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One sudden horrific moment shifts the entire trajectory of Atlas and Errol's lives, handicapping both young men in ways they could never have expected. A sculptor without his sight, and a piani...
Two uploads coming this week because I was sick as shit all last week. Enjoy lovelies! xoxo
Errol
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It's crazy how the trajectroy of your entire week can shift so drastically in such a short amount of time.
Playing music for hours as Atlas worked, was a beauitul meleoncholy Monday morning in comparison to the shit night this Thursday quickly became.
"Fuck." I sighed, pushing the worn pages away from me.
I had tattered the pages so badly as I read them over the last 48 hours, that they could barley hold their own against the flimsy stapled edges. It looked like I had thrown them all around the room in a frenzy... which honestly I came close to doing...
"You don't have to do this." Hendrix reminded me during the car ride home.
"I know." I reminded her, "But I also can't throw away everything my mother worked so far for. There's no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't care if I did..." I hesitated a moment, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I focused on the road. "But I would. I do care. Above all else, my mother would want me to do what makes me happy, and continuing in those massive footprints she left for me is really all that's keeping me going right now." I replied.
It was hard to get through to Hendrix when the conversation revolved around music, because of her lack of attachment to it, but I did my best to make her understand.
When I caught just afraction of a glimpse of her in my peripheral, I knew she understood. I knew it best because she had that look of sadness on her, and Hendrix rarely ever wore that look.
Maybe it was cause the look really wore her.
The lines in her forhead would furrow deep with concern. Those dark hickory eyes would well with tears from time to time when she gave me this look, but Hendrix never let a single tear fall in front of me.
I liked to think it was her fat ass pride that held her back, yet on the nights I gave it more thought, I think Hendrix knew that only one of us could be a mess... and it wasn't going to be her.
"It's a very solemn play." She added. "My only concern is that it might be too much. I don't want you to find the thing that finally sethers your ties to music. I'm just afraid for you, ya know? Afraid that this piece could be it."
And I didn't blame Hendrix. Neither did my accountant who was constantly on the verge of quiting due to my lavish spending on booze and bars, or any one of the broads I'd broughten home just to kick out the night of/next morning.
Yeah I'm positive they, too, thought I was a gift from hell.
"I'll be okay." I assured Hendrix, giving her knee a reassuring tap from the drivers seat. She swatted it away like I had tried to put a bug on her.
