Dynamics

By L.B. Dale

Mr. Mozart

Evie Cornell was sitting at the tiny desk, not knowing how she ended up there. It was uncomfortable, with her legs barely able to fit that her right leg was dangling over the wooden arm rest of the seat. There was a look of utter confusion on her face, her amber eyes scanning around for any other human being, but the large and empty gymnasium was void of any life but her own.

It was odd, for she could have sworn she was sitting by her coffee table a moment ago, building a library out of firm tofu blocks. She wondered where on earth she was, yet she still felt the familiar pressure of anxiety weighing down on her chest despite the fact that she had no idea what she was being tested for.

Just as she was about to wriggle out of the questionably tiny pupil desk, out of nowhere, a floating white gloved arm materialized in thin air, holding a thick packet of papers.

The packet had been slammed down in front of her, causing Evie to elicit a tiny shriek before eyeing the gloved arm curiously. There was no body attached to it, no face to identify it with, but the fact that it was simply a floating arm bothered her little. All she was concerned over was that she had definitely seen that gloved arm before. She had seen it before, known it… but how?

“What are you—“Her voice was easily overtaken by a low, booming voice that echoed throughout the entire gymnasium.

“Write or you fail.”

Evie began writing.

She wrote down everything she could think of – questions asking why she was being tested, what she was being tested about, quoting paragraphs directly from the one page of fiction she had begun to write over two years ago. She even wrote side comments on how adorable Aristotle looked in his little elf costume back in Christmas. There was an air of confidence that fueled her scribbling, a sense of determination in her to pass with at least a C.

Frowning with deep concentration, she bit her bottom lip, scribbling furiously as she changed the topic from her miniature dachshund to writing a recipe on how to make the perfect pizza. As she continued to write, however, she found it harder to concentrate when a hazy sound began to fill the bare room. Evie sighed in frustration, her attention diverted from the pen that should have been writing. As she perked her head up in a feeble attempt to make out the noise, it grew clearer by the second.

The piano again? Why were they playing classical music during the exam?

And as if the mysterious voice had heard her thoughts, he replied in his booming voice.

“To relax you, madam.”

“Relax? Relax?” she yelled. Her voice had elevated to keep from being taken over by the increasing volume of the piano. It played angrily, each passing note violent and filled with loathing. God, she couldn’t stand it.

“HOW CAN I RELAX WHEN THIS CRAP IS ABOUT TO MAKE MY EARS—“

“—BLEED?”

Seconds later, Evie blinked several times and turned her head to look around, realizing that she was now in her room and sitting up on the bed. It took a moment for her to realize that she really was awake this time and not stuck in some random sequence of dreams. She had already begun to forget most of what she dreamed about, but the emotions still remained and caused her to take a deep breath. The music begun to play again, only this time, the tune was a deal more cheerful than the aggressively angry one she heard in her sleep.

There he goes, again. Playing that damned classical music as if everyone living within the vicinity was actually interested in listening with him… or playing it without a care as if they were the hearing impaired. He did this every day. Playing whatever CD collection of classical music he had. It was no help that the walls that separated them were thin, and even if she had made any noise herself, his wretched music would simply drown it out.

Was this her punishment for failing in life? To be assigned a home below Beethoven and to have to put up with the incessant piano melodies? Why couldn’t he have been interested in something more contemporary, something she would not have minded listening to? Alternative rock would have been more welcoming. Sighing, she let her eyes drift lazily to the side to glance at the clock.

She let out a loud curse, throwing the blanket to the side as she slipped out of bed to dash toward the bathroom to freshen up.

Even as she attempted to drive the piano out of her ears with the rapid motions of the toothbrush, Evie could still hear the music playing upstairs. The music he chose to listen to this time fit with the speed of her rushing, the quick and flighty pace of the piano keys actually stimulating her tooth brush to go into rhythm with the melody. When she caught herself doing this, an unflattering scowl grew across her face.

“Augh, wou- you stob?”

A line of white foam travelled down her chin as she glared up at the ceiling. Her poor attempts were naturally ignored, leaving her more irritated as she carried on with scrubbing her teeth and gums raw.

It played still even after she had been fully dressed in her work clothes; when she attempted to tame her knotted curls; while she did her best to apply eye liner and mascara without poking herself through agitation; when she had a few minutes to make herself a cup of coffee...

Eventually, she had stormed out of the apartment, glaring daggers at the door upstairs since it was the only thing she could do for the moment. Later, she vowed. Later, she would deal with Monsieur Mozart.

-

“Evie hurry it up! These customers have been waiting for order thirty three!”

Frowning, she glanced at the order on the paper request. “I’m already on it, sir,” she lied, though promised herself to make sure to work on it as soon as she finished with pouring pizza sauce. Number thirty three had only been requested ten minutes ago, she thought irritably.

She had been in the back kitchen for the past eight hours, a film of grease and sweat on her face and neck from the all the humidity and labor spent fulfilling nineteen orders. Twenty four attempts for nineteen orders, to be exact, when her mind had occasionally drifted beyond that of the Villa Sicily pizzeria and resulted with five burnt pizzas. She was infamous for constantly day dreaming; only today her mind had been increasingly distracted to the point where it interfered with work.

It was a terrible mistake to agree to help her father run the business. If Evie had known what was to be in store for her, to have been practically stuck here with no means of escape or progression, she would have perhaps reconsidered her father’s suggestion.

No, she thought grimly. I would have ended up working here anyway. This was safe – a guarantee that would always leave her with a paycheck if her chosen career-path had not provided her with enough money to live off of. Either way, she would always have her father to fall back on. This decision allowed her to move out of the house early to live in an apartment close to work. Her father was even paying for her electricity bill.

Financially, she was safe. The idea of it was meant to reassure and cheer her up a little, but instead, Evie felt nauseous.

Why couldn’t she have been more focused, more willing to try something a bit more stable like a journalist or at least become an English teacher? If she had not hated children so much, teaching would have been a possibility.

But of course, with her fickle mind, she could not decide on anything other than a writer. Writing promised her the freedom of engineering alternate universes, of creating the perfect mysteries, twisted plots, and creating imperfect but highly complex individuals. She could escape into her own reality, if only for a moment to leave the mundane hell she currently lived in.

But as it was obvious, she had barely enough time to clean her apartment, let alone write.

Humming an annoying commercial furniture store jingle he heard on the radio earlier, Julian Cornell was on his way to pay his daughter a visit. There was the scent of something burning again, the reason for his sixth visit to the kitchen to get the young woman back in line. It also reminded him that the smoke alarms needed to be replaced.

A huge cloud of smoke welcomed him upon opening the double door. The humming stopped, the very last tune caught in his throat as he nearly choked at the full blow of the smell of something burning.

The entire kitchen was blurred with white fog, most of the smoke escaping through the cracks of the large oven where nerve-racking hisses and boils could be heard. Evie, being completely lost in her thoughts, had her back facing him, elbow rested against the counter to support her weight while her other hand held up a large ladle parallel to her body. Red sauce had poured down the handle and onto her hands, where it had begun to form a jagged red stain around the cuff of her white sleeve. The entire place could have burned entirely and still she would have paid no attention.

“EVELYN!”

Evie jumped a half foot off the ground, dropping the sauce ladle to the floor as she spun around to face her father. The color of his face could rival that of the sauce on her sleeve. Upon realization, her amber eyes grew wide as saucers when she finally absorbed the atmosphere around her. “I-I’m really sorry… I just got—“

“Don’t just stand there! Turn that oven off before you burn us all to the ground!”

Immediately she made for the oven and quickly turned the knob all the way. She was about to place her hand on the handle to open it when her father grabbed her upper arm. She shook her head in protest, “No, your arm’s still—”

“Just get out of here and wait on the tables,” he said, sounding cross, “I’ll take care of this mess.” At the tone of his voice, Evie had no choice but to obey, leaving the kitchen thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed.

It had taken her father an hour and a half to clear the oven, mop the floor where Evie had spilled pizza sauce, and clear most of the smoke by putting the vent on high power. The entire pizzeria still smelled of smoke however, causing many of the customers to constantly send worried glances in the direction where the kitchen was located. Evie had received the end of all questions, reassuring every single person and those who had just arrived that things were under control.

Eventually, as the night grew later, there were even less customer walk-ins and delivery calls, giving her the freedom to begin cleaning up without interruption. Since leaving the kitchen, she had avoided going to the back to face her father alone. Up front was where she was safest, and she knew he would not dare scold her even if no one else was around.

As she continued to sweep, she heard the jingling bells of the entrance.

“Whoa…” she heard the familiar voice utter in surprise.

The voice belonged to Quincy Evans, a blue-eyed blond male nurse who happened to be the same age as her. He was also a regular customer of Villa Sicily and a good acquaintance who had formed the habit of making regular visits to simply vent over his nocturnal lifestyle. “What happened?” Staring at her with an odd look, it was obvious that it was not just the smell of the pizzeria he was concerned about.

“Um, don’t worry about it,” Evie tried to play off nonchalantly, though her blush gave her away. Eyeing her suspiciously, Quincy decided to leave it alone and shrugged, taking his usual spot on the table by the register.

They spent under a half hour talking, Quincy contributing more to their chat, letting out his usual frustrations over difficult patients and complaining about the changes in his sleep schedule. Evie listened, though her attention wasn’t fully with him.

“Is there any food, or should I remind you tomorrow that you owe me for tonight?”

“I have leftover Chinese from next door…”

Quincy grimaced. “No thanks. Their vegetables taste like formaldehyde.”

“They taste fine to me,” Evie shrugged. “How do you know what formaldehyde tastes like?”

“I don’t. But I get that exact same kind of nausea when I used to dissect animals in biology class. Which reminds me, have you seen a dead-looking guy in a hospital gown at all today?”

“No…” she replied with a half smirk. “Why, did someone wake up from the dead, Mr. Night Owl?”

“You could say that. Someone had actually woken up in the morgue before the doctor could dissect him. Really, though. If you see him, you’re supposed to call either the hospital or the police. He’s been gone since this morning, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still around here somewhere… The doctor fainted,” he added, smiling lopsidedly. “I would have too, if I were him.”

“You’re kidding!” Evie laughed, also slightly disturbed with the thought of a zombified-looking man roaming the street.

“I’m dead serious. So, are you going to tell me or are we going to continue to ignore it?”

“Ignore what?”

“You’re looking a little dead yourself,” Quincy commented, bringing up a pointer finger to point her up and down. “You could even pass for a serial killer too.”

“Huh?” Confused, she walked over to the register and grabbed the metal pizza pan that hung on the wall to look at her reflection. The face she saw was distorted, though she could still make out the frizzy light brown hair, the specs of pasta sauce on her cheeks and neck, the baggy eyes… “Oh.” No wonder customers had been staring at her earlier. “I uh… it’s been a long day.”

“No kidding.”

“I’ve been feeling… I don’t know,” she lied, covering it with a long sigh. “It’s been one of those weeks where I feel – stuck.”

“Take a vacation.”

“I wish it were that easy. I barely have enough time for myself anymore, with my dad straining his arm last week and leaving me with most of the kitchen work. A vacation just isn’t possible right now.”

“You’ll just have to bear with it for now,” he said, giving her a light pat on the shoulder. “Can’t all be that bad?”

Later that night, Evie had expected Aristotle to greet her at the door, pawing at her knees and tugging at her pants but then remembered that she had left him with Aira to dog-sit. It would have been most welcome, but when she stepped inside the apartment, the music from upstairs was all that greeted her.

She half-groaned and half-cried, dropping her keys onto the coffee table but missed by a few inches. It was late, and after hours of labor in the kitchen, she decided to worry about picking it up in the morning.

“God, would you shut up…” she mumbled toward the ceiling before letting her weight fall onto the couch. The man was playing the usual rapid and almost cheerful music she heard on a nightly basis, nothing but the sounds of the piano. She wondered why he listened to just the piano, and not the violin or flute. Not like she preferred to listen to either, but that was not the point.

Exhausted, her last coherent thought had ended with her wondering, in some alternate universe, if she would have been able to keep her sanity if the man upstairs had preferred classical French horn instead.

-- Note -- Sorry if the beginning was a little confusing, but hopefully you continued reading and realized that it was a dream. Well, if not, you wouldn’t be reading this right now because you probably clicked back to find something else to read, ahaha… -ahem- The dream may seem random, but I promise that there's meaning to it. You'll find out in later chapters.

Reviews are always welcome. :D