Minor Changes

Chapter One

"No love song finer

But how strange the change from major to minor

Every time we say goodbye."  - Cole Porter

***

The flat wasn't great. Kind of dingy, really. He couldn't afford nice things. But at least he had his music, and that was all that really mattered. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.

Playing with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra was a dream come true, and he enjoyed mingling with the other student fellows, but at the end of the day, the tiny, cluttered flat still felt empty, and exploring a new city wasn't the same without Eddy.

He stretched out on his mattress and looked up at the ceiling. His stomach rumbled. It was getting late, but he picked up the phone and opened their most recent conversation. His thumb hovered over 'FaceTime'.

Eddy picked up after two rings.

"Hey," Brett said, sitting up in bed as the picture came into focus. Seeing his friend's familiar face melted away a layer of homesickness that had settled just under the surface of his day-to-day—the same lonely din that had hummed at night, when things became quiet, during his first year at uni. 

  He settled back into his pillow.

"What's up?" Eddy asked.

"Wiped out. Rehearsal for Brahms Sonata No. 3 today."

"Yeah? Nothing so epic over here. Just getting ready for first round of exams."

"Man. Too bad for you," Brett said with a hint of a smirk.

"Thanks for the moral support, asshole," Eddy said, with a smile that lit up the dark room—a smile that said I've missed you.

They chatted for a while about small things—the sub-par bubble tea place near Brett's flat. 'That one' violinist who always came in early.  A new restaurant Eddy and his girlfriend had tried out. When the internet lag started to interfere, and their eyes grew heavy, they said their "Later, bros" in the dark. Brett pulled up the covers and slept better than he had in a week.

***

A cheery K-pop mix bumped through the speakers, keeping Eddy from nodding off at the wheel. He fiddled with the visor to keep the already-brilliant morning sun out of his eyes. It was near the middle of his term at the con, and he had woken up at an ungodly hour to make the ten hour drive from Brisbane to Sydney. 

His main objective for the trip was to record a few Two Set videos, but he was also looking forward to walking around the city, taking in some energy, and practicing a couple pieces he and Brett had been working on, including the first and very difficult movement of Ysaye's Sonata for Two Violins in A Minor. He sipped at a steaming mug and took in the landscape, which appeared particularly crisp and vivid that day.

"Thanks for making the drive, man," Brett said, swinging open the door when he arrived that afternoon. Let's have a coffee—there's a decent place around the corner," he suggested as Eddy set his backpack down on the futon.

"Yeah, I definitely need it," Eddy said. 

They strolled down the street, finding the stride they had developed during his first year at uni, when they would walk over the bridge every day for bubble tea. It felt good to stretch their legs and ease back into each other's company, remembering how comfortable it was to be together.

Back at the flat, they kicked off their shoes and sipped their coffees.

"I'm starved. Wanna try out a new Thai place?" Brett said, thumbing through the menu on his phone.

"Sure," Eddy said through a yawn. Brett absentmindedly drummed out a rhythm on the counter with his fingers as he clicked in their orders.

Though Eddy was tired from the drive, he was eager to hear the progress they had made on the Ysaye. They unpacked their violins in Brett's small bedroom. After warming up, Brett took a strong first violin stance. Eddy stood tall and attentive, with his characteristic receptive grace, and Brett signaled with his breath. 

Each of them focused deeply into the music while staying attuned to the other's every nuance. Three quarters of the way through, their eyes locked, as though on cue. For a moment, it was as though they couldn't have looked away, even if they had tried.

From there onward, it was the most musical and charged playing either had done in months. They both felt the raw electricity of it— strength blended with exquisite delicateness—their phrasing so in sync that it was almost painful, like an exposed nerve. 

During a crescendo, the room filled with thunderous power, sending goosebumps up their arms, before quieting to the stillness of a single drop of water.

This was a new terrain—somewhere beyond the looking glass, where bow strokes replaced brush strokes and civilizations rose and fell at their fingertips. Their breath merged into one living organism. Heat thrummed in the air. When their bows lifted energetically from the strings, sending the final harmony resonating to the walls, they stood stock still, nostrils flaring.

There was a light rap at the door.

"Oh. The food," Eddy said absently, setting down his violin. He looked pleadingly toward Brett, whose eyes had gone distant and unreadable, and he died a small death.

"Would you like me to get it?" Brett said with terseness at the edge of his voice.

"I've got it," Eddy said, bowing his head as he left the room. The earth came crashing back onto its axis with the hinge of the door.