Play!

XXII

The sun was even more brutal than in the morning, so they quickly sought some relief from the heat under the shadows of some giant trees towering over the Royal Botanic Garden. Eddy led Brett to a quieter part a bit further away from the con, much to Brett’s comfort, where they sat down on green, luscious grass.
“It’s beautiful here”, Brett stated, his eyes roaming the hundreds of flowers neatly planted in all sorts of circles and forms, framing the paths which meandered the park like veins and arteries the human body.
“Yeah. I like how wide it is. If you walk further, you’ll have a beautiful view of the Opera House and the bridge behind it.”
“Wow”
“We can go there some time.”
“Sure!”, Brett said, trying to sound casual even though his heart rate accelerated again. Must be the heat. “If we’re not busy practicing that is.”

They unpacked their sandwiches and started digging in, Brett actually being pretty hungry after he’d skipped food during break and hadn’t exactly filled his stomach during breakfast because of his gloomy state.
He glanced at Eddy from the side, how his white shirt made his hair appear darker, almost black, how he chewed his lunch like his parents hadn’t taught him manners. It made Brett chuckle. 
“What?”, Eddy eyed him questioningly. 
“You eat like an animal.”
“Oh, sorry”, he apologized, closing his half open mouth a bit, “Not used that someone’s watching me eat.”
“No, don’t say sorry. It’s fine. It’s kinda…”
It started with the letter C, the word Brett just so managed to swallow down. 
“Uhm…”, Eddy made when Brett didn’t continue and was busy trying not to let any shade of red colour his face instead, “I’ll try to eat less offensive.”
Brett shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Really. You don’t need to change anything.”
“It’s better for my future adult life anyway.”
A laugh bubbling up caused Brett to choke on a piece of cheese in his sandwich, driving him into a brutal coughing fit during which Eddy frantically slapped the smaller’s back.
“Oi, man! You okay?”
“Damn!”, Brett croaked, cleared his throat several times and gulped down some water Eddy handed him. “You’re unhealthy for me.”
“Appears so. You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. You’re just so surprisingly funny sometimes.”
“Really?”, Eddy exclaimed with a frown. 
“Totally!”
“Why surprisingly?” Eddy took another bite after he'd made sure Brett had survived, half leaned back on his arms and crossed his legs on the grass, the relaxing posture in this environment making him look like some model for fabric softener.
“You seemed so serious when I first saw you. Focused on music and the violin only. I didn’t depict you as the funny type.”
“Right. And I didn’t exactly treat you nicely, did I?”
“Yeah, guess that didn’t help”, Brett agreed and finished his lunch, “Can I ask you something?”
Eddy looked unfazed. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Why did you help me when I was stuck? In the practice room?”
“Yesterday you mean?”
Had that really only been a day ago? Brett moved his head left and right in disbelief. Somehow, it felt like a year had gone by since that incident.
“Yeah. If you’re this determined to win, why help me and not let me embarrass myself in front of everyone at the rehearsal?”
Eddy shrugged while shoving the last piece of bread into his mouth. “I don’t wanna win against someone who can’t play.”
“Ouch!”
“I mean, what fun would it be if it were decided already? I’d rather have a worthy opponent. It pushes me further too.”
He threw a glance at Brett. “Uhm… not to say that you can’t play.”
“Got the message loud and clear, thank you”, Brett sighed overly dramatic.
“No, I didn’t mean…”
“Eddy”, Brett cut in, a small smirk playing around his lips, “It’s fine. I know what you meant.”
Eddy’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Oh.”
“You said ‘fun’”, Brett said slowly, trying to grasp the opportunity as delicately as he could. 
“Yeah?”
“I remember you saying something along the lines of why does fun matter at all while playing the violin.”
Eddy gulped visibly, his eyes narrowed just minutely. Brett was surprised that he picked up on it. Then, he suddenly sat up, his face much closer to Brett’s. 
“Tell me, how is it for you? Why do you play the violin?”
The tension was back again like lightning, just like yesterday in Eddy’s practice room when this topic had come up. Brett held Eddy’s intense gaze, tried to read what was behind this question, behind those dark, imploring eyes.

“I like to play it. I like classical music”, was Brett’s simple answer. 
Eddy looked almost irritated when he followed up, “So, it’s not because you want to become a soloist or professional musician?”
Brett took a moment to think about what to say, eyes lost in the endless green of the lawn. 
“I mean, that would be the preferred outcome, I guess. Otherwise I wouldn’t be studying it.”
Eddy nodded slowly, his posture not less tense though. 
“But it’s not the main reason why I play the violin.”
He knew his expression was getting a bit more dreamy, a tad too emotional probably, but this was not the time to hide any of it behind his deadpan. In fact, he had to show it all if he wanted to have a chance, any chance! 
“I just really love it. I love the sound it can produce, solo or in an orchestra. And yes, I do have fun playing it, despite sucky practice sessions like yesterday or not making any progress for months because Paganini was a fucking torturer. When it clicks and I finally nail a passage or a technique, that’s like the most awesome thing ever! And someday, I would really like to share this with the world. But even if that wouldn’t happen for whatever reason, I think I’ll still have fun playing the violin.”

Seeing Eddy’s features like this, confused, pained somehow, it nearly made Brett want to take back everything he’d just said. It was the truth though, as cheesy as it may sound.
“Why do you play, Eddy?” 
It was spoken quietly, almost toneless. But Brett knew Eddy had heard him just fine. The other cast his eyes down, brows knit they almost met in the middle. 
“I wanna become a soloist”, the pressed reply came. 
“So this has been your dream ever since?”
“Since I can remember, yeah.”
“No wonder you’re such a good violinist.”
“I’m nowhere near perfect.”
“I reckon you’re pretty close ”, Brett meant, but got startled by Eddy’s hands grabbing his shoulders hard, making them sting.
“I’m not! And you know it. I know you know! Everyone at my fucking con knows!”

They stared at each other, Brett’s eyes impossibly wide into the wild gape of his new friend.
“Uh”, he stuttered, “You mean…”
“Emotionless. Cold. Like a machine, a robot”, Eddy hissed like he was spitting venom, “You being stuck in some passages is one thing. But imagine not being able to convey something so vital to music like, at all! Even if the others don’t tell me directly, I really do have pretty good ears. And of course, my teacher calls me out on that every fucking lesson.”
“Eddy…”, Brett stuttered, at a loss for words for once. 
“And it’s not like I haven’t tried. I try to imagine stories. Characters in the pieces talking to each other. I play the passages differently like you did yesterday. But it’s…” He grit his teeth. “It’s never fucking enough!” 
Eddy’s hands slid down helplessly. “I thought”, he continued, voice much weaker now, “it would change when I get to the con. I thought being surrounded by peers pursuing the same goal and getting inputs from great teachers would help. It hasn’t.”
“Maybe not till now”, Brett tried, his right hand finding its way to Eddy’s left shoulder this time, “But you’re first year. You have plenty of time to figure this out.”
“Did you notice?” A bleak voice, accompanied by eyes so doleful Brett’s heart clenched together.
“Huh?”
“You noticed, right? That my playing lacks the one thing that gives music life.”
“Uhm…” Brett looked away, well aware that telling the truth was the only way here. It was probably still one of the hardest things Brett had to do since this year had started, and that included the countless times he’d practiced deep into the night. “Someone told me about it. And I did. During your play-through of the third movement.”

The pain his face displayed, God, Brett had to surpress the sudden urge to close his arms around that guy and tell him it was all good, that his playing was perfect as it was. But that wouldn’t be right. And it wouldn’t help Eddy. He was certain Eddy knew how clean his intonation was, how on point his rhythm and how crisp his bow caught the strings.

Instead he said, “Maybe this camp will help.”
Eddy lifted his head. 
“Maybe having to deal with annoying new people like me will give you some inspiration.” Brett gave that shoulder a squeeze. “And even though I know I won’t stand a chance at all when you happen to get even better on the violin once you figure stuff out, I really do want to help you.”