Page 29 of A Wistful Symphony

Festivity Intermezzo

A month has passed without warning. The rain is scarcer, the days are longer, and every bush in town seems to show off its newly acquired blooms. The Easter holidays came with the promise that we would pass every waking moment by each other’s side, but my impending audition, allied with your need for extra income, threw a monkey wrench into our expectations.

Disheartening as it may be, our meagre time doesn’t upset me.

We have all the time in the world ahead of us, don’t we?

“Are you going to the Spring Festival this weekend?” Ollie says in one of the rare moments when he’s dragged me out of my practices to watch a film at his place. I throw popcorn in my mouth before answering.

“Probably not. I promised Andrew I’d go to his flat.”

“Trading your best friend for your boyfriend.” He clicks his tongue. “Not cool, Eric from the music department, not cool.”

“Sorry, Ollie.” I frown. “I’ve been practising like crazy, and Andrew got an extra part-time job. Besides, the fair might be a bit much for us.”

My answer is deliberately vague. Parading our relationship where everyone would see is something I might not have the courage for. And yet Ollie smiles, catching the unsaid meaning.

“I’m just messing with you. One missed festival won’t shatter our friendship.”

“Thanks for understanding. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.” He winks and takes a sip of sugar-free soda. “How’s Andrew, anyway?”

“He seems alright, considering. Things are going well between us. It’s … nice. Quiet. We mostly hang at his place, or by the river, and talk about music and shit.”

Except worries still prickle the back of my mind every time you get awfully quiet for no reason.

When I see your flat dirty and bare, or when you’re strangely talkative and I know it’s because you’ve been using something.

You’re sweet and kind with me and we laugh a lot when we’re together.

That settles my heart for a moment. However, concern never takes long to creep back in.

“We also make out a lot,” I add, steering the conversation to a merrier topic.

The corners of Ollie’s lips curl up devilishly. “Did you guys have sex yet?”

“A gentleman never talks.”

“So that’s a yes.”

We both burst into laughter.

“That’s great.” He perks forward, chin on his fist. “Will you spill the smutty tea?”

We’ve been intimate a few times since that first frustrated attempt. Some were successful, some were not. But regardless of the outcome, you’ve always kept your caring demeanour from our first night. That alone is better than any physical sensation I could ever experience.

How can I explain this to someone like Ollie?

“It was wonderful.” I hide a grin behind the brim of my cup. “And that’s all I’m going to say.”

Ollie shakes his head, lighting up with a genuine smile. “Then I’m happy for you, my friend.”

It’s Friday afternoon and we’re at the pier by the river, which has quickly turned into our favourite spot.

Our bare legs dip in the water as we throw pebbles on the tranquil surface.

Today is one of your quiet days, and I try to distract you with whatever nonsense happened in my week.

Judging by your smiles and coy responses, I believe I’m successful.

“Then Mr Hennessey told Jacqueline if she spent as much energy in her practices as she did gossiping in class, her Bach would have perfect trills by now.” My pebble bounces three times on the surface before sinking. “I couldn’t hold in a laugh and now she wants my dead body.”

“That’s so mean.” You breathe out a chuckle. “But I would’ve laughed as well.”

However, you soon fall into silence. Chin tilted up, listening to the wind as if it carries music into your ears. I’m not sure if you’re sad or in need of some quiet introversion. I have yet to decipher the many silences that permeate our time together.

You glance down and chew your lower lip, a sign I’m familiar with. You’re trying to tell me something and searching for the right words.

“Eric,” you mutter, at last. “Are you going to the festival tomorrow?”

“Wasn’t planning on it. I’d rather spend the weekend with you. Why? Do you have a shift tomorrow?”

“No, it’s my weekend off.” Your smile is strained as you splash some water with your bare feet. “But I wanted to check out the fair and was wondering if you’d go with me. Just the two of us.”

I turn my head, thrill and fright playing an unsettling tug-o-war in my chest. “Are you sure? You realise everyone will be there, right?”

“I know. But I figured the whole town already spreads nasty rumours about me, so I should just go and tell everyone to bugger off.”

“Still, it might not be easy. And we’ll probably run into your parents.”

Your expression sours, gaze lost somewhere beyond the calm waters.

“I don’t care. Everybody knows why he threw me out. Might as well rub it in his face.”

I sigh and squeeze my hands together. Being with you is a dream come true, but showing off our relationship in front of the entire town is more than I’m comfortable with. But you’ve been so quiet lately, so absorbed in your own misery, that I can’t bring myself to deny you this little happiness.

“I’d love to go to the Spring Festival with you, Andrew.”

“I’m not sure about this.” I attempt to fix my hair in front of the mirror.

“Then call Westcott and say you won’t go,” Zoe answers, spinning on my desk chair.

“But I want to go to the fair with him.”

“Then quit being a wuss and go.”

“It’s not that simple, Zoe.” I turn to her, exasperated.

The twirling ceases, and she crosses her arms. “Yes, it is.”

“Aren’t you scared?” My brows knit. “I mean, you and Shelley will be out in the open. What if someone does something?”

“Of course I’m afraid,” Zoe says, with a seriousness I rarely see in her. “But what am I going to do, bury my head in the sand and stop living? Hell no.” She twists her lips and shrugs. “If something happens, it happens, and that’s it. It’s not up to me.”

I sigh and say no more. Sometimes I wish I was as courageous as Zoe.

A honk comes from the front lawn, and Zoe runs to the window, jumping on my bed to check.

“It’s Shelley. I’m off.” She bounces off the mattress, not bothering to tidy the mess she made. At least she had the courtesy of not stepping on my sheets with her combat boots. “If you’re done having an existential crisis, we can double date there.”

“Not in a million years.”

She snorts her signature piggy laugh, already by the door. “See ya, weirdo.”

I’m left alone, facing my cowardice in the mirror. You’re willing to show us to the whole town, out and proud, while I’m …. I shake my head, biting my lower lip. I’m afraid for you. Afraid of what your father might say, of what the idiots from school might do. I’m afraid for myself.

And yet, there’s nothing I want more than to tell the entire world we’re together.

It’s not that big of a deal , I tell myself.

People already saw us making out at the party, and it’s not like we’re the only queer couple in town.

Ollie keeps a low profile with his hookups, but Zoe and Shelley hang out all the time, and, despite the occasional side-eye and whispered slur, nothing has happened to them. Why does this fear keep eating my guts?

The bedroom door creaks, and Mum comes in. “Honey? Andrew is here.”

“Hm?” I turn to her, still in the same spot. “Oh, right. I’m heading down.”

She leans on the door frame, peering deep into my eyes in the insightful manner only mothers have. “Eric, is something wrong?”

I breathe out slowly, my voice no louder than a whisper. “Do you think it’s safe for us to go to the fair?”

A crease grows between her eyebrows, and she clenches her jaw. “It breaks my heart you would even ask something like that.” She comes closer and runs sweet fingers through my hair. “Of course you should go out with your boyfriend, honey. Don’t let other people’s nonsense stop you from being happy.”

“Thanks, Mum.” I gaze down and smile.

“Just be home before ten. You’ve been spending too many nights at Andrew’s, and the Presto’s coda is still off tempo.” She crosses her arms with a barely convincing glare. “I want to see you practicing all day tomorrow.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips. “I promise.”

After she leaves, I hop down the stairs, only to find my sister pestering you by the front door.

“Remember to take pictures. Eric’s Instagram has, like, one selfie and a bunch of pianos and landscapes. It’s sad, really.”

Your grin is so plastered on it hurts. “I’ll do my best.”

“Delia, quit bothering him.” I take a jacket from the coat closet.

“No worries, we were just chatting.” You unconsciously lick your lips, and I hold back the urge to kiss you right here in front of my baby sister.

Delia points her phone at us as soon as I reach your side. “Squeeze in, both of you.”

“Nope, got to go.” I gently pull you by the arm.

“Eric, pleeease,” she pouts.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you mutter. “I don’t have any pictures of us.”

Unable to resist your charms, I sigh. “Fine. Just one.”

I stand closer and rest a palm on your shoulder while you encircle my waist and make a peace sign. Your head leans against my cheek just in time for Delia to snap the photo.

“May I see it?” you ask eagerly. Delia hands you her phone.

I’ve always hated taking pictures. My wan complexion and dark circles do not look good on camera, and my inability to pose with anything but an awkward smile only makes them worse.

On this screen, however, my expression is serene.

Unusually relaxed. And you smile so widely by my side that your rosy cheeks pop and your nose wrinkles.

It’s been a while since we’ve seemed this happy.

“That’s a keeper,” I whisper.

“Definitely.” The excited grin hasn’t left your face. “I think I want to frame this.”

“Well, I am a great photographer.” Delia flicks her ponytail behind her shoulder. “Want me to send it to you?”