The Maestro | RusAme |

Thirty-Two

He had some time to think about what they discussed, and decided he was okay if he wasn't perfect in every one else's eyes. Although he maybe doubted the validity of that statement, he knew that Amelia didn't care because she loved him, and the same went for his family. If that was the case, no one else must care either, right?

He couldn't answer that question because he couldn't get inside the minds of people that knew him. If it was out of his hands, he didn't see why he cared so much. He wished his heart felt the same way as his brain, though he knew that things of this nature take some time to become true.

He at least had Amelia at his aid, someone he knew he could trust, and someone that would be willing to help him be comfortable in his own skin.

An hour passed since she came over to check on him, and he passed the time by practicing. Amelia could hear him on the other side of the wall that divided their living spaces, and was surprised that the process was so incredibly slow and tedious. There was a drone playing a single continuous note, and he was playing slow scales, tuning them to the constant pitch. Then he played excerpts from his pieces in small chunks, and he would play them over and over and over again, in different ways.

He would sing the note while he played it, singing do re mi, and open two four, and up down up, and then he'd play it with different rhythms.

He was still doing this after an hour. How? She wondered if this was what he did every day, even while everyone else was working? She didn't get to hear him practice unless she came back to pick up her lunch in the middle of the day. But she assumed he had a late start or something, because he was doing this right now, and she was sure that their neighbors in other apartments were not used to the noise either.

Another thirty minutes went by, and he had since stopped repeating the same measures many times in different ways, and went through the chunk he processed in his practice that day. It sounded perfect, and Amelia couldn't believe that we went from playing at less than half that speed just some moments ago.

She was going to start eating, but before making a plate for herself, she popped into Ivan's flat to tell him dinner was ready.

"This is so much work for you, walking back and forth from my place to yours," Ivan deadpanned, "Can't you just move in?"

She laughed at his ploy to get her to leave her apartment and spend more time with him, even though it was only a wall that divided them. "We'll see about that, I still need to talk to Gil about it. He couldn't afford to pay rent before I moved in with him. Even when splitting expenses with me he still can't afford instrument repairs!"

"I figured, musicians aren't paid enough. I remember when I couldn't afford to keep up with playing after we moved to Moscow, let alone any bills..."

Amelia nodded in strong agreement, "Absolutely," she then changed the subject when she didn't know what to say, "Let's eat, I didn't have lunch so I'm starving!"

They continued chatting in Amelia and Gilbert's flat over dinner, which was a normal thing that they did most days. They would usually trade off and have dinner in one flat one night, and the other the next.

"It's made my wallet hurt less, thanks." Amelia commented on the topic.

Ivan shook his head, "It's no issue, please. By the way, this is good. I've never had it. What is it?"

"It's meatloaf...?" She answered unsurely, looking at Ivan like he had three heads.

He gave her a strange look back before she said, "You can't tell me that you have never had or heard of meatloaf in the entire two years and change that you've spent here."