Fantasia

LIV

"All right, Brett. You gonna sit down first. Come on!"
After Eddy had made sure Brett's violin was still intact, he dragged the smaller over to those benches opposite the paintings and pressed him down on one of them, hoping the cold under the other's butt would also help cool him down.
Because the thousands of pieces he'd teared the scores into and the fact that he'd nearly crashed his once beloved violin and had almost disfigured Bach's face, damn! That guy must be pissed!

And Eddy got it, he realized, as he looked down on Brett with a frown so deep he was sure it'd leave a permanent mark between his eyebrows. He got why Brett was furious, betrayed by his passion. After giving everything, making music had claimed even more of Brett until he had nothing more to offer. At least, that was Brett's point of view. Eddy's job now was to get Brett to pick up his violin again.

"Listen. It's not the violin's fault that you're here", Eddy started.
"Oh yeah?", Brett hissed through gritted teeth.
"Of course not! And you know that."
"Are you going to tell me it was my own fault or something? Because Eddy, I swear..."
"Of course not!", Eddy repeated with the same firmness, "But I reckon, deep down you know, you love the violin. And you love classical music! At some point, maybe the pressure and the need for perfection was too much and I'm pretty sure those factors are at least part of the problem. But not the music itself!"
Brett, thankfully a bit calmer than when he'd tried tearing down the canvas, stared down at his knees without blinking, hands clenched to fists.
"I saw you back in your teenage days, Brett", Eddy continued a bit softer, "You fought for nothing more than for playing the violin. And yes, you were strict when it came to your practice hours and your progress, but not to a point where it got unhealthy."
"It became pretty fucking unhealthy when I started to play professionally", Brett stated, half as loud as before. Eddy crouched down, so similar to when he'd comforted Brett over the news of him being in a coma.
"So, maybe that's the problem?", Eddy suggested cautiously.
Brett lifted his gaze. "Orchestra. It's all I've ever wanted, besides being a soloist, of course. I wasn't good enough though, so I at least wanted to be the best in orchestra. But it gets dull, you know... Sometimes people aren't as passionate as they should be about the concerts or the program, and then, as a concertmaster, you have to push through, even though you don't feel like playing Harry Potter for the God damn fiftieth time either. And trying to be the best when it becomes more like a nine-to-five job is exhausting."
Eddy nodded. "I have an idea."
"But what else was I going to do? I was playing in the best orchestra the country has to offer. I was concertmaster. And despite working my ass off, I started to be less and less passionate about my job."
Eddy nodded again, the puzzle pieces clicking together and forming a more precise picture.
"I couldn't tell my folks that, despite being successful, all I wanted was for it to end. For a long, long time I didn't realize it myself. But as I said before... I started to hate it. I couldn't show it though! I'd be a complete failure."
"So, working in an orchestra... it might not be the way for you?"
"But... what else is there for me to do? As a violinist?", Brett lamented.
"Teaching, be an independent musician maybe. Do your own thing..."
"How, when I'm not a soloist? Because that train has left the station!"
"Are you sure?", Eddy asked, "You're young. And concertmaster! Why can't you become a soloist?"
Brett shook his head wildly. "I don't know... don't fill my head with stupid things which will never come to life, please!"
"Why wouldn't they? Brett, your playing is magnificent, you're clearly talented and skilled enough to lead an orchestra. I know you are, even if you're doubting yourself. And maybe, being a concertmaster could pave the way for a career as a soloist! Hey..."
Eddy searched Brett's eyes, willed Brett to look at him. "It is possible!", he stated with the utmost certainty he managed to bring up.
"I don't know, Eddy", Brett sighed deeply.
"And even if not, I'm sure there are plenty of other, very important things you could do and which someone probably should start doing. Donating to Hyung got me thinking, all the orchestras and musicians depend on patrons for their survival and my guess is, most of them are grey haired. If this goes on, there are no classical music listeners in twenty to thirty years anymore, let alone donors or funds. What about all the young people? How can they be reached? I think there is a huge potential and someone should really start an initiative doing something about that. Maybe that someone could be you."
"Not when I'm stuck here I won't be!"
"Exactly! And that's why I need you to believe in yourself again. And the violin! I think you having it here as like the only item you can carry around must mean something! And..." Eddy froze, a horrible thought entering his brain. "Brett! What about the empty score?"

Eddy watched Brett turn slightly more pale than he already was and felt cold sweat starting to cover his hands. He got up, not able to kneel still in front of Brett anymore, the atmosphere all of a sudden dropping a few degrees.
"Where is the score, Brett?"
"I..."
"..."
"I teared it apart."
"You what?", Eddy whispered, hoping, praying his ears had betrayed him.
"I FUCKING TEARED IT APART!"
That angry glare again, spitting fire in Eddy's direction. Eddy ran a hand over his face.
"Fuck!"
"WHAT?", Brett yelled, jumping to his feet, "We have no idea how this is gonna help. We have no idea what we have to do; if there is anything that we can do!"
"There must be! But Brett, if you fucking destroy stuff that might help you get out of here, that makes it fucking difficult!"
Eddy tried. He tried hard to not sound too upset and irritated, but it had never been this difficult for him when it came to his best friend.

"Listen!", Brett said eventually and slumped down again, all the tension in his body vanished within a second. "You have no obligation whatsoever to help me. You can just go, live your life. Forget about me, like the first time you did."
Eddy turned to Brett, eyeing him from above.
"Where the hell is that coming from?", he asked, genuinely clueless how Brett came to the conclusion that Eddy wanted to give up on him. There was a nasty feeling creeping up on him though.
"Well, I remember everything, remember?", Brett said bleakly.
"Oh..." Yeah, well, why hadn't Eddy thought of that little detail before? The specific fact, that if Brett remembered, he'd recall everything Eddy had done too, of course.
"...Yeah... but as I said, and I really did mean it, I forgive you. So there are no hard feelings. You don't have to do anything right by me. You can just vanish again through the mirror where you came from and never come back. I wouldn't mind."
"Oh, Brett..." The tears welling up in Eddy's eyes came without warning. "No, no. Brett. I won't do that again! I could never..." A sob escaped him before he could hold it back. Brett's eyes shot up at him, carrying concern, surprise.
"I... shit!"

Eddy couldn't. He just couldn't anymore. There he was, promising Brett he'd help him and all he achieved was getting Brett to believe Eddy would turn his back on him the second he'd have the chance. Yeah, friend of the year, huh! But why was he even surprised? After what Eddy'd pulled ten years ago? Now with Brett recollecting everything from his past, of course there was no cell left in him that could ever trust Eddy again, right?

Yeah, that was not at all how Eddy had pictured this night would go down.