She passes out sheet music. The students lift their instruments, and we begin to play a simple piece, Musette, by Bach. Metaphor: the orchestra is an old man limping through a street.

I play lazily along with everyone else and focus on getting home to Obaachan.

In the middle of the song, Ms. Nga sets down her baton hard. If I didn’t know her, I would be scared, like my first day with Sister April, who ended up being nice. “You play as if you’re watching TV!” She stares into her space, her mouth hanging open, her hand mechanically playing an invisible violin. “Where is the feeling?” Her eyes dart to me. “Lin. Come here.”

I think, She noticed my laziness; now I will be in trouble.

“Bring your cello.”

I pick up my cello. She grabs a chair and sets it facing the class. “Play Bach’s Suite number 2. With feeling.”

I can feel all the eyes on me. My mouth goes dry. Anger makes my heart pound. This is my first day and Ms. Nga is calling attention to me! Doesn’t she know me?

I focus my eyes on the floor and say my mantra.

“Go ahead.”

I always dread that first note, but then I get caught up in the music, so I’m sorry when the song comes to a finish.

I look up. The class is applauding, smiling, nodding their heads at me, and I am permanently visible.



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