An Immaculate Mess

The original piece, the very first writing I published to Vocal.Media allowed me to enter this particular fray of digital creativity. The piece called "Like Luthiers" (https://vocal.media/futurism/like-luthiers-1) sparked this piece because now the metaphor becomes literal here. Enjoy!

With a few cuts into the wood, saw dust rained down and the light caught the particles. The luthier blew away the excess. She swore. A sip from fine whiskey warmed her throat and a light buzz enveloped her. By continuing to piece together the puzzle the viola presented, Bali Battle looked at the time. She made herself a cocoon in the space where the wooden walls sparked her imagination.

Her husband, Rocky Battle walked into the room. He carried a glass of Scotch in his right hand, a pencil twisted between his first and second fingers. 

“That a new one?” he asked.

“Yep,” Bali replied.

“You sure you wanna keep doing this?”

“Yep.”

Bali took another sip and returned to her task. Battle grinned and sipped some potent potable himself. 

“There’s a proverb I learned a long time ago….”

“Can you save it, Rock?”

“Yeah, of course. I know you’re busy.”

“No, say it.”

“It goes, ‘the field ant can carry up to 5,000 times its own weight, but still have trouble just carrying on without the weight.’”

Bali looked severe. “That’s deep Rock. Thanks for that. I think.”

“I can break it down if you’d like….”

“Sure.”

“You see the ant can do arduous tasks and amazing feats, but it sometimes struggles without having the load on its shoulders.”

“Deep.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been at this for three hours,” Battle observed. “You’ve shunned rest and become a recluse. You’ve been building cellos, bass, violins. This viola….”

“This viola is the reason why we can send our children to private school in the state of Delaware.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And of course you have the construction business,” Bali said as she winked her ebony eyes that matched both of their dark complexions. 

Battle swigged from the glass. “You’re right about that. Management does a mind good.”

Bali looked at the strings like they would come to life and lift up a tune and serenade her with their great musical might. She took into her hands the chisel and began to make tiny chops at the body. Her fingers glided over the instrument as Battle sipped and watched his spouse make magic.

Attention and focus drove Bali to continue to work on the piece. With every curve of the musical tool propelled her to keep up her work. Like a robotics engineer, she took to her work with gusto. Her and circuits and wires became wood strings, respectively. 

“You know there’s going to be more demand for luthiers. Of course, there’s going to be people who discard these beautiful things along roadsides and trash heaps, sadly,” he refrained. His face turned downward as he sipped.

“People will do that from time to time,” Bali answered. Her brow furrowed as she dealt with an errant piece of wood protruding from the lower half of the viola.

“Now how did that get there?” she wondered aloud.

Battle looked around the space which looked like an immaculate mess. The various stringed instruments all looked like they had been disemboweled and the dust on some of them appeared as untouched relics from some bygone eon.

“You’ve got this place in order…somehow,” Battle sipped.

“Thanks, Hon.”

“No, I’m serious you’ve got it all together. The work suits you.” He said this without hesitation or sarcasm. He meant it.

“Thanks, again.” She smoothed out the surface of the back of the viola.

“What do you think you could sell that bass for in the back over there?”

“I don’t know. A few thousand,” Bali answered her husband. “Most of those are for clients, anyway,” she sighed. 

“You made some of them from scratch?”

Bali looked up at Battle and nodded.

“Wow,” he sipped a bit more. He inhaled and shook his head. “I think you should stop doing what you’re doing and come to bed. It’s late, Bal’,” Battle suggested.

“I can’t even think about stopping now.”

“You’ve got another week to deliver the thing to the client….”

“Yes.”

“So give yourself some time.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t.”

“Yes.”

Battle shook his head and scoffed.

“Alright, you work your fingers to the bone and what do you get?”

“It’s enough for me, Rock’.”

“I know but you’re working on all of these pieces and you’re barely scraping by. Sure it’s for education but you don’t have much disposable income.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Manager of Delacrete.”

Bali worked at a faster pace. She ensured that the glue had adhered to the proper places hastily but with the same excellent recognition she had provided to the other parts of the device.

“Bali, I’m saying that you’ve got a master's in chemical engineering. You could be a manager over a small crew and still make a bundle with more to spare.”

“I love this, though,” Bali responded, a sincere thrill covering her voice.

 “I get that. Art. I understand. That’s why I still have my guitar. I appreciate you tuning it, by the way.”

Bali looked at him for a long time and then returned to her work. “You’re welcome,” she replied like she reserved gratitude for him and not the other way around.

“All I’m saying is that you can go back to school and get your doctorate. Then, you can really get the cash,” his voice ticked up a few octaves at the end. 

“Money is great. It keeps us from being savages. I don’t make as much as I could as a head engineer at a Fortune 500 company, but I relish every nick, scrape, or cut I receive from doing this.”

“Just don’t count yourself out in any way.”

“Don’t worry, Babe, I’m definitely used to it all,” Bali reassured.

“You wanted to make an impression on your parents, remember?” he queried.

“Yes.”

“They spent all that money for you to become a physician. You told them you were going to be an engineer. They almost retracted the money until they saw how much you can make as a leader in the field of chemical engineering. You most certainly demonstrated yourself upon graduation. You have two advanced degrees. You, yet, want to fiddle with fiddles….”

“Yes.”

Battle sighed. “I want you to be happy. I want you to pursue your passion. But we’ve got twins that want to know they’ll have better opportunities than even we had.”

“And you think I don’t recognize that? You think I’m just toying with these instruments. It’s for the money, yes, and I do fine. But for you to suggest that Ari and Ira are not cared for is uncalled for, Rocky,” she intoned.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I didn’t mean it in that manner. I’m only pointing out that you should reconsider this as a hobby and not your primary source of income. “That’s all,” he walked to her empty glass and picked up into his hand. He then found a table in the space where liquors resided. He looked at Bali and motioned as if she wanted another glass. She shook her head no. He poured himself some more Scotch, neat. 

“I mean you’re very good…no, excellent at what you do. The money is decent but we’re really going to have to plop down more figures to sustain the mortgage, the insurance on the cars, the boys going to college, everything, Bal’.”

“We’re not hurting and I thank you for being the breadwinner, but my soul pines for the wood in my hands. I ache to reap the benefits of my toiling. It fits me. From the timber, the cleats, I know what I’m doing and I’m in love with these instruments.” Bali continued cutting back the bass board. “My minor had been in music exploration and I yearned to one day become part of the Delaware Symphony Orchestra. When I didn’t make the cut, it hurt. But then I just focused on a career ensuring the water systems of this state remain safe and private. Then, I just said I could repair and build those stringed instruments I loved but didn’t quite make the mark in realizing a dream.”

“Yes, you’ve done great but––” Battle started.

“There’s no ‘but.’ I’ve done well because of my ability. I’m aware of it. I could probably found my own orchestra company. It wouldn’t be that difficult.”

“It’s not just the money, Bali. It’s the fact you’re always frustrated at problems you struggle to defeat. You get all agitated for no apparent reason and you lie down with that all in your head.”

“But right now, I feel empowered. I have this burning sense of purpose to nurse these violas, violins, cello, bass, and guitars back to life. I’ve only got a few years left in this life. I’m going to spend them doing what I love. As much as I adore engineering, I happen to cherish this effort to the utmost.”

Battle walked around the workspace. It had been the attic but they converted it into a studio for Bali. On the walls, portraits of world famous musicians popped out like 3-D images. He sipped and strolled while the subtle sound of Bali working on the cleats echoed in the Saturday afternoon air. 

“Damnit!,” she yelped. Rocky turned to his wife. “What is it?” he asked.

“I cut myself and I think I hit a vein,” Bali replied.

“Jesus, Bal! You’re bleeding!”

“You’re an observant one, Mr. Battle,” Bali remarked with a sardonic grin.

“We’ve gotta get you to the hospital,” He mentioned, grabbing some gauze and some hydrogen peroxide.

“I think it’s a bit deeper for the peroxide.”

“They marched down stairs, Bali’s arm, wrapped in gauze, still issuing forth blood.

“Boys, we’re going to go to the hospital, your mother’s had an accident,”

Battle explained.

“Mom, are you alright?” Ari asked. His brother Ira looked on in horror as his father escorted Bali out of the house. The four of them piled into the family’s luxury SUV. The twins had recently earned their driver’s permits which allowed a slightly inebriated Battle to tend to Bali in the backseat. Ira rode shotgun. The air in the vehicle remained fraught with insecurity. No one spoke. Upon arrival at the DelaWhole care center, Rocky found a wheel chair and allowed his wife to sit down in it. The teen boys followed after their parents to the emergency room.

“Yes, uh, my wife just cut herself pretty severely. Can we get some aid for her wound?”

“Absolutely, please fill out these forms.”

“We don’t have time for forms. She’s bleeding out, man!” Battle cried.

“Sir, you’re going to have to lower your voice and remain calm. We will have someone out here in just a moment to bring your wife back to the urgent care unit. Okay?” Nurse Pritchens asked, her eyes searching. 

“Okay. But I’ve got my boys with me….”

‘They’ll be fine. You all will be fine. Just a few minutes. It’s been a day,” Nurse Pritchens commented.

At last, a team of ER nurses rushed Bali to a trauma area. Battle and the twins each sat in their seats. 

“Why don’t you guys get some sodas or some candy,” Battle suggested.

“Sure, Dad. Is Mom going to be alright?” Ira asked, worry slowly creeping up in his voice.

“I know she will. And you and your brother know it, too.”

They sort of huddled together and the two boys then broke it and walked toward the machines. 

“They’ve got a coffee maker. I’d die for a cup of joe right now.”

Battle sort of bit his tongue after realizing his phrasing in a place like this and the condition of his wife. After they had all reaped their haul of sodas and sweets and strong black coffee. 

“You boys stay here, I’m going to the gift shop.” 

 Once Battle returned, the doctor addressed them.

“Mr. Battle?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I’m Dr. Minus. Bali’s doing great. She lost some bloodcould've lost the tip of her first finger but with enough rest and if the stitches hold, she’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The smiles on the faces of the boys allowed for Battle to understand the truth of what could have been a grave situation. 

“You’re able to visit with her now,” Nurse Pritchens announced.

At her bedside, her boys looked on at her and wondered how she felt.

“I’m more than okay. I’m catching up on true crime episodes.”

 Battle planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead. And laid flowers by her side. Her voice seemed faint but evident. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

“Are you going to continue being a luthier?” Ari asked.

“Let this be a lesson to you both,” she sat up more in her bed. “You’ve gotta love, even when it hurts. The pain I felt today and a bit right now even, will never detract my will to work. In fact, it only enhances it. I’ll be more careful in the future. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be a luthier until I die.”

“And that won’t be until a long, long time,” Battle replied.

The family could hear in the back a violin playing softly, its volume increasing with every step.

“I made a phone call while I was getting the flowers,” Battle mentioned.

The sweet strings didn’t bother anyone else on the unit. The violinist, Monroe Vincent, finished his piece and some scattered applause rose up from the unit. 

Battle shook Vincent’s hand. “Thanks for that, man. We needed that.”

“Encore! Encore!” A voice just strong enough broke through the din of machines and families talking with their loved ones. Vincent put his chin on the rest and began to play another tune with exquisite purpose.