The walls were covered in negative space. That's a term I'd learned from Tiffany. I layed on my baren matress in the middle of the floor of the living room. I'd moved there after I turned the one bedroom into a sort of library.

   But now I was getting up. Something I hadn't planned on doing that day. However, my screaming bladder convinces me otherwise. So brought myself forward and walked over to the window looking over the street. It was snowing today and I had no idea if I was going to be able to make it to Tiffany's art studio today.

   After a well deserved shower I began cleaning up around the apartment. A few loose sketches of Tiffany's layed on the coffee table. I had taken a liking to them and she gladly let me steal them from her. I hung them on the wall and smiled to myself. I walked over to the stereo next. I Tchaikovsky, Serenade for Strings in C Major. My personal favorite.

   The sad melody made my movements slow and graceful. I walked with conviction. I was brought back to my days of playing the violin. I wondered if it was still in my closet. My sister had loved to hear me play. I used to go to the hospital and play it for her. The mood of the music dropped again and I found myself becoming teary. I walked to my bedroom closet and pulled down a box. I rummaged through it, and sure enough, there she was.

   For being a used violin when I bought it, she was a fine instrument. She was the color of maple leaves right before winter. Her strings weren't worn, I'd just changed them before I packed her up again. I held the bow in my hand, carefully running my fingers over the wood avoiding the horse hair cautiously.

   What a way to pass the time. I hadn't even quit actually, I just slowly stopped playing. I held the instrument between my chin and shoulder and picked carefully at the tuning pins. I plucked until the sound was to my liking. Then with careful hands I brought the bow across the strings. It produced a beautiful sound. A sound of hope for me at the time. A sound that only I could produce.

   "I didn't know you played." Tiffany was standing in the doorway of my new library smiling at me sitting on the floor with my wooden instrument.

   "I started in high school." I explained, "Then just quit playing slowly after I began working here in the city."

   "Is it your passion?" She asked.

   I'd never had a passion before. Until she pointed it out. She pointed a lot of things out to me during the course of our friendship. I loved the violin, and I was good too, "Yeah."

   She kneeled beside me tucking a strand of long brown hair behind her ear, "Then why don't you pursue it?"

   Tiffany was obviously a dreamer. She was out of touch with reality if she thought I could just pick up a musical instrument and make money. She was crazy, look at her own life. She couldn't support herself as an artist.

   "The city is a place for artists!" She shook my shoulders gently and smiled, "You could go places."

   "Hold up." I said standing up, "You heard me play three notes from a violin and you want me to go out and join an orchestra?"

   All she did was nod. And I walked away. She followed. She had this habit at the time of trotting. Like a horse, and so at one point I began calling her 'Apaloosa' much later in our friendship. She didn't approve of the name, but soon all three of us called her 'Apaloosa Fany' she continued trotting up until the very last day. The last time I saw her trot was the last time I ever saw her.

   I seem to have gotten a bit off topic. But as you see, while telling my story I feel the need to point out small details that led to things that I never knew were going to happen. Like Tiffany's nickname. Or Jessica's hatred for people siezing. Which is far from happening at this point.

   So as she trotted after me like the little calf she was, she began listing reasons for me to start playing the violin again. I gave her two negatives for each positive. And she huffed in defeat.

   Eventually I stopped in the kitchen. I turned to her.

   "Look," I said to her, "In no way am I going to be able to do it. I need a job and a way to make money."

   "I know someone in the orchestra." She said happily, "I could introduce you."

   "You don't even know if I'm good or not!" I said.

   "Oh but you are!" She said, "I know a fellow artist when I see one. We have the same brain waves you know."

   "Except I'm realistic."

   "No you're just negative, unrealisticly negative. How could all these bad things happen at such extremes? Things could be a lot worse Sooyoung."

   I never felt like arguing with her, so I didn't I turned around and began picking books off the floor and setting them on my bed. My makeshift cleaning wasn't fooling Tiffany and she stood in my way. When you're young and restless like she is, you're good at getting in other people's way. You have this ability to just be there and BAM! you're stopping someone from doing something.

   I thought about a lot of things after she actually left. I thought about how she didn't invite me to the art gallery that night, or how she didn't accept my rejection like usual. I thought about that fact that I wouldn't mind getting married and having children one day. I thought about how, even though it probably would never happen, I'd love to be part of the orchestra for a living.

   I thought a lot about how maybe following your dream wasn't so childish as I thought. It seemed as though most people did except for Jessica and me. We stayed in limbo while the world kept moving forward outside our windows. Then the last thought I had before I fell asleep that night was, 'Things could be a lot worse darling.'

   For you see, I had grown accustom to calling myself darling.