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Description
That evening, after all of the students had left the theater, Mr. Khan asked Eric, “So, how did you like your first day?”.
As Eric gathered up some of Nadir’s music, he replied, “It was...okay, I suppose.”
“I know we didn’t do much singing today, just some warm ups to see where everyone’s voices were. I know that might have been boring to you.”
“Well, yes, but it is a required step I suppose”, Eric said hollowly.
“I still need to figure out what songs we shall be singing this year. Perhaps you could help me brainstorm?” Nadir suggested.
“I would be happy to Mr. Kha--I mean Nadir”, the boy said politely. At his foster father’s suggestion, Eric’s voice had become slightly less empty. Music was Eric’s passion, the one constant he felt he had in his life. People came and went, were cruel and kind, and circumstances changed; but for Eric, music was always there. To be able to help Nadir would be nice, if not a little frustrating. He and Nadir had differing tastes in music, and Eric was extremely opinionated.
Nadir continued his friendly inquiries.
“Did you get along with some of your fellow students?” he asked.
Eric thought for a minute. “Not much, but one girl spoke to me.”
“Oh really? Was she nice?” The Persian asked hopefully.
“I don’t know” Eric replied uncertainly. “She seemed so. However, she may not have been genuine. She was the girl you forced me to to sit next to, Christina”, Eric said, with a note of sarcasm.
“Christina?” Nadir asked, confused. “I don’t remember a Christina.”,
“It was that boy’s cousin”, Eric explained. “Ryan. Her first name is Catherine, but she asked me to call her Christina.”
Eric and Nadir exited the theater and headed to their car. “Wonderful! Eric, I think you have found what most of us would call a friend”, the older Middle Eastern man chuckled.
“A friend?” Eric laughed quietly. “Possibly. We will have to see. She may have forgotten about me by tomorrow.”
“Oh come now, don’t be so pessimistic”, Mr. Khan chided.
Eric shut the trunk of the car and headed to the front seat as Nadir adjusted the drivers seat. Eric was still surprised over how the day had turned out. There had only been that one incident about his mask throughout the whole day.
"Infuriating imp of a child", Eric thought.
Eric realized that there had actually been two mask related instances, if he counted Christina's question. However, the boy didn’t feel offended by her question. Uncomfortable, yes, but not offended, especially since she hadn’t pried. Had she really meant her words? Did this girl honestly consider him, a freak with a mask, nice? She had been the only person who talked to him the entire day, but Eric did not mind. One social interaction was enough for one day.
As Nadir drove down the highway, he asked, “She was very pretty, eh, Eric?”
The little comment jarred Eric out of his pondering. “What?” he asked with a jump.
Nadir laughed. “I said, did you think she was pretty?”
Eric’s eyes widened, and he sputtered, “What kind of a question is that, Mr. Khan?”
“Nadir”, the Middle Eastern man corrected.
“Whatever! Why would you ask me that? It’s not exactly proper you know. And why do you think I would tell you in the first place?”
Nadir looked slightly put off at this remark. “I didn’t mean to offend you Eric. It was a simple, harmless question. I asked you because I consider you a son and a friend.”
Eric was unmoved. “I have no family”, he replied coldly.
Mr. Khan took a quick inhalation at Eric’s words. “I’m doing my best Eric”, he said tightly. Nadir was not just offended, he was angry. “But at every chance you can, you push me away! I’ve had my share of hurt too. You could try. I’m not like your mother.”
“Shut up!” Eric hissed. “You just shut up. That is not your place, Nadir.” Eric threw the Persian man’s name out as if it were an insult. The slender boy’s eyes had turned threatening and angry. Nadir realized that he had overstepped his boundaries, and tried to apologize. But Eric had become as still as marble, and made no response. Nadir remained silent. To try and talk to Eric when he was angry or offended was similar to talking to a brick wall, or if worst came to worst, it could risk a tantrum so violent that it, in turn, could risk bodily harm.
"Why must he lose his temper over the smallest things? Why can I not understand him?" Mr. Khan thought.
The rest of the car trip was made in silence.

Eric slammed the door to his room when he and Nadir arrived home.
“Damn him. Damn everyone!” he hissed. “Who the hell does he think he is? I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone. They’re all the same...curious, prying, cruel...even she was curious! I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone...” Eric took a shaky breath. He stopped in the middle of his room, panting as if he had just run a long distance. Slowly, he looked around his room for his violin.
His violin. The one gift he had ever received. From his mother, of all people. For some reason, one year she had decided to give Eric a gift for Christmas. He had been around 9 years old. She didn’t give the instrument kindly, as most mothers would. Eric remembered she had given it to him roughly and awkwardly, as if she was trying to force a gift onto a wretched dog. He kept it, not because of any sentimental value, but because the violin was the only musical instrument he owned. Even if the the memory gave him pain, the music he was able to create with the violin was more powerful and soothing.
Slowly, Eric went to the space between his nightstand and his bed and picked up the case. He carefully lifted the violin out, holding it briefly, as if it was a sacred relic of a time long past. He then set it upon his shoulder and began to play.
The piece Eric played was angry and haunting, overwhelmed by a cacophony of clashing chords. It was a piece called “Harvest Song”, by Bela Bartok. The melody was a catharsis for the anger that was slowly dwindling away with each note. When the song was finished, he slowly lowered the instrument.
Suddenly, he sank to the floor and began to cry.
Eric’s moods changed quickly and abruptly. He sometimes wondered if he was crazy, or if he had some sort of mental illness, like bipolar disorder. His thoughts were soon lost to sorrow, however. He ripped his mask off and covered his face with his hands. Sobbing, he waited for the unwanted memories to leave him alone to sleep.
After a few minutes, he finally calmed himself enough to crawl into bed. Curling into a fetal position under his covers, he fell asleep. His dreams were filled with gift giving demons, and shy, blond haired angels.

Description
That evening, after all of the students had left the theater, Mr. Khan asked Eric, “So, how did you like your first day?”.
As Eric gathered up some of Nadir’s music, he replied, “It was...okay, I suppose.”
“I know we didn’t do much singing today, just some warm ups to see where everyone’s voices were. I know that might have been boring to you.”
“Well, yes, but it is a required step I suppose”, Eric said hollowly.
“I still need to figure out what songs we shall be singing this year. Perhaps you could help me brainstorm?” Nadir suggested.
“I would be happy to Mr. Kha--I mean Nadir”, the boy said politely. At his foster father’s suggestion, Eric’s voice had become slightly less empty. Music was Eric’s passion, the one constant he felt he had in his life. People came and went, were cruel and kind, and circumstances changed; but for Eric, music was always there. To be able to help Nadir would be nice, if not a little frustrating. He and Nadir had differing tastes in music, and Eric was extremely opinionated.
Nadir continued his friendly inquiries.
“Did you get along with some of your fellow students?” he asked.
Eric thought for a minute. “Not much, but one girl spoke to me.”
“Oh really? Was she nice?” The Persian asked hopefully.
“I don’t know” Eric replied uncertainly. “She seemed so. However, she may not have been genuine. She was the girl you forced me to to sit next to, Christina”, Eric said, with a note of sarcasm.
“Christina?” Nadir asked, confused. “I don’t remember a Christina.”,
“It was that boy’s cousin”, Eric explained. “Ryan. Her first name is Catherine, but she asked me to call her Christina.”
Eric and Nadir exited the theater and headed to their car. “Wonderful! Eric, I think you have found what most of us would call a friend”, the older Middle Eastern man chuckled.
“A friend?” Eric laughed quietly. “Possibly. We will have to see. She may have forgotten about me by tomorrow.”
“Oh come now, don’t be so pessimistic”, Mr. Khan chided.
Eric shut the trunk of the car and headed to the front seat as Nadir adjusted the drivers seat. Eric was still surprised over how the day had turned out. There had only been that one incident about his mask throughout the whole day.
"Infuriating imp of a child", Eric thought.
Eric realized that there had actually been two mask related instances, if he counted Christina's question. However, the boy didn’t feel offended by her question. Uncomfortable, yes, but not offended, especially since she hadn’t pried. Had she really meant her words? Did this girl honestly consider him, a freak with a mask, nice? She had been the only person who talked to him the entire day, but Eric did not mind. One social interaction was enough for one day.
As Nadir drove down the highway, he asked, “She was very pretty, eh, Eric?”
The little comment jarred Eric out of his pondering. “What?” he asked with a jump.
Nadir laughed. “I said, did you think she was pretty?”
Eric’s eyes widened, and he sputtered, “What kind of a question is that, Mr. Khan?”
“Nadir”, the Middle Eastern man corrected.
“Whatever! Why would you ask me that? It’s not exactly proper you know. And why do you think I would tell you in the first place?”
Nadir looked slightly put off at this remark. “I didn’t mean to offend you Eric. It was a simple, harmless question. I asked you because I consider you a son and a friend.”
Eric was unmoved. “I have no family”, he replied coldly.
Mr. Khan took a quick inhalation at Eric’s words. “I’m doing my best Eric”, he said tightly. Nadir was not just offended, he was angry. “But at every chance you can, you push me away! I’ve had my share of hurt too. You could try. I’m not like your mother.”
“Shut up!” Eric hissed. “You just shut up. That is not your place, Nadir.” Eric threw the Persian man’s name out as if it were an insult. The slender boy’s eyes had turned threatening and angry. Nadir realized that he had overstepped his boundaries, and tried to apologize. But Eric had become as still as marble, and made no response. Nadir remained silent. To try and talk to Eric when he was angry or offended was similar to talking to a brick wall, or if worst came to worst, it could risk a tantrum so violent that it, in turn, could risk bodily harm.
"Why must he lose his temper over the smallest things? Why can I not understand him?" Mr. Khan thought.
The rest of the car trip was made in silence.

Eric slammed the door to his room when he and Nadir arrived home.
“Damn him. Damn everyone!” he hissed. “Who the hell does he think he is? I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone. They’re all the same...curious, prying, cruel...even she was curious! I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone...” Eric took a shaky breath. He stopped in the middle of his room, panting as if he had just run a long distance. Slowly, he looked around his room for his violin.
His violin. The one gift he had ever received. From his mother, of all people. For some reason, one year she had decided to give Eric a gift for Christmas. He had been around 9 years old. She didn’t give the instrument kindly, as most mothers would. Eric remembered she had given it to him roughly and awkwardly, as if she was trying to force a gift onto a wretched dog. He kept it, not because of any sentimental value, but because the violin was the only musical instrument he owned. Even if the the memory gave him pain, the music he was able to create with the violin was more powerful and soothing.
Slowly, Eric went to the space between his nightstand and his bed and picked up the case. He carefully lifted the violin out, holding it briefly, as if it was a sacred relic of a time long past. He then set it upon his shoulder and began to play.
The piece Eric played was angry and haunting, overwhelmed by a cacophony of clashing chords. It was a piece called “Harvest Song”, by Bela Bartok. The melody was a catharsis for the anger that was slowly dwindling away with each note. When the song was finished, he slowly lowered the instrument.
Suddenly, he sank to the floor and began to cry.
Eric’s moods changed quickly and abruptly. He sometimes wondered if he was crazy, or if he had some sort of mental illness, like bipolar disorder. His thoughts were soon lost to sorrow, however. He ripped his mask off and covered his face with his hands. Sobbing, he waited for the unwanted memories to leave him alone to sleep.
After a few minutes, he finally calmed himself enough to crawl into bed. Curling into a fetal position under his covers, he fell asleep. His dreams were filled with gift giving demons, and shy, blond haired angels.