Broken Concerto

Connor prepares for his concerto, but something feels off.

Beep beep beep beep. Connor groggily swatted at the alarm clock to shut it off. The old digital clock read 4:00am. It was much earlier than Connor normally woke, but he cut his sleeping time after missing an important event last week. 

“Up early again?”

His wife walked from the dark bathroom ready for the day in her blue work scrubs. She reached back and tied her dark brown hair into a ponytail, sending vanilla perfume wafting his way. She was a surgeon so it was normal for her to be up at odd times. Connor felt the bed next to him. It was cold so she must have been awake for a while.

“Yeah Tay. It’s concert day so I want to get some more practice in before I play in the concerto. Only nine more hours until I have to be at the Concert Hall.”

Connor groaned as he shifted out of bed, his joints aching even though he was only in his thirties. He trudged over to the bathroom to make himself presentable. 

Taylor gazed at him in concern. “Just don’t burn yourself out. You’ve been working so hard lately that I’m afraid you’ll damage your health.”

Conner smiled at her with a half-smile. “I’m fine. I feel like we have this conversation everyday.”

Connor closed the bathroom door to shower, shave, brush his teeth, and change into his nice tux. Filled with nervous tension for the day to come, Connor stared at himself in the mirror with a frown and toyed with his bowtie.

“Don’t worry so much. Those wrinkles on your forehead could become permanent if you glare at yourself any longer.” Taylor walked over to him and straightened his bowtie with a nice tug. She hugged him from the side. “You’ll do great. I know it.”

“Thanks Tay. This isn’t my first rodeo, but live audiences always get to me.” Connor hugged her back. “When do you have work?”

“I actually just got back. I think I’ll get some sleep and do some reading later. I’ve been wanting to read the new Sylvester novel for my book club.”

“Okay, want me to make you breakfast when I’m done practicing?”

Taylor shook her head. “I’m okay. Just leave something on the stove and maybe I’ll eat it when I wake up.”

Connor nodded and left the bathroom, heading towards the music room they had downstairs. He was still nervous, but less so than before.

As he passed his son’s room, Connor paused at the open door. His son was sitting on the bed, staring into space. Connor checked his watch. It was only 5am.

“Hey Shaun. I’m amazed to see you up so early.” Shaun turned his head slowly and nodded his head without saying anything. Connor waited for a response, but it was in vain, leaving a long minute of silence between them.

“Well bud, uh don’t forget to bring the papers I signed on your desk to school. You keep forgetting to bring them and I’m afraid you’ll come home with a teacher’s note one of these days.” Shaun nodded again and turned his head to stare back at the wall in a daze.

Connor stood there awkwardly for a few more seconds before he closed Shaun’s door and renewed his trek to the music room. Shaun was acting strange.

“Was I this bad as a teen? I hope he’s not on drugs or something.” Connor muttered to himself until he reached his destination. The music room was attached to the family office and had special padding on the walls to prevent echoing and to dampen the sound for those outside the room.

Connor sat at the wooden piano and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to practice anymore. He had practiced this song hundreds of hours and had played it at a few different venues already, but doing this helped calm his nerves.

Placing his hands on the keys, Connor warmed up for around an hour before listening to recordings of his part saved on his phone. Then he played all 37 minutes of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 3 in C Minor perfectly. 

He imagined playing with the orchestra and adjusted his sound to theirs as zen overtook him. Once he finished, he stood and practiced bowing to an imaginary audience. 

Now he was fully mentally prepared for the concert and let a little confidence roll over him. It was around 8am when he finished. Only five hours left until he had to be at the Concert Hall. 

Connor was peckish after practice so he prepared breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon made to perfection. While eating, he turned on the tv and set it to the local news station for some background noise. As he munched, the tv went in and out of his consciousness because he kept slipping into random thoughts. 

“-been a week since tragedy struck. This is the worst accident this city has had for years leaving 23 dead and 30 injured. We are all praying for the grieving families.”

Connor only caught the last part and was mildly surprised. He hadn’t heard of this happening and someone probably would have told him. On screen was a burning train wreck caught by a helicopter. When he saw the footage, Connor got an enormous headache.

Groaning, he clutched at his head and groped to turn off the tv. With the screen black, his headache subsided leaving him panting.

Footsteps pattered down the stairs so he turned his pulsing head to locate the source. Taylor was walking down them while yawning and stretching at the same time. She smiled at him, but soon furrowed her brow with concern.

“What’s wrong Connor? Why are you crying?”

“What? I’m not cryi-“ Connor touched his face and felt the cooling tears slide down his cheeks. “I guess I am. Must have been from the headache.”

Taylor’s doctor mode activated. “Where on your head was the headache? Have you been getting them often?”

“Relax Tay. This is the first time I’ve had one like this. I was watching tv and it hit me like a ton of bricks.”

Taylor relaxed. “Okay then. Take some time to rest and tell me if you have another headache like that. If they continue, go see a doctor.”

“Got it, got it. Don’t worry. I’ll just have some aspirin and take a quick nap.” Connor rose his hands placatingly. “I made breakfast if you want some. It’s on the stove.”

“Hmm. Thanks but I’m not feeling too hungry right now.” She draped herself over the sofa and pulled a book from somewhere Connor couldn’t see. She waved her hand at him as if to shoo him away and said, “Leave the food out and maybe I’ll eat it later.”

Connor snorted and went to do his dishes. After that, he took some aspirin and went upstairs to nap. He had to be at the Concert Hall by 1pm. It was around 10am so he tried to take a one hour nap to hopefully ease his headache. It wouldn’t be good if he had another one while playing and was incapacitated, ruining the concerto.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep. In his dreams, Connor imagined he was at the Concert Hall playing his part while the rest of the orchestra played along, perfectly complimenting him in a balance of repeated musical conflicts. It was wonderful, the contrast of the black suited orchestra and the shimmering clothes of the audience. With him in between them, he felt like a bridge connecting two different worlds. Then the music stopped and he rose to bow. Applause filled the room in a pleasant euphony. Connor had never been this happy in his whole life. But the applause grew muted and the world went dark, closing in around him until he was consumed by a menacing silence. 

Connor woke. Still groggy and disappointed such an amazing dream had to end so soon, Connor struggled to open his eyes. When he did though, what greeted him was his alarm clock which read 1:02pm. Connor’s heart leapt to his throat.

“I’M LATE!” He smoothed the wrinkles on his tux and jumped downstairs as fast as he could.

Taylor was asleep on the couch with a book on her lap, but he paid no heed to her. Connor grabbed his wallet and keys as if he was on fire and rushed out the front door, slamming it behind him.

He got in his car and sped down the road at double the speed limit.

“It’s okay. I can make it.” He talked to himself while his hands trembled on the wheel, knuckles bulging in a death grip. “I was supposed to be there at 1, but the concert itself starts at 2. If I can dodge traffic and get decent enough parking, I won’t miss it.”

He slammed through intersections and made all the lights. When he got to the Concert Hall, he scanned the parking lot for spaces. Luckily there was one near the front.

“Yes! I can make it!” 

Connor parked and rushed towards the side entrance, sweaty and red. Wrinkles marred his tux and his bowtie sat askew. A guard slouched at the door looking sleepy and bored.

When the guard saw Connor, he stood straight and eyed him warily. “Who’re you? All orchestra people were supposed to come at like 1.”

Connor stopped at the door to catch his breath. “My name is Connor. I’m the pianist. Sorry for coming late. Traffic was horrible.”

“Hmmm. Lemme check my list, dude. What’s your full name?”

“I’m Connor Hughes.” 

The guard checked his list and shook his head when he reached the last page. “Sorry. You’re not on the list. If you wanna get in, pay like everyone else, bro.”

“What?” Connor panicked and got angry. “You don’t understand! I need to be there! I’m the soloist for the last piece!”

“Sorry bro, no can do. If you can call one of your orchestra buddies to vouch for you, I’ll let you in.”

“Hmm?” Connor patted around his pockets for his phone. “Crap, I forgot  my phone!”

“Well bud, I guess you’re out of luck.” The guard crossed his arms and went to stand before the door.

“Please! I need to get in there! I swear I’ll have you fired once-“

“Connor?” 

Connor spun around at the familiar voice. “Mac! It’s so good to see you.”

Mac was squatting and smoking behind the building. Long plumes of smoke rose from his cigarette which he inhaled and blew out with a relaxed look on his face. The pluming smoke created a sharp contrast with his neat suit and well groomed features.

“Heyo Connor. You feeling better now?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling fine. Anyway, this guy we hired isn’t letting me in. I won’t be able to prepare if I can’t get in soon.”

Mac looked at him with a confused face. “I thought the conductor told you to sit this one out. Didn’t you’re…. I mean, wasn’t the incident just last week?”

Now Connor was confused. “What incident? If I can’t remember it, it can’t be important enough to miss a concert.”

Mac stood with a worried look on his face. He took the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground, squashing it with his foot.

“Yeah, you have plenty of reason to miss this one. You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should visit the doctor or a shrink later.”

Connor scrunched his face. “My wife’s a doc. If there’s something wrong with me, she’d say something. Just tell me about this ‘incident’ that’s bad enough to miss a concert over.”

“Huh. Well… uh.” Mac looked deeply uncomfortable. He shifted in place and had a sudden interest in the empty Concert Hall wall.

“...You know I hate doing this kind of thing, Connor. And even if you are feeling better, which you obviously aren’t, the program has already been decided. You can’t play this time round.” Mac moved to the door, the guard shifting out of the way to allow passage. “I seriously better get going or I’ll be late for the performance.”

“Mac! What are you doing? Let me in with you!”

Mac paused by the door, flexing his fingers nervously. “Sorry Connor, I really can’t let you in. If you want, we can go out for drinks after the concert is over. Call me.”

He walked past the door frame into the backstage area. Only the chosen could intrude upon this place, but Connor was not one of them.

“Mac god damn you! Let me in!” Connor sat down on the cold asphalt, defeated and devoid of energy. He sat there for several minutes in a stupor before the guard called out to him.

“Hey bro, you can’t sit there. Tickets are probably sold out, so just go home.”

Connor looked like he had aged five years. He stood with shaking legs and muttered out a defeated “Fine” before trudging his way back to the car. His nice suit had been sullied by sitting on the ground as dirt stuck to his pants, but Connor was too disappointed to care.

He sat in his car for a while thinking about what to do. He placed his hands on the dark grey steering wheel, gripping it over and over. He couldn’t go home like this. What would he say to his wife?

No, he wouldn’t leave. He had to get backstage for a proper explanation, even if he had to sneak in. With renewed will, Connor opened his car door and stormed towards the ticket window.

“One ticket please.” Connor requested from the lady at the ticket window.

She looked up at him from her computer. “I’m sorry, Tickets are already sold out. The symphony has started.”

Connor narrowed his eyes and left. Now he’d have to use some less than legal methods to enter. Normally he wouldn’t resort to something like this, but he felt as if he had been slighted.

Connor walked towards the entrance. Standing in front of the door was a man in the Concert Hall’s uniform.

When Connor approached, the man gazed at him with glazed eyes. “Ticket please.”

Connor ignored him and rushed past. He was familiar with the Concert Hall’s layout and knew there was a hallway leading from the lobby to backstage.

The uniformed man was dumbfounded for a second before bursting into action. “Hey wait! You can’t just come in without showing your ticket!”

This outburst drew all eyes towards them. When Connor continued to ignore the man, he pulled out a walkie-talkie and shouted into it. Connor walked faster to the alternative backstage entrance.

As he reached the double doors that said “Employees Only”, he felt hands clench his shoulders like vices and pull him back. Two muscular uniformed men held him by the arms and hauled him back towards the entrance.

Connor struggled. “Wait! I can’t leave without talking to the conductor!”

“Hold yer horses.” Someone spoke up causing the two men to pause.

An old man in the lobby shuffled towards them. The uniformed man collecting tickets scurried to him. “My apologies Mr. Barnes but this man entered without buying a ticket. We can’t let him in.”

The old man didn’t respond and looked at Connor. “You er the pianist, correct?”

As the grip on his arms loosened, Connor bobbed his head. He was talking to one of the big sponsors. “Yes Mr. Barnes. I’m Connor.”

“Bah, call me Rodney.” 

Rodney waved a hand and gazed back at the ticket collector. “This one ere’s with me. Take this ticket. My good fer nothin’ son never showed up.” 

He rummaged through his pockets until he pulled out a badly folded printed paper with a ticket on it.

“Yes sir.” The man scanned the paper, ripped it half way, and gave it back.

“Come ere Connor. Let’s sit down till the first song’s over.” Rodney sat on a bench near the door. Connor followed and sat next to him. The symphony resounded through the walls.

“Why were ya in such a rush to get in?”

“I need to talk to the conductor about removing me from the concert. I wasn’t even told about it until they barred my entrance at the back.”

The old man rubbed his short white beard in contemplation. “I heard ya couldn’t make it to this un. Somethin’ bad happened to ya.”

“I don’t remember anything bad happening though.”

“Hmm. Strange but nothin’ we ken do about it now. I don’t think ya’d be able to talk to the conductor after neither. He had somethin’ planned so he’ll have to rush out as soon as the concert’s over.” 

Connor’s face fell. “What?”

Rodney scratched his white beard and looked Connor in the eyes. “Tell ya what. You watch this concert with me in place of my son, Roger, who flaked and I’ll help slot ya into the winter concert fer another concerto.”

Connor opened his mouth and shut it again. Maybe this was for the best. He couldn’t play now, but at least he’d have a shot in the future. It still made him depressed to not be able to play though.

Connor sighed. “Okay then. That sounds like a plan.”

The old man grinned causing wrinkles to deepen all over his face. The music stopped. A woman in a Concert Hall uniform opened the doors and ushered the two inside where they found their seats near the front.

Connor couldn’t concentrate during the performance. He was still thinking about what to tell his wife. He hadn’t gotten any answers to his questions.

In the last song, Mac had taken his spot and was performing a violin solo. Connor’s face grew pale in the dark room as he grew more and more jealous. When the song ended and everyone clapped, he couldn’t take it anymore. This was supposed to be his moment. He excused himself saying he needed to go to the restroom and left the building.

Numb, Connor wandered to his car and drove home. Once he pulled into the driveway, he sat there to think things through until it was dark. Then he got out and walked into the house.

It was cold and dark inside. Without even turning on the lights, Connor lumbered upstairs. His son’s door was still closed so he knocked, but there was no answer.

Connor needed to talk to someone so he gripped the handle and the door creaked open. Inside, his son was sitting on the bed, his face lit by a handheld game. Connor flipped on the lightswitch in the room.

He managed to squeeze out a dispirited, “How was your day, Shaun?”

Shaun didn’t answer, continuing to mash the buttons on his game.

“Please talk to me Shaun. Just this once please. I….” Connor shifted his head to hide his face, trying hard not to cry so as to keep his dignity as a father. 

In turning his head though, he spotted the papers Shaun was supposed to turn in today, still on his desk. The annoyance was minor, but it was enough to turn Connor’s emotions from sad and embarrassed to angry. 

“Did you forget to bring your papers to school again?! I can’t do everything for you, you know!” Connor’s face turned red from shouting. This finally elicited a response from Shaun. 

He stopped playing his game and turned his head towards Connor.

"I-t's n-ot yo-ur f-aul-t."

“What?” Connor was baffled. “What’s not my fault?”

"P-le-ase st-op bl-ami-ng yourse-lf. The ac-cid-ent wasn't you-r fa-ult."

“Accident? What do you-“ The pulsing headache from the morning came back to Connor causing him to fall to the ground with his head in his hands. With it came images of fire and a phone dial tone. Waking and talking on the phone, receiving the news. 

“No, it was my fault! I fell asleep! You didn’t have to-“

"Do-n't b-lame you-rse-lf anymor-e. W-e forg-ive you s-o d-on't kee-p hatin-g y-ourse-lf fo-r it."

Hot tears were streaming down Connor's face.

“I can’t stop. There is no forgiving my mistake.”

“Connor, who are you talking to?” He looked up to see Taylor staring at him from the entrance to their room. He looked back into Shaun’s room, but there was no one there. The room was empty and dusty like it hadn’t been used for a while.

“I… don’t know.” Connor rubbed his eyes. “Who was I talking to?” 

Taylor looked at him with a concerned frown. “You’re crying again.”

“Ah, it was just another headache. Don’t worry about it.” Connor waved it off and stood back up, wiping off the tears with his sleeves. Calm again, Connor grew somber and sighed as he plodded his way into his room.

He turned on the lights and sat on the bed. Taylor sat next to him and leaned on his shoulder.

“You’re getting dirt on the bed, you know.” Taylor brushed the visible dirt clumps off his pants. “How did the concert go?”

Connor stiffened at this question. He hadn’t fully prepared himself to tell her yet.

“I… didn’t play today.”

“Huh?” Taylor sat straight and looked him in the eyes. Connor turned his gaze away to look at the carpet peeking out from under their bed. 

“For some reason, they removed my performance from the list. I guess something happened last week that I was unaware of.”

“That’s too bad. When will you be able to play next?” Taylor frowned and rubbed Connor’s back.

“I talked to one of the sponsors and he said he’ll put me in for the winter concert. Hopefully it’ll go through, but I did leave a bit early.”

Taylor hugged him. “I’m sure you’ll get in. Everyone loves when you play after all.”

Connor gave an exhausted smile. “Thanks Tay. You always know what to say.”

He grimaced. “I’m still mad that Mac got my solo. I know someone had to take it, but Mac really got on my nerves earlier. I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind later.”

Taylor chuckled. “Okay. Don’t stay mad at him for too long. I know how stubborn you can be.”

Connor hugged her back. The scent of vanilla washed over him and put him in a good mood. He released her and said, “Why don’t we go get some grub? I think we have just the ingredients to make some fettuccine.”

Connor stood and walked downstairs, passing Shaun who was sitting on his bed and playing a game. Connor shook his head. Shaun should be doing his homework, not playing games. He didn’t say anything however and proceeded to the music room to grab his phone.

He moved from the music room to the kitchen, turning on lights along the way, and made fettuccine alfredo. The steam from the food calmed him down and eased his frustration.

As he finished pouring the noodles and sauce into a large bowl, Connor’s phone rang. He was now in a good mood, so he answered without thinking.

“Hello?”

“Heyo. It’s me, Mac. You get home okay?” Connor froze. He wasn’t prepared to confront Mac yet so he stayed silent in indecision. 

“Ey Connor, you there?”

“... Yes Mac, what do you need?”

There was a second of silence and a sigh came from over the phone. “If you want, let’s go get drinks and talk. If you really don’t remember what happened last week, I’ll tell you. It’d have to be over some whiskey though.“

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t be necessary. I’m still mad you took my solo, even if my wife tells me to just let it go.”

“Huh? Didn’t your wif-“

Connor hung up the phone. Once enough time had passed, he’d be fine going out to bars with Mac again, but now he was still heated.

Silverware clattered on ceramic so he looked up. It’s unknown how she managed to get herself a plate and utensils then fill the plate with pasta without him noticing, but Taylor was already scarfing down the fettuccine. 

“Where did you come from?”

She slurped some noodles. “I came down while you were talking to Mac. I’m starving.”

“You must be. Your breakfast was still on the stove when I came home.”

She grunted and continued to shovel food into her mouth. Connor also served some for himself. It was quiet at the table, but Connor was happy to eat peacefully.

It seemed like he prepared too much food though as there was an entire portion of pasta left over. He stored it away for tomorrow and did the dishes. Then he went upstairs to sleep, but paused outside Shaun’s room. 

“Goodnight Shaun.”

Shaun stared at the wall and nodded. Connor sighed, turned off the light, and left the door cracked open. Then he went to his room.

Taylor was on the bed reading one of the new Sylvester novels. Connor changed into pajamas, set his alarm clock for 4:00am, and got into bed next to her.

With the room so silent, Connor’s thoughts wandered. He was so disappointed about missing the concert today, but thankfully he had at least one ally he could rely on to get him through tough times like this.

“Hey Tay, thanks for sticking with me all those years ago, back when I was broke. I don’t know how I could have survived. Even just the event today, I would probably still be brooding without you.”

She put her book down and looked towards him. “I could say the same, you know. Med school wasn’t cheap. We both struggled back then, especially after Shaun was born. But I’d say it was all worth it.”

“Yeah.” Connor turned on his side and snuggled with the blanket. “Goodnight Tay.”

He closed his eyes.

"Goodnight Connor. I h-op-e yo-u c-an let u-s go s-oo-n."

Connor’s eyes shot open. “What?”

He sat up to look at Taylor, but she was no longer there. With a chill creeping over him, Connor felt her untouched side of the bed. It was cold.

“Agh-“ His headache came back and he lied back on the bed in a heap as hot tears streamed down his face. Images of fire and twisted metal filled his mind and a buzzing cellphone assaulted his ears.

Like this, he fell asleep plagued by terrifying dreams.

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Beep beep beep beep. Connor groggily swatted at the alarm clock to shut it off. The old digital clock read 4:00am.

Connor groaned as he got out of bed and stretched. His aching joints screamed at him, waking him further. As he looked around the room, he spotted his wife sitting on a chair and reading the new Sylvester novel. Because he stared at her, she smiled at him.

“Good morning Connor.”

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated.