Faith and love; He was Everything in a nothing world

Author note: this is the second chapter of my original draft that I completed over ten years ago. It has multiple chapters, and it’s unfinished as of now. Hope you enjoy!! The original name of “Josh” was Noah. He is still the same character, just with very small variations.

Here’s the story I revised and published on Vocal, a much more condensed version of this longer story.

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I am not sure if it was that people avoided me due to my lack of social etiquette, or if it was the fact that one of the most popular boys in high school took partiality to me and ignored others to talk to me, but I knew that most people didn’t like me.

For whatever the reason, people liked certain propriety in society, and it reminded me of when Noah had told everyone so casually, in reference to who I am, “If acting like a faithful, intelligent musician who loves God is unlikeable, then society’s wiles and sense of order have all gone down a musty, dark drain.” He had said this out loud during a class assembly, making sure a group of snickering students could hear him. He said this so firmly and so seriously, I think that even those clowns feared his reproach if they responded.

We were in English composition, and had to write an opinion essay and read it out loud to the class.

Mine was on religion and how it affected people, and helped them through life and death. My thesis was that society needed moral order in order to function properly, a reason of hope that justice and honesty would prevail over the dreadful conditions most had to live every day. Then I also put the idea that even atheists could have a moral compass and be caring, but it gave them less hope of humanity, of life. My mother thought it was too controversial, but my teacher Mrs. Donovitz loved the idea.

I was so worked up reading, I could tell my voice was rising and falling like a minister at a sermon might have, and I was getting passionate about it. I sometimes got so worked up over things, like my essay, and my faith. Some seemed interested in my semi short speech, but a group of a couple of guys and one girl were laughing their pants off at me.

Our teacher was shushing them, but I kept going on. I sat down when I was done and they looked at me cross eyed. And that’s when Noah said his defense of me very loudly. They all had shut up immediately. I never forgot it, but I also never mentioned it to Noah, thinking he might be embarrassed if I did.

Others thought me strange because I raised my hand in class all the time to exclaim my answers without a thought, and I was right almost every time, which made others resent me. Other times, I would be very quiet and focused on reading something, or polishing my double bass. I didn’t understand why honesty was considered rude sometimes. I didn’t use a disdainful tone with others when I spoke, I never insulted (unless provoked, and even then I tried to be intelligent about my insults and not curse), and I usually had a calm and happy demeanor. It was not that I didn’t want friends, on the contrary, I longed to have friends, but it alluded me, and I usually only made friendly acquaintances in school. The only person that cared to know me was Noah and my family, at first.

Music was my true sense of happiness, and a way to make sense of myself and others, and maybe my dedication to it was off putting to others as well.

Though I haven’t mentioned it yet, I started to play in my high school band as a bassist, as I played a double bass, in my freshmen year.

I love music, especially the music that played in my church, and I often sang along, but very softly so no one would hear. I always knew my voice wasn’t fit to be heard, it was strong when I spoke, but very meek and raspy when I sang. I felt the music so strongly in my heart, though, that I wanted to convey that in some way. I remember listening to a lot of classical music when I was younger, and the sound of the violin always made my heart leap, it was so lovely sounding, so sad and so poignant. Sometimes so jubilant and joyful. I listened to the best of the best, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Bach, and many others.

One of my favorite songs honestly was from Debussy, Suite bergamasque. I loved Claire De Lune. It sounded lovely no matter what instrument played it, but mostly it sounded its best on the piano and, in my opinion, the Theremin.

I didn’t realize how to go about expressing these thoughts into action, that is, until high school. I found that the music in my heart reflected the love for God, and my family especially, so it helped me express that freely. The double bass was the most similar instrument to a violin, since they were in the same family, so I decided to start band class to learn how to play, but I didn’t have the instrument yet to start anything. I expressed interest to my parents and my brother as well, and at the time, they told me to wait until Christmas.

They had all saved together to buy me a very nice second handed double bass, and that also year, I bought Al tickets to a movie he’d been dying to see. My mother and father got Al and I a bunch of new (and used) winter clothing and new bed sheets. I was fifteen, Al was fourteen. I remember Al got a new bicycle as his big present, a shiny dark blue one with reflectors, matching helmet and all. It was very cool, and I think I remember it so well since that was one of the few Christmas’ we got these amazing gifts. Usually, we wouldn’t be very well off financially and we would just barely afford new socks and dinner (Rice with chicken). We weren’t terrifically well off, but we were at least getting along with the basic necessities of life with a few extras popped in. I was very happy with what I had.

I honestly never was a materialistic person, but when I received that instrument, I loved it so much I studied independently day and night before I signed up for band class next semester. The sounds it made every time I got a tune right or played a little of a song made me very motivated to do even better.

I finally had a goal for the first time in my life. I wanted to be a soloist, or to play in a well known orchestra. As I progressed with my practicing and training, I met a young woman, her name was Marisol. She was this beautiful Mexican-Italian girl in my band class. She and I got along from the start.

Her whole name is Marisol Thalia-Rose Castillo. She had this honey-cinnamon (I think of food when I see skin tones) skin tone, soft pink lips, long legs, a beautiful, clear complexion and the cutest green eyes with these long black eye lashes. She played the flute.

Her hair was also very lovely, long and curly black ringlets down past her shoulders. I can’t write enough about how lovely she was.

I think I kind of fell in love with her the moment I saw her. She said to me, the first day of class, “May I sit here, or is this seat taken?” She had this charm about her stance, her walk, her smile, that gave me away.

“No, not at all.” I was so clumsy about her I didn’t realize that the seat was indeed taken, as we all had assigned seats.

She laughed at me when the teacher placed us in the correct seats. And we partnered up quite often to practice together.

It kind of reminds me of Catcher in the Rye, when Holden said: “I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.”

That quote always interested me, and though the beginning isn’t true about Marisol, she was beautiful and smart, I think the premise is true. Girls can drive a guy half wild if given the right circumstance. Just watch them do something pretty, like brush off their skirt, apply some lipstick, or mutter some Spanish under their breath and watch their hair bounce and their lips pout, and you’re a dead man. I knew I was. I was a sucker for beauty in this world, whether it be in music, my faith, literature, women, and sometimes even in my schools studies (math was a very good subject for me).

Our band teacher was a little uptight and would always point out a person’s fault or issue with a note or a score. I remember that when our band teacher would go on one of her rant/speeches, Marisol would mutter some Spanish under her breath, and every time it would be the same thing. I don’t know what she said, I never asked her, but her ringlets of hair would always bounce when she spoke, and her eyes would widen, and just slightly she would nibble on her bottom lip after she was done saying it.

She shared my ambitions to an extent, and she loved music as much as I. I told Al about her, and he was already teasing me about my little girlfriend, and that we should go play our instruments together.

“You could make sweet music together!” Al would always smile ear to ear as he said it, and it ticked me off because he often said it when I was to see her.

I didn’t see her like that, at least for a while I didn’t. She was a real treasure to me, someone to share life and laughter and dreams. She liked me as far as I could tell, but who knew? Women were as mystical to me at fifteen years old as they are now.

Our teacher didn’t make the class enjoyable though. She was constantly critical of us, especially me. She would drill us all and drill me, sometimes in front of everyone, and then ask me to stay after class to practice and take notes. I really disliked that teacher, so much so, I don’t respect her enough to even write out her name.

I was mediocre, according to her, and my dreams of being a soloist almost were destroyed before I even got close to being a Sophomore.

Marisol really tried to convince me that our old teacher was just a ‘lonely spinster with an overactive complaining gland’, and yes that was what she actually said, but I kind of knew I was second rate. She always had creative ways of explaining people’s habits and personalities to me.

I still really wanted to play in an orchestra, and maybe even be a soloist one day. That would be the ultimate joy for me.

I have been researching orchestras at the time, and I remember one that stuck out at me. The LA Philharmonic orchestra looked promising, innovative and just something I could fit into. For one thing, the thought of even visiting Southern California sounded exciting and fun, but to live there and play in that setting so freely, would be grand.

Actually, my last conversation (for a while) with Noah was about the LA Philharmonic, I was sixteen. He invited me over to his house (his brother John had previously been engaged with friends), and he asked me to play for him. I had never actually seen him outside of school socially, except for a couple of times to chat outside of school, so I was a bit nervous, and I couldn’t refuse to play since I was stubborn when it came to new opportunities. I liked to push my limits, and in fact, I was the one who brought up playing my double bass at his house.

I wanted to play, at first, Claire De Lune. But it sounded boring when I played it, and I liked this Hungarian composition called Czardas. It was written by Vittorio Monti in 1904. I heard it on the radio once and loved it. It was evoked something nostalgic within me, and once Al found out, he went on a ‘mission’ to find me the sheet music. He finally found it at a garage sale by chance one day, and I was so happy to finally play a real piece of music by reading the notes and not just learning by ear alone.

It is really supposed to be played on a violin, traditionally, but I loved the song so much, I practiced it on my own with my double bass. I actually played it every day after school, and it always put me in a good mood. Al said it was soothing to hear me play.

“So this is the famous Ben?” Noah’s father greeted me, he opened the door for me and I set my instrument down gently. He smiled, his hand outstretched to mine. I shook his hand firmly, as my father taught me to when first meeting another gentleman.

“Yes sir. I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.” I said politely.

“Old Noah has told me all about you, the musician. You going to play?”

“Yes, I aim to, sir.”

He laughed, “You don’t have to call me sir. Call me Edward.” He winked at me and told me to have a seat, and that ‘Old Noah’ would be right down.

“Okay.”

“You are more polite than his other friends, I will tell you that, son.” He said and asked if I wanted a drink.

“No thank you.” Their house was pretty untidy, there were these old Navajo blankets scattered everywhere, the fireplace was full of ashes, cups everywhere, a couple of plates piled up on the coffee table in front of me. That wasn’t really what made the place untidy or unkempt, it was the massive stack of endless books, reference guides and magazines that piled up everywhere, even a couple where I was sitting. Still, I liked it, and it felt cozy. It made me think that when it was cold enough outside, they would light a fire and all sit down to eat dinner here and then afterward cover themselves up with an old Navajo blanket and read. It made me smile to think of it.

His father had Noah’s eyes and features, a strong chin and a lot of laugh lines. There was something in his eyes though that had a touch of sadness in them through it all. I thought of Noah’s mother when I looked in his eyes.

He came back in the living room, and sighed. “Could certainly use a woman’s touch ‘round here, don’t ya think, Ben?”

“I like to read, so I don’t mind it one bit.”

Edward threw his head back and laughed heartily. I smiled back. He had his father’s laugh.

“You are pretty original kid, I will give you that.”

Noah came in, and looked immediately embarrassed his father was talking to me.

Mr. Jamison turned around and saw Noah, “Old Noah didn’t tell me what you were playing.”

“An old Hungarian song, called Czardas . It’s not that long, like four minutes and a half minutes or so. I really like it.”

Noah walked over and sat down next to me. He gave his dad a sideways look, and his father smiled and looked at me.

“Alright you two, have fun. Nice to meet you, Ben.” He shook my hand one more time.

“You too.” I said.

Noah turned to me and smiled a strange smile. “Sorry if my dad said anything weird.” He whispered.

I shook my head, disagreeing. “He was very nice.”

Still, Noah shook his head, his cheeks a little red.

I put my hand on his shoulder, patting it. “So there was something you wanted to talk about?” I asked him. He had told me at school he wanted to tell me something, and that he wanted to me to come over. I thought it would be awkward to just come over to talk, so I offered to play my double bass. He liked the idea so much, it made me not want to do it. But I still brought it over.

He shrugged. “You are a straight shooter, aren’t you?”

“I am honest, if that’s what you mean.” I nodded. “I like to get to the heart of the matter.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather speak to you about it upstairs later on.” He pointed over toward the direction of his father in the kitchen, and I nodded, understanding. I understood being embarrassed by your parents, but I liked his father. He was charismatic and warm, unlike my stern father.

I don’t know why, but Noah has always made me feel comfortable, and I think it was his eyes. They were so kind, and so witty and calm, I never felt more at ease with anyone else. I wanted to get to know him, and I did through the years, I was in tenth grade now, heading toward eleventh, and we seemed to know each other pretty well, considering we had never really hung out, and mostly talked at school. But we talked a lot. Noah, at first, did all the talking, then slowly I started talking. I have to admit, if it weren’t for Old Noah, I wouldn’t be so social as I am now, or as confident with other people.

“So, of all the instruments, why did you pick the double bass?” He looked over at it. “Didn’t you want to play the violin?”

I paused for a minute, thinking about it. “I love the way a violin sounds, and the double bass is so similar to it as it is in the same family, just a little deeper sounding, if you know what I mean. The thought of myself even owning an instrument was astonishing to me. I was just happy to have it, to learn, to appreciate the sounds it made.” I plucked at the strings slowly, “I even like the fact that it is larger than the violin, it makes me feel like it is standing up with me and we are playing together, rather than having me hold it to play.”

“You still want to join that orchestra?” He asked me, referencing to the LA Philharmonic.

“Yeah. But I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to go to California, nonetheless, I will try to get my classical education in college and apply.”

“Is it legitimate?” He eyed the double bass. “You think you could be apprenticed there?”

“Well, I researched a little and the LA Philharmonic is very innovative and interesting to me. I like the idea of living in a sunny, cheerful place playing music I love in a professional environment.” I paused. “If I could apprentice there, I would need to find a good job to support myself first.”

He leaned back in into the cushion of the couch, stretching his arms above his head. “I have always noticed how you loved that instrument.” He eyed me softly. “You take very good care of it. I’ve seen you polish it during lunch sometimes.” He noted, and he was right, I often polished my double bass during lunch.

“Only you would notice that, Noah.” I teased him. “You are very observant, you know that?” I went on, referencing to when he complimented me on the same point in fourth grade.

He remembered. “You know who is a panic and a half?” He said in a blatantly garish manner, that made me laugh at him. Though at the time, I remember thinking how bright and interesting his eyes were when they were happy. It made me happy to be there with him.

I blew a raspberry at him.

“You are.” He continued. “Especially when you blow up about the Reds.” He deadpanned.

“You are too much for me, Noah.” I laughed again. “You try to be funny, but you fail over and over again.”

“Then why are ya laughing?”

“’Cause you’re corny as heck.”

He eyed me suspiciously, “And who was the original guy who said the line in the first place?”

“I don’t deny it. But I do think it was funnier when I said it,” I leaned back into the couch and relaxed. For some reason, it seemed like when I moved slightly, we got closer to each other, and our legs were touching. I didn’t really mind, as I remember, but something interesting to note was that I thought Noah scooted in closer toward me while I wasn’t looking.

“You really know how to prick at a guy’s ego, don’t you?” He laughed as he spoke.

“I do my best.” I said. He looked at my instrument across the room, and then looked thoughtfully back at me.

“You know Spokane has a symphony orchestra, right, Ben?”

I nodded. “Yes, yes. I know. But as I’ve told you many times, I have lived here all my life, and I want to get away and be on my own, live my life the way I know it needs to be lived.” I chuckled. “I might audition to see if I can get in after high school, just for kicks.”

He laughed softly. “I never have played an instrument before.” He said suddenly.

“Want to learn how?” I offered.

He grinned. “No. I’m okay. I’ll probably break it or something, I’m musically inept, as you know.”

“Come on! You won’t break it or anything. I will show you.” I leaned over toward his face in an obnoxious fashion. “I won’t judge you.”

He scoffed lightly. “Well, I am surely glad of that, sir.”

I just looked at him with this sad, innocent look. He laughed slightly.

“Okay! Okay. Show me.”

I went to go get it and gently placed it in between us.

“From all that I have learned and read about music, which is a lot,” I teased and he shook his head at me, “You first need to first familiarize yourself with the instrument.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at it, get a feel for it.” I handed the contrabass (double bass) over to him. “See the strings, they go from the thinnest,” I took his hand and placed it on the first string, “To the thickest.”

“There are only four gut strings, here, and the thinnest is G, and from there it is D, A and E.”

He nodded and looked at the strings, and he was very quiet. I took his hand and let him pluck each string as I told him about the notes.

“There is also a five string bass, but I like it simpler like this one. Beggars can’t be choosers anyway, my family bought it for me for Christmas years ago.” I said and let go of his hand. “There are no frets on a double bass, so to hit the right note, you kind of have to just fun around with it until you get the right sound.”

He laughed. “Fun around with it?”

“Shut up.” I said simply. He just laughed again, and then quieted down when I looked at him sorely.

“What is a fret?”

“It’s like a series of ridges on the fingerboard of stringed instruments, used for fixing the positions of the fingers to produce the desired notes. It is more of a guide, really, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah it does.”

“Anyway, I am not letting you use my bow, since you are just starting out, so you can pluck the strings and get a feel for it.”

He looked at me imploringly, and just shrugged.

He ran his finger through all four in a row.

“I am not musically inclined, Ben, you know that. I am a reader.”

I laughed. “I can see that.” I pointed all around at the massive stacks of books everywhere.

We looked around the living room and both laughed out loud.

It was in the moment, I guess, that made it so funny.

“Noah! Are you fine gentlemen thirsty?” His father called out at us. “Hungry?”

“Dad! No!” He shouted, and his cheeks went all red again. Boy, his father really worked him up.

I smiled. “I am okay, thank you.”

“I will be in the back yard then, Noah.” He father called, and I smiled at Noah knowingly.

“My dad is a gardener.” He explained softly. “He tends to tomatoes and other vegetables when he has free time.” He explained.

“So you get free vegetables?” I said to him with interest.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” He smiled. “He is a pretty decent cook too.” He added. I nodded with a smile back.

“I guess I will play the song for you now. I practiced at my house before I left.”

“Okay, Mr. Musician.” He teased.

“Shut up, I am warning you. I will leave and never return!” I coughed mock-indignantly.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine.”

I stood up and got it upright, and stared to practice a few notes to prepare myself.

It was a very dynamic piece of music and changed speed to pianissimo to fortissimo. The tempo and speed changed quite a bit and I liked it because it reminded me of human beings, with us being so fickle and uncertain about life, we can’t decide to slow things down or speed things up.

He became very quiet just then, and our eyes met. I suddenly got a chill on my spine, and his eyes were so intent on looking at me, I couldn’t really breathe.

I knew it was all in my head, though, and I closed my eyes.

I told him to close his eyes to picture the music.

He laughed. “You are very articulate.”

“And you are very impressionable.” I joked with him back.

I then started the first section in D minor, and then slowly to D Major. I kind of messed up toward the middle and missed a couple of fast notes, but I don’t think Noah noticed much. I wasn’t too nervous.

I closed my eyes at first and then opened to as I played, and saw Noah with his eyes closed on the couch, listening. Or sleeping, hah, but he looked very relaxed.

The song was very beautiful, and as always, it soothed my nerves. I always had a jumble of nerves when I was around a non-family member, but not usually with Noah. Even Marisol gave me the nerves when I was with her sometimes.

Once it was over and done, I inwardly sighed.

“What cha think?” I asked and he opened his eyes, his whole body jumping upward with a start.

“You scared me! I didn’t think it was over.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think I remember hearing that song before a long time ago.” He said finally. “It was interesting. I liked it.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I said simply. I put my instrument down and sat down next to Noah again.

“Warren…”

I looked at him sharply for a second. He only called me that once before, and that was to tease me over when he heard my mother call me that when she was annoyed with me.

I wanted to tell him not to call me that, it irked me a little, but when he said it almost sadly, in a strange wistful manner, it felt okay enough not to be angry.

I didn’t talk, either did he for a minute. He sighed and looked down at his shoes. I suddenly felt such warmth between him and I, an understanding and joy that could only be between two friends after so many years. I never told him this, nor anyone, and maybe it was a six sense, but I felt that warmth, not only in my heart, but throughout my body, resonating strongly at that very moment.

I finally spoke up. “What’s going on? You’ve been hiding something from me.”

He didn’t deny it, and I felt bad that I was testing him.

“What is wrong, Noah?”

He looked at me with his soft blue eyes, and I felt something like a rock hit my stomach. He looked not too different when I first met him in third grade. But he was more confident, more able to be himself. I think I helped him with that. Suddenly I thought of Marisol. And yeah, we joked about our snippy teachers and laughed and chatted until we were blue in the face, and I loved her legs and smile and eyes and voice, but I had never felt as wonderful and at peace with her as I did with Noah. He wasn’t high strong like she was, or as sarcastic, or as mean or as phony as other people I knew were.

“My father got a temporary job for the summer in Idaho, and we will moving away from here until the beginning of eleventh grade.”

“Is that all? You’ll be back soon then, right?” I said excitedly, “Wait? Where in Idaho?” I knew that Spokane was directly west across the state border of Idaho, so it wasn’t too far, but I was still curious.

He shrugged. “It all depends how the job goes. He is doing a couple of side jobs in this place called Post Falls, Idaho which is not even thirty minutes from here, but then we are going to Kootenai County where his real temp job is, and also where my grandmother lives. She’ll be letting us stay with her until the beginning of eleventh grade.” He sighed. “And that is a good hour away driving distance.”

I wanted to shrug it off, and something kept telling me to tell him something, but I was too annoyed and frustrated to tell him anything other than ask questions.

“When are you leaving?” I finally asked him.

He paused, not looking at me.

I started tapping my finger against a cushion to show my impatience.

“In a week.”

“Wow, Noah. You couldn’t have told me earlier?” I felt like I was being too harsh with him, but I thought we were pretty close friends, and that he should have at least told me a little sooner.

He sighed guiltily. “No, Ben, I wanted to…” He looked at me earnestly. “I really did, there are just a lot of things on my mind. I have been trying to sort it all out.”

I scoffed at him. “Listen, you could have talked to me about it, ya know?” I frowned.

He shook his head. “Dad said we would be back before the beginning of eleventh grade.” He repeated.

I tried to not make a big deal of it, but he was my closest ally and friend in my life, and I wanted answers. But I remained quiet.

“You know me, I over think things, Ben. I procrastinate and wait and wait until it is too late to do anything.” He looked so sad when he said it, I thought he was going to cry.

“So this is what you wanted to tell me…” I said slowly.

He looked away from me for a moment, and then at the wall. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing with all this stuff?” I motioned at all the books everywhere.

“We’re keeping our house here and renting it out to save some money. And dad is putting our stuff in a storage place.”

I suddenly had a thought. “He-Hey, Noah! I just had the craziest idea!” I jumped up and leaned back.

He looked at me funny. “Yeah?”

“You could live with us! We wouldn’t charge you rent since you could sleep on our big old couch we have the living room. I tell you, it is comfortable and accommodating.” I said it like I was trying to sell him a product over the radio, and he laughed. “Your dad could help out with the groceries, and we will be good! It’s only for the summer.”

He smiled at me so widely, I thought he might hug me. I could tell he hated the thought of leaving everyone here, and his school and home.

And then he frowned. “John would want me to come with him. He might hate you even more if I stayed with you.” He laughed softly. “If that was possible.”

“What about your dog?” I remembered the dog just now, and had only seen him twice, a little golden retriever named Rex. He was very cute and had a very lovely coat on him.

He looked down, sighing softly. “He ran away a couple of days ago. John has been out looking for him, tirelessly, but we still haven’t found him yet.” He sighed. “He always liked to keep the dog without a leash. Dad warned him about it, but I don’t know.” He put his hands over his face and then looked at me between the gaps in his fingers.

“Sorry. I will let you know if I find him. He has a license, right?”

“Yeah, he does.” He sighed again. I got a little frustrated by all the bad news I just didn’t talk to him for a few minutes. I did feel a little sorry for the dog, and all, but I didn’t feel like talking all of a sudden.

I hated him for a few minutes after that. Hated him for lying to me, and for pretending everything was okay. It made all of the fun we had just a little bit ago fraudulent. It made me wish I hadn’t played for him, either.

“Ben, I wanted to say…” He looked at me, but my mood was ruined, and I looked down.

“What?” I almost spat out.

“Never mind.” It sounded like he was a wounded bird when he spoke, and then he got enough courage I suppose, and did something I never, in my whole damn life, would have ever predicted.

He took my hand. At first I was wondering if it was an accident, and he didn’t pull away or act like it was some big mistake.

For some reason, I didn’t pull away either. It goes back to my motto of pushing my own limits, to experience and understand new horizons, or so I told myself.

My whole face got really warm at that moment.

He laughed. “You’re blushing.”

“No I am not.” I said stubbornly, but it made my heart tremble when he laughed. It made my hatred die down into a quiet annoyance.

I was actually too afraid to look at his face, I had been looking at a particular stack of magazines for a long time, but then I decided to look at him.

He was looking even more afraid than I was probably, and then when our eyes met, he smiled. He let go of my hand suddenly, a swift movement I barely felt, and my heart pounded in my chest.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly.

“You’re my friend, Noah, there is nothing to be sorry about.”

He exhaled sharply, and suddenly tears ran down his face.

I didn’t really know what to do, or say. I never saw another man cry before, and my father was the sternest man I knew.

I just did what my mother did when we were younger and were upset. I patted his back and said, “There, there.”

He got in my face suddenly, and his eyes were all red and his cheeks ruddy with tears.

“No use crying over spilled milk.” I added as a comedic touch.

“You’re no good at heartfelt goodbyes, are you?” He laughed.

“Look, the only thing I am going to feel today are the strings of my double bass, got it?”

He laughed out loud, his sadness running away from him.

“I will write to you.” He said with a finality that made me think these were our last bits of time left together. “Since you don’t have a telephone.” He added with a slight smile to his words.

“Alright then.”

It was then, I felt my heart twist inside of me, thinking of his hand on mine, it made me feel simultaneously joyful and emotionally drained.

Suddenly, the beginning of our conversation made sense to me, and at first it seemed normal for him to be curious of my musical interests and where I wanted to live later on, but maybe he thought this would be the last time he would see me. He kept asking me about my future, and where it all fit in. Where he might have fit in.

A week later, they had taken the transit bus and left, and somehow, a part of me left with them.

—