Main Sequence (BL)

6

6

TAKASHI POV

My only true form of communication was speaking through melody. You just didn't need words to understand what I was trying to convey. It was like singing without moving your mouth; sex with a tonal difference. It was completely immersive, a flowing state where perfection and analysis faded away.

I started playing guitar when I was around eight years old. The first time I sang a note I was even younger. The freedom I felt through music, even at a young age, was liberating. It tapped into a primal, instinctual side of me, and I felt relief and fulfillment for the first time. I was addicted to the praise and acknowledgment I could get from impressing someone with something that actually came naturally to me. The guitar acted as an extension of myself, and my voice provided the rhythm, only framing the art that was my guitar. In a way, it was deadly. Any sense of accomplishment I felt flowed through the channel of music, whether I'd mastered a different technique, learned a new song, or created my own composition; but what mattered most was being seen for it.

My little brother, Shun, was only a few years younger than me. He'd gone through some kind of insomnia at twelve. He could never sleep and always seemed so disassociated from everything and everyone. I fought my parents pretty hard when they wanted to get him on medication. For the most part, he was a normal, quiet child who kept to himself, but that's where something was off. He held a constant apathy, even through horror movies, funerals, and bad dreams, never clinging to anything that didn't spark fantasy and imagination. I think that's why he enjoyed listening to me play so much, it paved a path for him into the dreamland.

My phone's message tone hasn't sung yet today, but my guitar will. It was hard to be sad when I was so focused on my guitar, but it had become difficult to separate the sound from my own self-worth. I was alone but I didn't feel lonely, not while I was pouring myself into the carved wood. My mental worries seemed to dissipate like fog, my mind focused on the notes as I let them decide where they wanted to end up with no real plan or composition. Then, a bad key change would come along, smack me back into my shitty reality, and say, you've been playing in standard for ten years and can't even meet the real standards; you barely know your parent scales and modes, aren't you sick of it by now?

Yeah, I was sick of a lot of things, especially these surroundings that no longer brought me any joy. All I wanted was to do better and be better, but it left me in a panic as I hid my true self behind all my accomplishments. I'd successfully buried my head in the sand, and it felt like I was the only one who listened to the music the Earth hummed below the surface.

While I was so busy with a big head full of praise, the world was disappearing, dwindling on a rusty string that hadn't been changed since I was born. The world had problems; not even the world, but the people in it, especially my parents. Sometimes I wanted them to get their own guitars so maybe they could communicate, too.

My brother is a lot smarter than me, and it showed in school; while I was just passing, he was excelling. I think my mom preferred him over me because of it. After all, she is a math teacher. That's probably why she chose my brother to leave town with.

It wasn't so bad living alone with my dad, but he only spoke to me when it was beneficial to him. Sucks. I wish I had known him when he was my age. Apparently, at my age, this wild man had been better than I was at guitar. Maybe even better at communicating. He'd always had a sparkle in his eye whenever I'd played as a kid, as though he was telling me, you did good, without actually saying anything. Everyone around me praised me for how well I was doing, everyone except for my mom. Why? I was never sure, but I had a nagging feeling it had something to do with my grades.