would have spent the next week recovering, hiding in my room after school, reading something or playing video games. Which is why Sophie’s response was what I needed.
So why, as I soak my reed and pace around the busking area, do I feel like I missed out on a new experience? One that could have been good?
I assemble my oboe and roll through my warm-ups, scales, and arpeggios from B3 to F6 and back. And I feel comfortable and safe.
Safe?
Since when does feeling uncomfortable mean feeling in danger? That’s how I’ve always approached everything—big crowds, new experiences, making new friends. Sharp fear, pinching my shoulders tight and pushing me back. Holding me back.
“Are you ready?” Sophie asks, raising the camera. “I’ll start filming whenever. And you’re doing your old audition piece, right?”
But I don’t need Megan to push me outside my boundaries.
I need to do that myself. I need to be my own advocate. To say okay and keep moving forward and panic later.
“Nope,” I say. “I’ve been working on something new. I have it mostly memorized, I think.”
She hits record, and I start to play. Bach’s Oboe Concerto in D minor, the second movement. The melody flows through my fingers, and I purse my lips together, feeling the oboe reverberating throughout the space. I make a few mistakes, and I miss a whole measure, but I play it through.
My arm tingles; my fingers feel heavy. I’ve never performed a piece like that, underprepared and on the spot. It’s like I’ve chugged a gallon of coffee; my body is vibrating with energy.
But a good energy.
“Damn, you are good with a melody. Do you want to try again to pick up the notes you missed?”
I shrug. “No, I want that moment played. It was a nice moment.”
With Shane occupied in the main room, flinging his arms around erratically, conducting … something, I take a late afternoon shower. As soon as I get out and dry off, I weigh myself.
I can’t see a difference, or much of one, when I look in the mirror, and it’s a bit demoralizing. But I’ve lost weight, and I think that’s the most important. I’m down from a hundred kilograms to ninety-three, and it’s only been a couple of weeks. So, no, I can’t see much of a difference, but the scale in our bathroom tells me I’m on my way.
My BMI’s gone down too. Every time there’s a change on the scale, I look it up. I weigh myself after I go to the restroom every morning, before I shower. Then again later on in the day to make sure the food I’ve eaten hasn’t increased it too much.
When I put some product in my hair, I hear the front door open. Suddenly, Pierce’s voice booms through the apartment, and my body freezes. I’m behind a closed door, but I still cover my stomach.
Wrapped in a towel, I duck into my room, not acknowledging the new visitor. I throw on my clothes in a panic, and check two, three more times that I look presentable. Then there’s a knock on my door. And he’s in my room.
Looking at my bed.
“Hiya, Mart.”
“What are you doing here?” is my hello.
He rolls his eyes. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“We live in the same neighborhood.”
“Have you ever seen a sitcom? That’s how friendship works—dropping in unannounced.”
“Great,” I say. “I love spontaneity.”
I make eye contact with Shane, down the hall. He studies me wearily, which he’s been doing a lot more lately. And if there’s anything that makes me worse at dealing with people, it’s dealing with those who can’t deal with me.
“Anyway,” I say. The eternal let’s-pretend-this-never-happened transition. “Thanks for stopping by. This is my room. That’s my bed.”
I wince. There’s nothing else to show Pierce about this box of a room, but is pointing to the bed presumptive? Especially after the last time we were in a bed together?
I wonder if my mind will ever stop running.
I decide it probably won’t.
“I see that.” He plops down on the bed. “I figured you’d be the type of bloke who makes his bed every morning. Not one who leaves it so messy.” He shakes his head, because he knows I’m exactly that kind of guy and he’s trying to get under my skin.
It’s working.
“Normally, yes. But I slept in today.”
I’ve been sleeping in a lot, actually. And I was hoping to get in a nap before dinner. It’s an unfortunate side effect of skipping meals, but sleeping also helps me