Andante

CXCVI

How was it already seven fifty? Seriously, where had the day gone?
Flashes of it floated through Eddy's brain as he stood leaning against the rough concrete wall. Brett, playing so well again. He himself, mostly playing alright, he guessed, but he remembered the little mistakes that had crept in too well, mistakes he hadn't made in those places before, so why the fuck had he now? And how could he stop himself from making them again, on stage, in a minute?
He breathed in deeply, trying to stay calm, but there wasn't much air in the corridor. There were too many students around him, also pacing, also breathing, also taking oxygen. 
God, how he wished he could take Brett's hand, dive into his arms, stand here against him in a hug, instead of against this coarse cement. 
He looked to his left, where Ronnie was looking down at the floor. Her breathing seemed fast, shallow. He put his full weight back on his feet with a shock and put his hand on her shoulder. 
"Hey, Ronnie, you okay?"
She looked up at him and the second he saw her eyes he knew the answer to his question. She looked like a deer in the headlights, and her lips were shaking slightly. 
"Hey, you cold?" he asked. She was only wearing this sparkly little black dress with spaghetti straps and it wasn't super warm, here. She shook her head, though.
"N-no. Not really. Well, a little. J-just shitting myself. God, why am I the first up again? It doesn't even make any sense because Brett's playing the first movement of the same concerto."
He smiled kindly, and on a whim he put his arm around her shoulder, but he blinked in shock when she abruptly swiveled around and buried her face in his neck. 
Whoa, what? 
He automatically put his arms around her though, and stroked her back. 
"You'll be great, Ronnie, don't worry." he whispered in her ear. "I promise."
Look, he knew very well that he couldn't really promise that, but he also knew it was what she needed to hear at this moment. And to be honest, he found  that he himself was calming down as he held her. What was it about helping someone else, that always made you feel better too? 
She let go, stepped slightly away and heaved a huge sigh. Then she shook her long loose hair out behind her. 
"Thanks, Eddy." she said quietly. "That helps."
"Time!" the lady from the reception called behind them then, and everyone turned their heads at once to look at her. Eddy put his hand on Ronnie's shoulder once more and squeezed. 
"Break a leg." he said, just as she stepped over to her case and took out her violin. 

It seemed like only seconds later when the applause came back and it was his turn. His heartbeat was fast now, way too fast in fact, and his breathing was as shallow as Ronnie's had been. He had been trying to hear through the door, to keep his focus on Ronnie's Tchaik, but one violin hadn't been as easy to hear as a whole orchestra. 
He opened the door for his new friend and watched as Ronnie walked back from the grand piano towards him, her violin and bow loosely in her right hand. He swallowed and tried to breathe deeply again, but somehow his lungs didn't seem to want to take the air in anymore. It was like there was a haze over the stage that made Ronnie and the piano shimmer, like hot air over sand. 
Keep it together, mate! he shouted at himself, and he tried to breathe again. It didn't go much better than the last attempt, but then, out of the blue, there was a hand, a soft, warm hand, a loving hand. The hand he knew belonged to the love of his life. 
"Good luck Eddy." Brett whispered from behind him, squeezing his shoulderblade lightly. "You'll rock." 
You'll rock. 
He blinked and stepped past Ronnie onto the stage. He repeated Brett's words as a mantra as he walked the twenty steps to the bend of the piano. 
You'll rock. You'll rock. You'll rock. 
The auditorium was much fuller than he had expected. This was supposed to be only a tiny concert, wasn't it? But there were a lot of faces among the red chairs, and there seemed to be a whole class of teenagers right in front of him. Teenagers. Who would laugh if he fucked up. He closed his eyes for a moment.
You'll rock. 
Then he turned and smiled at the pianist lady, who nodded at him encouragingly and gave him an A. 

Oh, but he loved this concerto. Oh, how he loved this fantastic concerto. It was so easy to sink into the broken chords, it was so easy now to just let go, to half close his eyes. He nailed the difficult sul G bit, and by the time the gorgeous sixths of the second subject came he knew. 
I got this. 
He didn't come back down to earth until the applause broke the focus he had been in and he bemusedly blinked at the rows and rows of faces, applauding him. It was like they had only just reappeared. Then a smile spread on his face of its own accord. Wow. Had he really just played that whole movement like that? He looked at the group of teenagers in the front from the corner of his eyes. They were smiling, clapping, just like the rest of the audience. They weren't laughing at all. 

See? he told himself as he took another awkward bow and then walked back to the stage door on a cloud. This is what I was born to do.