What's next?

Since the phone call I had barely put the violin down — well to be honest, the violin had become an extension of my hand for the past twenty-two years — but the last few days were especially intense. It was finally happening. My own solo at Konzerthaus. The place where my passion for this bizarre, wonderful instrument had begun.

I was six, maybe seven years old. Most likely six, because my brother was yet to be born. It was just me and my parents on holiday in Berlin. I still have no idea what had gotten into them and they decided to drag me along to a concert of classical music at Konzerthaus. It’s not like they are huge fans of classical music. But I am grateful to whatever possessed them that day. 

Of course, I had decided that I would be bored before I even set foot in the building. And to be fair to my younger self, I was bored for the better half of the concert. That was until a single violinist came to the stage. She wore a beautiful, red dress, it was what caught my eye at first. She had her hair up and she was elegant and graceful in her movements as she stood in the middle of the stage and placed the violin on her shoulder. 

She had my full attention before the first note left the violin. She had my heart when she started playing. Paganini’s Caprice no. 24, what a wonderfully intense piece. 

As her fingers danced all over the instrument and her body swayed with the tidal waves of the music, I was enchanted. By the end of the piece I had fallen in love. With her, with the piece, with the performance and finally with the violin itself. 

And as I clapped with all the genuine enthusiasm of a six year old, I sweared to myself that one day, I would be the one up there. 

Now that it was actually going to happen, I was terrified. 

***

My body was screaming for mercy. My neck and back were aching badly, I could barely feel my fingers anymore, but not playing, meant thinking and that was out of the question. 

I stopped when I felt hands around my waist and a chin on my free shoulder. “Hey” a voice said quietly. 

I smiled, removing the violin from my shoulder, but still not letting go. “Hey” I greeted and turned around. 

She smiled and kissed me. “It’s almost midnight, you know.” 

I smiled under her lips. “Give me five more minutes.” I was pretty sure that I had said that exact sentence probably two hours ago. 

She smiled and hummed. She was too patient with me. “You know what I was thinking while I watched you play?”

“That you have an extremely beautiful and incredibly talented girlfriend?”, I teased.

She leaned closer and brought her lips next to my ear. “That you should use your fingers on something other than the violin,” she whispered. 

I raised my eyebrows and at last let go of the violin. I was placing it carefully in its case when she smiled and as she left the room I said after her “Coming!” 

She giggled and a grin painted my face unwittingly. I loved the music of her. 

***

“I can hear your brain working,” she yawned and turned towards me. She threw one of her arms over my stomach. 

I gave her a small smile and she must had seen some of my anguish in it, because she gave me a concerned look.

“What is it?” She asked in a small, soft voice. 

“I am afraid.” I whispered. A part of me felt good admitting it, another part of me was begging for me to shut up. Talking about these things made them real, something you could no longer avoid and pretend that it was not there. 

“Isn’t that normal? You are always anxious before a big event.”

I shook my head. “I am not anxious. I am scared shitless. And not for the reasons that you are probably thinking of.”

“Tell me,” she nuzzled my neck and I starred at the ceiling. It was hard to find the correct words for the thoughts and feelings that I was actively avoiding for the past days. Words were always hard for me. Notes were my medium. She knew that and waited in silence for me to organise my scattered mind and put it into words. When I opened my mouth to speak, she squeezed me gently. An encouragement, a reminder that she was there for me.

“I have dreamed of this for so long and I have worked hard all these years. And now that it is happening all, I can think of is ‘What’s next?’ What am I going to dream of now? What’s the next goal?”

I paused. Anxiety was rapidly building in my chest, bricks had replaced my main organs, making my body heavy. And suddenly everything was catching up on me. The repressed fear of these days after the phone call, the fatigue and the sacrifices of twenty-two years for this dream to come true. Everything. 

“So many years of struggle will be over in a few minutes and I am scared that I will have nothing left after it.”

“You will have me and the violin,” she said in my neck. 

“What if I won’t play the violin anymore?” 

She let out a small, amused laugh. “Babe, you absolutely love that instrument. You are one of the lucky ones. To have found your passion so early in life. I don’t think that you are ever going to lose that.”

What if it was not passion? What if it was a mere obsession? Would it leave me after the concert? Would I still be me without it? Everyone saw me as a violinist, more importantly I saw myself as a violinist. And who would I be without it? A violinist that wouldn’t play the violin anymore. Absurd. 

“Would you still love me? If I lost my passion?” 

She kissed my neck. “I would love you no matter what.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

The weeks leading up to the concert passed by in a haze. I constantly practiced, pushing my fears and hesitations at the most remote corner of my mind. The thought of cancelling the concert did cross it once or twice, but I quickly rejected it. There was no point to do such a thing. I knew that I would regret it in the long run. I could not tell what laid for me after this particular concert but one thing was certain. I would play Paganini like no-one else before. 

When the day arrived and I waited to go on stage I was not afraid about my performance. I knew that it would be flawless. What I was afraid of was that I would be empty afterwards. Well, no point of being scared now, right? I am doing this, I thought before getting on stage and waiting for the applause to die out. I gave a small smile to my family and my girlfriend at the first row, I closed my eyes and I played like never before. I poured every ounce of my being in that performance. Every note produced by the violin was a fragment of myself exposed in the world. I played like the devil. I was feverish and unmistakable, but I was sure that I was playing the piece slow. 

‘Don’t play any faster. People won’t be able to separate the notes’ she told me the day before, so I did not pick up my tempo. Although I could. I could play it twice as fast.

And then it was over. In an instant. Blink and you missed it. I stood there sweaty and filled with adrenaline and I was small and on top of the world simultaneously. As people started clapping and cheering on their feet, I was lifted up and up and up. Suspended in the atmosphere, small but high above everyone and everything and it was the most beautiful feeling in the world. I was beautiful. The world was beautiful. 

A once in a lifetime feeling. One that I knew I could never again experience, I would only have the memory of it and even that memory will fade overtime and betray me. But when I opened my eyes and saw on the first row the people that loved me, I decided that it was really okay. I could live with just the distant, insipid memory of this. Because I loved them back.