Broken String

LXXXIII

Is it the Bach? Or just how beautifully Brett plays said Bach? Suddenly all Eddy wants is to play it himself and it hits him hard. He wants to stand up so badly and walk over to the violin case that's been in his room, collecting dust. Open the clasps on the case he had to whine his mum for months to get, way back when he was twelve and got his full sized violin. Run the cloth over the smooth wood, take out his bow, wind it up, rosin it. All of these movements he's made a million times, that are etched into his fingers. He can almost feel the chin rest under his jaw bone now, his digits caressing the finger board... even the Pag, which he has hated, seems like a great idea all of a sudden.
He wants to practise, oh, how he wants to practise.
He shakes his head to rid himself of phantom feelings. Look, it's not like it would sound like anything decent anyway, after such a long hiatus. It's not like it ever sounded like anything decent in the first place.
How is his teacher, who he hasn't seen for two weeks either? It's like the whole world he has known is vanishing into the thin air that seems to surround him now. People in his old world still know who he is, of course, but now just as the guy in the chair, not the guy who won the competition. Not the guy who's playing the Sibelius. Not the guy who is graduating soon and then off for a career among the stars. 
No, now he is nothing but the guy who freaks out in harmless tubes. Who needs his best friend with him every second or fists come and steal his heart.
Life sucks. And then you die.

He must have sighed, because Brett stops playing and eyes him worriedly. Eddy smiles manfully. No. He is not dragging Brett down, the tears he feels sitting in the never-ending well underneath his eyelids are staying in place, and he is letting the guy practise, and that is that. At least one of them can have a life. 
"It sounds awesome, Brett. I love how you bring the counterpoint out. The bottom voice now has a lyricism to it I don't think it had before."
Brett beams.
"Really? I've been working on that."
"I know you have." Eddy smiles. "It pays off. Can I hear the Tchaik too?"
"Absolutely. Let me just play the Bach one more time."
"Of course!" Eddy smiles again.
He'll sit here and he'll take it. And look, he'll probably lose it, later, he can feel that already. And Brett will probably see. But not here, not now, he can hang on, it doesn't need to be a spectacle, it doesn't need to disturb what really matters.
Brett's practice.

Another stealthily deep breath, and just then the door opens and Ian walks in.
"Hey, bro. How was your lesson?" Eddy asks him in an impressively upbeat tone, if he may say so himself.
"Fine." Ian says tightly, viola case still in hand. "But how was your test?"
Shit. Ian's face is taut with stress. He's actually out of breath, he must have rushed here. Shit, he rushed here because of him? He opens his mouth to start telling him about the day, but one shallow breath later he knows he can't. He'll cry if he has to think about salmon buildings and tubes and gnomes one more time and he has no idea if he'd ever be able to stop again.
"Um. It was okay. No answers yet though. Do you... um. I mean, Todd knows the whole story."
Ian blinks once, his eyes shoot from Brett back to Eddy, softening into understanding.
"Of course. I'm going to go see him anyway, and get some practice in. I'll leave you guys to it."
"Thanks, Ian."
The door closes behind their friend and Eddy can breathe deeply again.
"You weren't up for telling him?" Brett asks kindly.
Eddy shakes his head.
"No. I'm up for hearing some Bach, though."
Brett nods.
"Okay. Sure. One Bach coming right up."