Broken String

LXVIII

The orchestra is tuning and Brett has jogged up on stage and takes the second seat. 
It would have been them up there together, just like last year when Brett had the solo and Eddy was co-concertmaster. 
God, that was a fantastic concert. Brett played his beloved Tchaik and he played it well. The orchestra was on fire. It was an awesome night, a triumph for Brett, a precursor for the honours degree he's sure to get this year. 
Eddy looks down at his useless legs and blinks.
Will he ever have any sort of degree? 
Frank is up there now, looking around proudly, tuning his violin with the rest of them.
Is he nervous? Does he mind how he got the job?

He'll be okay, he'll be okay. Eddy takes deep breaths and watches as the conductor says some things he can't hear, then raises his baton. 
He'll be okay. You'll see. He can do this. 
The conductor starts the orchestra and the ethereal thirds sound. Frank takes a breath and his G rings out over the auditorium, soft yet clear. In tune. 
Eddy's breath starts speeding up with the rhythm of his heart. 
It's better, right? Better than he could have done, even with all his limbs intact? His lip quivers and he tries, he really tries not to lose it. 
"Fuck." he whispers. "Oh, fuck."
Thank God he asked Brett to put him in the back because he can't do this. Every cell of his body screams to go, get out of here, go sit in the cafeteria and let girls he barely knows chat his ear off all afternoon. Be anywhere, in fact, but here, with the first movement washing over him while the first tears start washing over his cheeks. 
He's powerless, now, powerless against the waves of pain that ebb and flow as the music swells and ebbs. Even if he could roll himself out of here he would make a spectacle of himself. Brett would surely notice. He would leave his co-concertmaster seat and come look for him. 
He's sobbing, now, managing to be quiet about it but his chest is wracked with grief, the tears mingling with snot, ugly crying here, alone, in the back of an auditorium that was once his. 
It isn't his anymore, that much he knows. 
It'll be another hour until the rehearsal is over. Will he be able to get himself out of this shit hole on time or will everyone be able to read it on his face? Useless boy, gone and lost it?
He leans forward to lean his head in his useless hand quietly while his chest flies up and down with his fast breaths. 
"Fuck it." he sobs. "Fuck him."

The hand on his shoulder is gentle but it still makes him jump a foot in the air. His shocked eyes fly sideways before he can think to hide his shame. 
Ms. Parry. 
It's her, her eyes wide and kind. How is she even here? And why? 
"Hey." she whispers as she sits down beside him. Her hand goes on his knee and squeezes it gently. "That a bit too much?"
How does she even know the story? But even as he thinks it he knows the answer already. She must have to set it all up, here. She must know the scheduling of everything that goes on. He nods, the quiet sobbing still carrying on. 
"Do you want me to take you out of here?"
He shakes his head. 
"They would notice."
She smiles a weird, almost forlorn little smile that makes Eddy wonder what else she knows or understands. 
"Okay. So we'll sit here?" she says quietly. "Am I allowed to sit with you?"
"Y-yes." he says, because what else is he going to say? She's seen anyway now, yet someone else knows how pathetic he really is, and yet, despite the embarrassment that soaks through the air around him his breathing is slowing down some because he's not alone anymore. "I- I'm sorry."

She smiles again. 
"No need to be. I wanted to listen to the rehearsal a bit anyway. I'm sure you would have been great."