The Bridge To Success

Twinkle twinkle little star

C C G G / A A G-- /
F F E E / D D C-- /

Brett smiled all while he was playing. He'd been practicing hard for the past week. Excited to show off to his mom that he can play it properly now.

G G F F / E E D-- /
G G F F / E E D-- /

The bow was held by his small hands, same for the violin, a 1/4th size. Dark caramel in color and properly shined. Adorned with finger tapes and a pinky guide, someday, he will, he'd be good enough to play it without.

C C G G / A A G-- /
F F E E / D D C-- /

After the last note, the child wiped his forehead sweat with his bowing arm. His hair swept along to the side as he did. He fixed it. He turned to his mother's direction, "I did it!" He exclaimed, grinning.

Clapping, "You did great!" She said proudly. "Come here," signaled her child to sit beside her.

Brett put the violin on the coffee table and ran to his designated seat. He sat beside her and looked up to his mom, with bright features he asked, "What do you want me to play next?"

The open space of the living room became his first stage.

---

The day before.

"Don't forget to bring your violin."

Brett was reminded by his mom to bring it, through the open bedroom door as she passed by. Going to the living room, she adjusts her watch as she walked down the stairs.

He hasn't played the thing since it happened. Not really neglecting it, he opened the case, wiped the wood, and touched the strings ever so often, but he never did more than that.

Today was different, for he decided to try.

From the case, he lifted it. Put on the shoulder rest. With hands that wavered, he picked up his bow, tightened it. Put rosin on it. He then took a deep breath. 'What's wrong with me?' he asked himself as of why his hand shakes.

Brett shook his head and put the violin on its rightful place on his shoulder. He let out a sigh, then he licked his lips. "What should I play?" he asked.

The silence of his bedroom echoed back. Brett's grip to the bow tightened. There should be another person in with him. That person should have answered him, with a smile. He would have said "Tchaikovsky" maybe.

"Tchaikovsky, yeah, " Brett filled in instead. Just to feel that, that someone was still there. That, someone, answered to him. That someone can see him. He closed his eyes, 'This is for you, Eddy.'

He lifted his bow. Left hand ready, in position, for the first note. Another deep breath, and--

"It's time to go," Yang-mama announced while walking towards the open of his bedroom door. When she reached, "Oh, go on, play, " as she saw that her son was on a playing position ready.

He put down his bow and violin. "Nah, " quietly returned them to the case, after he wiped it clean and had loosened the hair. Not looking at his mother, "I'll do it later."

Yang-mama watched his son's back. It was sad, heavy and unsteady. She looked to the side, to avoid further melancholy. She secretly wished, 'I hope he won't lose anything more.'

After the sound of the zipper stopped at its end, Brett hung the violin on his back. He forced a smile on his lips, "Let's go, mom."

-

Through the car ride, Brett said nothing. He stayed quietly still, his head turned to the side. His eyes stared outside the window, but he was not looking at anything. The passing trees, lamp posts, buildings, houses, and people just passed him.