Read Online Anomaly by Krista McGee - Free Book Online Page A

would she say if she were here?
    “Thalli, you were designed to bring the beauty of music to our pod. You make us productive, you stimulate our brains. How can you do that if your own brain is filled with such superfluous thoughts?”
    Rhen is right. And now I have moved from thinking about love to having imaginary conversations with my pod mate.
    I go to my violin. I need to play. Even if I am the only one whose mind is stimulated.
    I lift up the violin and place it beneath my chin. Just the feel of the smooth wood comforts me. My fingers flex. I need to play something fast, so fast that all I can think about is getting the bow from one string to the next. I want to play something slow, something that reminds me of my “stairwell moment” with Berk.
    But I know I should not. Perhaps if I learn to control my emotions, my errant thoughts, the Scientists will allow me to live. I wouldn’t even mind if I had to live here, like John, a prisoner of the Scientists. Especially if my captor were Berk.
    Play, Thalli .
    And so I do. I play the difficult pieces I learned as a child. Pieces designed to improve my dexterity and my sight-reading skills. I don’t even have time to think about anything else. I close my eyes and forget where I am. I am just playing. I am doing what I was designed to do. I relax. My arm seems to be moving on its own. I listen, enjoying the sounds of the music, the feel of the bow in my hand, the strings underneath my fingers.
    But I don’t want to play. Not by myself. I think of John, all alone. When was the last time he heard music? No one seemed to notice my previous visit to his room. Maybe this hallway doesn’t have cameras, as I suspected. Or if it does, maybe thosemonitoring them think that I will be annihilated, so talking with John is not a problem.
    I take my violin and bow and open my door. The last Monitor did not bother to lock the door.
    I go to John’s room and show him my violin. “I need an audience.”
    John rubs his hands on his knees. “I’m thrilled to be your audience, maestro.” He smiles. I don’t know what maestro means, but it seems like something nice. I lift the violin to my chin and begin to play.
    I play something slow and soothing for John. He closes his eyes. I have never seen that reaction in anyone but myself. When I play for the pod, they just sit and watch. Sometimes they pull out their learning pads to accomplish a task. But they never really enjoy what I am playing. No more than I enjoy Rhen’s logical solutions to problems or Gen’s mechanical innovations.
    My arm is tired. But John is so happy. I recognize the look on his face. I know it has been on mine. He is lost in the music. It is speaking to him. So I fight through the fatigue and keep playing. With renewed energy, I play the piece that changed my future. I don’t know why. I should not like this piece. But I find I need to play it. I must. And though I have only seen the music once, I have memorized every note.
    As I begin the first strains of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” John’s eyes fly open. He stands and puts his hand to his mouth. I stop playing.
    “No, please.” John sets his hand over his heart. I am afraid he is going to die. I don’t know what to do. “That song . . . my wife walked down the aisle to that song. Played by a string quartet. Please continue.”
    I have so many questions. Walked down the aisle? String quartet? But I do not ask. John is transported to another place in time. He remains standing, but his eyes are closed, his hand still over his heart. He is swaying to the music with tears slipping down his wrinkled face and becoming absorbed in the white hair on his cheeks.
    I cry with him. I don’t know why, but his emotion becomes mine. It is love that makes him cry. It is painful, obviously, but not the same kind of pain as a sore arm or a blistered finger. This pain seems almost pleasurable. He doesn’t want to avoid it or seek a solution for it. I slow the