A/N: Okay, this came to me as I was practicing my violin this afternoon. Had to write it. You don't have to review it. I just had to get it out there. But I do hope you enjoy it.
Concerto
He considered the violin. It was tiny, no bigger than his forearm, a one-quarter sized violin. The bow was as long as the body of the miniature wooden instrument.
Sophie Grissom squirmed in her father's lap, mussing up the pale lavender dress that her mother had selected that morning for this all-important concert. It was Sophie's first, and she was nervous, gripping her dad's hand as she slipped off his lap to retrieve her violin.
"Wish me luck, Daddy." She whispered into his ear.
"Good luck, baby." He whispered back, helping her to the ground. Sophie picked up the violin and tucked it under her arm.
Her gleaming black patent-leather Mary-Janes tapped softly on the wooden floor of the recital hall. Grissom smiled at her as she tentatively lifted the violin to her chin, set the bow on the string, and scratched out the notes to 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.' She missed half of the notes and the half that she did get right came only after much deliberation. The violin was weak-sounding and whiny. Grissom couldn't have been prouder.
She used a half-size violin now. The sound was better than that of her quarter-sized violin, and she'd moved on to a more challenging song. "Wish me luck, Daddy." The seven-year-old clasped his hand.
As he did every single time that she had a concert, he wished her luck. The dress for this concert was a soft periwinkle, her silky brown hair pulled back with a matching headband.
Still as nervous as the first time she'd ever hefted the violin in front of a strange crowd, Sophie closed her eyes and eked out Hunter's Chorus, followed by her second selection, a bouree by Bach.
The crowd clapped politely when she'd finished and Sophie ran back to her dad.
Sophie had just learned third position. It was a big step. It meant that she was moving up in the world of violinists. Her piece for this concert was Vivaldi's Concerto in A Minor, a standard piece for violinists displaying their skills in third position for the first time.
He'd wished her luck, of course, before she'd walked to the stage, this time with a modicum of confidence. The newly minted eleven-year-old was clothed in a spring-green skirt and matching top. All Grissom could see was the five-year-old who'd first nervously stood on the same stage.
The three-quarters-size violin was getting to small for her, Grissom observed. The angle of her elbow was too sharp and her fingers had to cramp to prevent the notes from sliding out of tune. Grissom watched in wonderment as his daughter manipulated the strings of the wooden box and coaxed out a rather nice rendition of the well-known Vivaldi concerto.
He beamed.
She used a full-sized violin tonight.
This was big, Grissom reminded himself as he suffered on the uncomfortable bleacher seats in the middle school gym. His butt hurt like hell, but damn it, his daughter was playing and he was staying here until she finished. Tonight is important, he chanted inside his head. Tonight is Sophie's debut as concertmistress. All black for a concertmistress, he noted.
In a rather silly display of showmanship, the orchestra director insisted that they follow the same ritual that the high school went through. The orchestra sat patiently, minus two people.
First, Sophie came from the side, stood on the conductor's podium, lifted her violin, signaling to the clarinet that he should give the orchestra an a. Once the orchestra was tuned, the conductor took his place on the platform.
Sophie glanced up at her dad. Wish me good luck. She mouthed.
Good luck. He mouthed back.
The seats were more comfortable tonight. They were still no pleasure to sit on, but were better than the stiff wooden bleachers.
Grissom eyed the program again. There she was, in all her black-and-white pictured glory. Sophie Grissom, performing Bach's Concerto in A minor. It gave her biography. Sophie mentioned her father as the driving force behind her decision to pursue a career in music.
The eighteen-year-old had borrowed one of her mother's gowns. This one was dark, hunter green with a floor-length skirt and a scoop-neck.
She would leave for Julliard at the end of the month.
The seats were considerably more comfortable in the brand new Las Vegas Symphony Hall. The tickets were considerably more expensive, and the dress code was considerably heightened. Grissom was dressed in a tux, waiting backstage with a bouquet of roses. Yellow, Sophie's favorite. "Daddy!" She flew to him, the train of her long red gown flowing behind her. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck, baby." He handed her the roses and kissed her forehead.
Sophie took a deep breath and turned to the wings to exit onto the stage.
He had believed it unlikely that he would live to see this moment. He was no spring chicken when Sophie was born. But she was only twenty-two when she had little Tara.
Tara was squirming in his lap, wrinkling the pale lavender dress her mother had selected for her very first concert.
"Wish me luck, Grandpa." She whispered into his ear.
"Good luck, baby." He whispered back.
The End
A/N: So, I hope you guys enjoyed my story. As always, reviews are appreciated but not necessary. Also, if anyone was wondering, I had Sara in mind as the mother, but the reason I didn't mention her except for once, was because the focus of the story was on Grissom's relationship with his daughter. Not that I was trying to paint Grissom as a single father, but because I wanted to show how close he was to his daughter.
Corey