Beethoven

chapter seven: in the moment

         "One large fries please," I said to the younger looking girl who was handling the orders.

          However, her eyes were focused on Ludwig who was standing closely behind me, and I could swear that she had just batted her eyelashes at him. "Anything else?" she asked, not entirely sure to who though.

          Yeah, she was definitely working those lashes. I tried not to roll my eyes in annoyance.

          "No thank you," Ludwig chirped. He was awfully used to ordering food as opposed to his first time here at McDonalds. "For here, please."

           I gave three dollars to the girl, and right after she handed me the change our order arrived instantly on a tray. "Thank you!" the cashier said, smiling radiantly. Pretty sure it wasn't for me. How could I not roll my eyes?

          Checking my phone as we found an empty booth, the time said six fifteen. I was about to ask Ludwig, who looked ready to dive into the food, if he wanted a burger or chicken wrap or something to bloat our stomachs and feel terrible after the greasy but tasty food, but I went against myself. There was a more important matter to discuss.

           After eating a single fry, I cleared my throat to start on what I wanted to tell him, as the incident early in the day didn't allow me to let my mind process on the whole situation. "Okay, so we obviously need to talk."

          "Oh no, we forgot the ketchup," Ludwig said at the same time in a louder voice, eyes wide as if it was a crime to forget the condiment. He dashed towards the counter to bring back a couple little cups.

          The back of his maroon American Eagle hoodie and fitted jeans facing me as he pumped the ketchup container with refined care,  I could only shake my head. He was so used to this. Instead of laying his fingers on the piano like he was supposed to,  his priorities had shifted to worrying about a ketchup-less fry.

          How can I force him to go back to his world of misery when really, he was so used to the life of luxury? We had spent so much time together; weeks. Day after day, from going to the zoo, to dedicating a day to try out all the skytrains, life in modern Vancouver was obviously preferable.

          But the image of Ludwig's family that he had left flashed before my eyes again, and I knew this was the right thing to do. We needed to discuss about it.

          "Ludwig," I began again after he settled down. "We need to talk."

           "You have to call me Eric, remember?"

             "Ludwig, this isn't the time. Like I said, we need to talk."

            He blinked. His eyelashes were darker and longer than the cashier girl. "About . . .?"

           "You."

           "Me?"

           "Yes, you! Don't act like you don't know anything. I thought about it after I, well, fainted today. Your stay here has been long overdue. We need to send you back."

            Ludwig chewed on his fry, quiet for a moment. "But I don't want to go back," he said.

           "You still have a lot of accomplishments that you haven't performed yet," I said, trying to be gentle. "Ludwig, you will regret it if you don't go back."

           "Like what, though?"

           "You're an extraordinary musician. You don't know the countless amazing works you have yet to compose. Like Fur Elise."