i broke the silence for you

i. opening

i sat down next to you that day
and i said hello

a simple word
a single syllable
the first note of a symphony
the opening of a newborn's eyes
and we spoke to each other.

     eddy stepped into his favorite café, taking in a refreshed breath and dwelling in the familiar scent and sounds. it was a nice sunday morning, and since it was the only day where eddy didn't have to work, he took advantage of his freetime.

     after receiving the light coffee he had ordered, he turned around to find an empty table to sit at. there were none.

     there was an empty chair, though. the chair belonged to a small table near the window of the café. a small man was seated on one of the chairs and was studying a few sheets of paper spread out across the table.

     "hey, can i sit here? every other seat is taken," eddy asked, placing his hand at the edge of the little square table. the small man that was situated on the chair looked up.

     eddy barely refrained from dropping his jaw. the man was beautiful. his skin was silky and smooth, lips pink, thick, messy black hair rested on his forehead, and his eyes. . .

     the man nodded and gathered up the papers he had strewn over the table and stacked them neatly on his side. as eddy sat down across from him he took a quick glance at the papers. the solo violin part for tchaikovsky's mélodie.

     huh. eddy actually had a rehearsal for that piece in two days for a new soloist's audition. could this man be. . . ?

     "are you a musician?" eddy asked. the man looked up and nodded. "what instrument?" the man mimicked playing an invisible violin.

     eddy didn't mind quiet people, but this man was unnecessarily quiet. quiet like the bassoon solo in tchaikovsky's 6th symphony that was marked pppppp. and the way he saw things—like he wasn't seeing, but looking. eddy never thought that those two words had a difference, but after meeting this man he knew there was one. "what's your name?"

     the man pulled something from his pocket—a small notebook—scribbled something on it with a blue pen and slid it over to eddy's side of the table. eddy looked down at the notebook and read the small, neat letters written on it.

     my name's brett. what's yours?

     brett held out the pen, placing it on eddy's palm, his fingertips brushing his skin ever so slightly. eddy took the pen and wrote his own name down along with a few other words.

     i'm eddy. i have a rehearsal for tchaikovsky's mélodie in two days. are you auditioning?

     eddy returned the pen and brett responded.

     yeah. what's your instrument?

     piano is my major, but i love the violin.

     how long have you been playing for?

     over 20 years. how about you?

     a bit over 20 years as well.

     they continued their conversation on paper, passing the pen back and forth. with other people, eddy would find this awkward, but with brett, this was perfectly normal. eddy felt secure and confident. there was a hidden meaning in this conversation that eddy did not know of but was eager to find out. as the convo drew on, eddy touched brett's hands more each time he passed the pen, finding comfort in the feeling of his soft skin.

     and that nice, quiet moment shattered like glass when brett slid the notepad back for what seemed like the hundredth time with some groundbreaking words.

     i'm actually deaf.

     eddy had no idea how to reply to those words. a deaf musician? eddy didn't know if he should be surprised or disgusted or whatever. brett took back the notebook and wrote a few extra words.

     yeah, i know. a deaf musician. you don't have to do sign language or anything though. i just want to be treated like a normal person.

     eddy took the pen and replied.

     were you born deaf?

     no. i became deaf when i was around 6, when i had been playing violin for only 2 years. my mom was really upset. she had no idea how to teach me when i couldn't hear. i only have conductive hearing loss, though, so it can be fixed, but my family doesn't have enough money. so i moved here so i can join an orchestra and make enough money to get the surgery.

     what's it like being deaf?

     it's nothing too bad. the only thing really bad about it is that people try to teach me differently or talk to me differently or use sign language in front of me because i'm different. just because i can't hear well doesn't mean that i can't listen.

     you're different in a good way.

     as eddy passed the pen, he noticed brett smile, his perfect teeth gleaming. eddy had never seen a smile look so beautiful on anyone else's face.

     thank you. do you want to practice at my place sometime?

     of course. tomorrow?

     sure. i enjoyed talking to you, eddy. see you later.

     eddy smiled seeing his name written in brett's handwriting. he gave brett the pen back and stood up, waved goodbye, and walked out the door of the café, fingertips still tingling from their contact with brett's skin.

a/n:
the poem at the beginning of this chapter is from one of my poems, "heartstrings, op.34" and it can be found on my deviantart or commaful!