F#

Hard chair-sitting, Ellie holds the violin at a sharp angle. I gentle her elbow and with an encouraging smile, move her into correct position.

She goads the bow down the string, another angle, half correct. She looks embarrassed. "You never needed help..."

"I did, and I still do." She breathes in slowly, and I follow.

I gently press her fingers down on the strings, a memory of bow-resin and callouses, a gentle hand over another's, the same way my mother taught me.

Her next note is perfect.