Personal Narrative: My First Violin

I started playing violin when I was 5 years old. The first time I ever picked up a violin and plucked a string, I fell in love. I nearly pulled the string away from the fingerboard and the sound was loud and obnoxious, but I loved it. I took 2 lessons a week with a private instructor that cost way more than my family could afford, and eventually, I could play complex and beautiful pieces. I’ve gone through so many instruments and bows that by the time I was old enough to have a job, I was working long hard hours for weeks on end in order to afford to replace my old instrument. Every violin I had was given a name. My first violin was named
Charles, after my late grandfather who gave it to me. He was a master violinist, and I could only
hope …show more content…
I don’t know how I can show my appreciation,” I head for the door and push it open. I pause and look back to say something else, but he’s already turning away. Before his back is to me, I see part of a sinister smile spread across his face. I decide to shut my mouth and keep walking.
As I’m driving back home, I keep glancing to my side to look at my new violin. I realize that Cal didn’t even give me a chance to open it or help me name it, which he usually insists on helping with. I feel a chill run down my spine and I can’t get the image of that twisted smile out of my mind.
I pull up to the curb outside my apartment building, and I pause to look at the case seated on the passenger side of my car. I grab it and carry it inside, almost tripping on the stairs up to my apartment. I set it on my kitchen counter and toss my keys into the small basket I keep below my light switch. I hesitate before switching the clasps open, thinking of how Cal gave me this. He never acts like that and I tell myself that maybe he’s just had a rough