Töte Mich

#8

"I'm burning; but no one tries to put me out. They just watch in excitement as I burned higher than they'd ever seen. I was a spectacle for all their eyes to glue to." - 9/29/17

As I stood two feet from the doorway, I regretted everything all over again. I keep regretting every move I make. And I'm so afraid that I will ruin this too.

My cello was the thing that made me happy when I had no other reason to be. It gave me confidence when I had none. There was something about it that gave me a rush. The way the strings vibrated under my fingers, the way I felt the vibrato in my heart. The way I loved landing that difficult shift from second position to fifth in 2 notes. Listening to the note ring out, perfectly in tune from under my fingers; it made my heart race.

I was so afraid to lose that.

'What happens if I play it now and I somehow discover something that brings the memories with it? What happens if I ruin the only thing I have left to love?'

My stomach was stirring but my heart rate was surprisingly stable. Despite the tranquil façade my body was experiencing, I was completely terrified. I inhaled deeply before forcing my legs to propel me forward. 

My anxiety was ringing in my ears and my legs were on the verge of folding under the weight of me. Mr. Haner yelled excitedly at my arrival, from his seat in the front row. "Christoph! My shining protégé! I hope you're ready to dazzle me with your dynamics!".

'Is it too late to throw myself down and fake a seizure? How about a heart attack? Or maybe an aneurysm?'

I walked up the tiny staircase to the stage; pathetically attempting to stay emotionally stoic as world war three erupted inside my brain.

I quickly unlatched the case of my cello, my heart quickly gaining speed and slamming against my ribs. I grabbed my cello and bow with shaky hands. I raised the endpin and shuttered softly as tested the pitch of the strings.

The pitches of the strings were slightly off but it's to be expected with minimal use over the last week.

"Christoph we're starting off with Arioso! Cantata 156!  I need expression and I need feeling! Whatever this song means to you bring it! Channel your inner most emotions and bring it all out. Pour out your soul through your cello! Make me feel it!" ranted Mr. Haner.

I felt my fingers shake as I inhaled sharply and played the opening note. Mr Haner looked unimpressed so I shut my eyes. I had memorized this piece forwards and backwards. Every scale, every shift in position, every articulate fingering was perfected to a T.

'Breathe.. You know this Christoph.. Don't think.. Play, feel, anything'. The cello sat between my thighs. I could feel the vibration of the strings, the sound radiating through the hollow instrument; creating something so beautiful and serene.

I could feel tears streaming down my face from under my shut eyes, I inhaled deeply as I began the upscale. 'The tic of the clock was in the back of my mind, the sound of my pants being unzipped. The sound of his pants hitting the floor'.

I just kept breathing and playing through the flashback, my hands became less fluid and more abrupt and my bowing became heavier and faster. My accents were heavier. By the ending my fingers were aching and so was my wrist and my face was stained with tears.

Mr. Haner was silent and he just had an emotionless look on his face. I feel like I had failed him so I let out another strangled sob.

"Christoph! That was... Amazing! That was just what I was looking for! You have finally felt it! That was so expressive and emotional and dramatic! I have chills from your playing! Bravo! Bravo!" he called out while clapping like a mad man.

I tried to see his face among the lights but they were blinding. "I want all of my classes to come in and hear you play Monday! I'll write you a pass so you're out of your classes. You're a star Christoph! You were made for this! You have finally tapped into your potential! The sky is the limit with you my little protégé".

I tried to smile but I couldn't bring myself too. 'I had to play in front of everyone? All eyes on me, watching, waiting, judging. Jesus I couldn't do it! What was he thinking!?.'

My chest was tightening by the second, with each strangled exhale my ribs grew tighter, it felt like my throat was swelling shut. 'I need to breathe!' Mr. Haner's pleas of concern turned to white noise as I messily set my cello down on its side.

My legs were trembling and I was fighting for every weak, fervent gasp. I made a febile attempt at pleading, it came in the form of the softest "help me" that ever graced my lips.

I took one last look into the blinding light and then it was dark.

'My tower is crumbling, it's slipping through my hands and I'm powerless to stop it'.