When my mother lifted the borrowed viola out of its case, time seemed to stand still. She raised the bow and gently drew it across the strings, the note penetrating the quiet of the room and piercing my soul. The sound was imperfect as my mother hasn't been playing for long, but it still held me captivated. When she had finished my brother intervened, but he handled the viola with roughness, carelessness.
"May I?" I begged, holding out my hands to receive the wooden instrument, but it was a further few minutes before he surrendered it to me.
I copied my mother's pose as best I could, resting the base beneath my chin. The position felt awkward, and all the more so when my mother corrected me, but the sound the viola produced when the bow grazed against the strings was heavenly. My left arm ached, and the bow felt far to long for me, but I loved every moment.
I have wanted to learn the violin for so many years, and my few minutes on the viola was, I believe, the start of something. It gave me an idea of how to handle the instrument and how challenging it will be to learn, but overall the experience inspired me not to give up on my dream. One of these days I will learn.