Page 10 of Play Me

Chapter Five

SEBASTIAN

I don’t know if it’s my breath, or Jez’s next to me, that is hissing in my ears. But it’s definitely my own blood I can hear coursing through my veins. It’s amazing I can hear anything over the crowd but it’s right there, in my ears, racing too fast to use to keep time. The ceiling light show is fading and we’ve just run on stage with whatever light there is left. Once it’s completely dark, I count under my breath - one, two, three, four and pull my bow.

That first note is always the hardest.

The sound to break the tension, to build the excitement, to meet and raise the expectation.

While we take turns taking the lead during our performances, that wuss ass Jez will never play that first note. So no wonder it’s me pacing the greenroom before every show.

But here. Now. I’m glad that mofo doesn’t get to do this.

I wouldn’t give anything up for the feeling this gives me.

Knowing that it’s that sound, the whisper from my bow against the cello string, singing out to this crowd, who have paid, can you believe, it? PAID! To come here and listen to us, is from me.

Yeah, I brought you here. And I’m going to give you the show of your life. I make my promise to the crowd.

I break the monotony of the single note now I know I have the crowd’s attention, and break into the intro to U2’s “It’s a Beautiful Day”.

Every time I play this, I remember the day we picked it. It was after our first paid gig in a tiny pub in Edinburgh and after a long night drinking our pitiful pay, we stepped out onto the empty streets feeling on top of the world. We ran all the way back to our backpacker’s motel singing “It’s A Beautiful Day” at the top of our lungs and during our rehearsal the next day, we arranged it into our now trademark opening.

I hear Jez and then Brad and then Marius’ instruments join mine in turn, and for a moment, I can’t help but grin at how we, the idiot boys of our class, can make such beautiful music, and even more unbelievable, do it together.

Jazz’s cello’s notes dance around mine, our instruments whispering and yelling at one another in kind, like lovers in the most tumultuous and passionate relationship. We know each other’s parts so well, we could chop and change between us without a beat. Something Dennis made us promise to stop doing just to try to trip the other up.

But today, today I’m lost in my own performance. It’s been a while since we’ve been on stage, and I’ve missed it. I close my eyes and just let me fingers do their thing. I’ve learned long ago never to interfere too much, my body knows what and how to play better than I could ever consciously tell it to. I feel the sweat start to drip from my forehead onto the flop of fringe covering my eyes.

The second chorus comes before I know it, and the lights start to fade in, focusing on me. This is usually the first time I can get a really good look at the audience. I flip my head back, and with a puff of air, blow the hair out of my eyes. I look out into the crowd. It’s a sold-out performance. I skim the tops of head and moving bodies. Until my eye catches on someone in the front row. She’s not moving. She’s standing still amongst the sea of writhing bodies. And her eyes are closed, her hand clasped like in prayer, her lips resting on the tips of her touching index fingers. She’s mesmerizing to me. A figure of peace amongst chaos.

And then the world comes falling down.

She opens her eyes and it’s her.

The girl with the perfect moon eyes.

Cadence.

***

“What the hell happened in our intro man?” Jez pushes the door open to the restroom and confronts me.

As soon as we’d left the stage for intermission, I’d run off to the little boys room to go relieve myself. And also in part because I knew this confrontation was coming.

“What do you mean?” I know exactly what he meant. But there was no way in the world I was going to be telling him.

“You missed a whole fucking section!” He throws his arms up in the air in frustration.

“It wasn’t any big deal, mate, you took over.”

“Yeah, but give me a head’s up next time.” He calms down, but is still frowning.

“What’s with the hard time, mate? We used to switch it up all the time.” Yeah, that’s right, I tell myself, deflect, Jez loves when I do that.

“Don’t fucking make it about me, Seb.” OK, maybe not. “Something happened and it freaked you out, and I want to know what.”

“It wasn’t anything! Get off my case, sheet. I’ve covered for you a hundred times.” I say before I can stop myself.