Nicholas Georger

With midday approaching and her morning chores behind her, Grete had finally found an opportunity to play.  She moved the chair resting next to her door to the center of the room, retrieved her violin from the stand beside her bed, and sat down. She positioned her violin between her chin and shoulder blade, and gently struck the bow against the strings.  The melody it produced was soft and slow, and Grete’s delicate motions matched the pace of the tune.  As she played, she tapped her foot in time with the music and the colors swimming across the inky blackness of her closed eyelids began to dance and swirl to the harmony that engulfed her room.  Suddenly, however, Grete’s concentration was broken by a knock at the door.

            “Who’s there?” shouted Grete.

            “It’s Gregor, open up.”  With a flustered sigh, Grete put down her violin and got up to open the door.

            “What do you want?” inquired Grete.

            “I came to watch you play.” With glass of milk and sandwich in hand, Gregor attempted to step into the bedroom, but Grete denied him entry.

            “Don’t even think about bringing any food in here! I just finished cleaning.”

            “Come on, can’t your dear brother be treated to a meal and a concert on the last day before his business trip?”

            “Fine, just make sure not to get any crumbs on the floor.” Grete returned to her chair and readied her violin once more.  Gregor grabbed another spare chair that sat beside Grete’s bed and placed it front and center before her.  Gregor then set his glass of milk on the floor and began eating his sandwich as Grete started to play.

            This piece was performed at a considerably faster pace than her previous one; it was a wild concerto that had her digits dancing madly along the fingerboard as her bow struck the chords with rapid precision.

            As she played, Gregor imagined Grete onstage in front of a packed concert hall, the spotlight shining down on her as she graced the audience with an immaculate rendition of Vivaldi’s “Spring”.  Every gaze in the building would be transfixed upon her as her violin brought to life images of blooming flowers, flowing streams, and cloudless skies.

            Gregor’s daydream was finally brought to an end by the completion of his sister’s performance.

            “Bravo!” Gregor exclaimed as he stood up from his chair and clapped enthusiastically.  Grete immediately responded by rolling her eyes, but quickly conceded and returned Gregor’s standing ovation with an equally enthusiastic bow.

            “Satisfied?” Grete questioned glibly.

            “Absolutely! That was wonderful! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pack.” Gregor gulped down the last of his milk and made his way towards the door.

            “Hey, don’t forget to wake me before you leave tomorrow, okay?”

            “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t leave town without saying goodbye to my little sister.”

            “Than-” Before Grete could finish, she felt a collection of tiny breadcrumbs prickling the bottom of her foot.

            “Gregor, I told you not to make a mes in here!” Gregor flashed a sly smirk as he fled Grete’s room, shutting the door behind him.

            That was the last time she saw Gregor smile.

******

                Grete remembered when milk was Gregor’s favorite drink.  Now, it seemed that he had no taste for it at all. The basin of milk and bread she had left for him had been untouched, and she couldn’t help but wonder why.  She was certain that the strain caused by this ordeal of his would have instilled Gregor with a fierce appetite.  But then again, maybe he didn’t even need to eat.  Grete had yet to get a good look at Gregor since his transformation. What had he become, exactly? Was he some sort of monster?  That couldn’t be, that sort of thing only happens in books.  This was real life; how could such a thing be possible?

            As Grete pondered these questions, she began to sweep Gregor’s floor.  Whatever Gregor was, she was sure that he’d at least appreciate the fact that his room was kept tidy.

            Then, in the midst of cleaning, Grete spotted the cloth samples resting on the table.  The sight of them made her recall how Gregor had slowly grown more melancholy since taking the job as a travelling salesman.  He became withdrawn, spending most of his time isolated in his bedroom.  When he’d come down to dinner, he hardly said a word to anyone and stared down at his meal, seemingly lost in thought.  Grete wondered if the constant travelling had begun to tax Gregor beyond his limits.  She wondered if he liked anything about his job at all. She wondered how long it had been since Gregor was happy.

            Grete then remembered her violin.  She remembered how her performances made Gregor smile; how, years ago, he would take the time to watch her play.  But, what if Gregor heard her play again?  Would that snap out of whatever spell he was under? It seemed like ages since she had performed, and maybe that was part of the reason why Gregor had slipped into such a sorry state.  Maybe if she played again, everything would go back to normal.  Gregor would return to his old self, and he’d watch Grete recite sonatas and concertos while drinking milk and wating sandwiches that left crumbs on her clean floor.  Maybe, once she started playing again, everything would be alright…