distraction: you

chapter five

eddy chen is many things, but a social butterfly he most certainly is not.

well, he's a good person, he thinks. he tries to help where he can—case in point: a certain brett yang—but he has the tendency to forget his obligations easily, become callous without thinking. he can be a bit—intense when it comes to the music too, yes, fine, he can own up to that. he doesn't really mean any disrespect to anyone, though. it's not within his capacity to dictate what others think of him, and so he'll have to make do, no matter the public opinion.

what others think of him are mere distractions. the only critics eddy cares about are those that will bring him closer to his dreams, step by step.

so really, even as he wades through the parting crowd like moses amidst the sea, eddy hears the whispers, whatever verbal volleys they throw his way. he shrugs them off like he has a million times before and continues forward, game face on.

he has an audition to do. there can be no obstacles allowed in his way.

(at the back of his mind, something tingles like a reminder, like an alarm. he's missing something important. he's too focused on the challenge ahead to notice.)

• • •

what's interesting about this particular audition is that, while it's a blind audition on the part of the judges, there's a glass pane that leads out into the waiting hall, allowing for the other musicians outside to act as an audience to whoever is standing ready to perform. eddy pays the window and the curious stares beyond no heed, walks right up to the music stand and pulls out his audition piece: ysaye 3. that should suffice for this thing, shouldn't it?

he takes out his violin, his bow, preps his shoulder rest and looks over at the curtain separating him from the judges' table. breathe in, breath out. focus.

no distractions.

he closes his eyes, places the bow on the string, and the world fades around him.

• • •

whenever eddy plays, his mind wanders.

he sees images, flashes of a life lived and experienced: a boy fiddling with his first violin, the marks of a heavy-handed father entirely too fond of alcohol, the absence of a mother who should've been there when her child needed her.

he hears sounds: the feather-light caress of a feminine voice, the beloved tone of his instrument, the gentle repetition of no distractions, eddy. no distractions.

he feels sensations: the bite of a child's first encounter with violin strings, the slap of a hand against a delicate wrist, the press of soft, lost lips against his.

he sees, he dreams, he remembers.

no distractions, eddy.

the piece is done. he opens his eyes to an awestruck audience and a distant swell of applause.