The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 3. Unexpected

The week passed in a blur. I didn’t pay attention to the things I did and talked very little to other people. I almost forgot about the rest of the world, lost in all kinds of fantasies about the outcome of the audition. I knew there was very little chance of being chosen, so much that the most rational part of my mind took this first audition as just a preparation for future ones and begged me to treat the trip to Reykjavík as just the first of many to come. But even then most of me still hoped some miracle would happen. My mother, my friends and my teachers reminded me every day of how great it would be when I was accepted, and always made sure to tell me I had just as much chance as anyone else. They kept me dreaming and looking forward to receiving any sort of letter from the ISO, from a ‘you were chosen!’ to a ‘you are very good, but keep working hard’.

As fate would have it, I received the first type of letter. As I opened the envelop and read the first line I remember feeling that there was nothing I could say or do to express that intense feeling building up in my chest. Things like jumping and beaming and hugging mum were just not enough. I had been chosen! Me! Still, it took a while for the meaning of the letter to really sink in: I was not just returning to Reykjavík to play in the magnificent glass building (which in itself was already a very big thing), I was beginning a career as a professional musician; I had my first real job at the age of sixteen and hoped I would never have to leave it. I was going to play with another eighty people who were much older and more experienced than me, who were much better than me. It was exciting, but somewhat intimidating too. My life would change completely, but at that point I didn’t know what to expect.

“Congratulations, Gunni! I’m so proud of you!” were the first words I heard from mum that happy Saturday morning. I didn’t see her entering the living room, but she read the letter over my shoulder and hugged me very tightly. “My little boy is a man already!”

“Mum!” I blushed. She tightened her hug even more, only releasing me for us to sit on the sofa. We had a good time then, reading the letter over and over again and trying to guess what my new co-workers would be like. Later we went out to eat and enjoy the little sunshine left in the day.

It was on our way back that the first unexpected thing happened: a group of reporters approached us just as we entered our street. They encircled us and asked lots of things about my nomination to the ISO. They said I was to become a new celebrity in Iceland because I was the youngest musician to play for the national orchestra. I gave an interview, they filmed and took pictures and wished me good luck before they left. It was the first of many interviews and by far the weirdest. It was a strange feeling to see myself on TV a few hours later talking about how I looked forward to go to Reykjavík.

(...)

The next unexpected thing happened on Sunday. They were still talking about me on TV, and I was in newspapers too. Mum took out the pages I appeared on and pinned them to the wall of her study, ignoring my protests. It still felt too awkward being this sort of ‘celebrity’ all of a sudden, I didn’t need mum’s walls to remind me of that too.

Until then I had been too focused on whether I would get my place or not to worry about what would happen if I did get it, so I didn't realise there would be some complications if I had to live in the capital. I was still under-age, so legally I couldn't live in Reykjavík on my own, even if I had a job that paid well. My mother couldn't go with me; she had her job and her life in Akureyri. I needed someone to live with for at least the next year and two months, but I was having a hard time thinking of candidates. What I didn't expect what that mum had already thought of someone.

“Gunni, do you remember your cousin Eiríkur?” she suddenly asked me. A small light of recognition shone in the very back of my mind. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t remember anything about him. Mum saw my confusion and explained a bit more: “No? Well, it’s no wonder, considering you haven’t seen each other for almost ten years. He was at the farm on your seventh birthday, but I think you didn’t spend much time together. He was seventeen after all…”

When mum spoke a few memories from that time came back to me. She was right; Eiríkur and I had never done much together. That birthday mum spoke of was the one when I got my violin from grandpa, as well as the last of my birthdays we spent together. I was born on Boxing Day, so ever since I was little my birthdays and Christmases were pretty much the same thing for me. My first seven birthdays (and Christmases) were spent at grandpa’s farm in Eastern Iceland. The whole family would go and stay there for about a week. I can only remember two or maybe three of those birthdays, but in all my memories of them grandpa and I are doing all sorts of things together, from playing the violin to riding on ponies. Grandpa taught me a lot in the few years we played together. His proud face when I played Mozart’s Violin Concerto no. 3 for the first time was probably my happiest memory of all.

But Eiríkur didn't really play a big part in my memories. I remembered him as being this very tall guy with a serious face and little patience with young kids. He didn’t speak to me much, but I didn't like his voice for some reason. Maybe I was afraid of him? I couldn't remember. Did mum really think it would be a good idea to send me to him? At that time I didn’t think so, but she insisted. “I think he will be very happy to have you for the time being, Gunni. Why don’t you phone him and ask yourself?”

I wanted to ask why mum was so sure about this whole thing, but instead I just picked up the phone and gave it for her to dial the numbers. Her plan didn’t sound good, but I didn’t have the heart to stop her. Maybe I didn’t believe Eiríkur would agree, or maybe I was just too lost to do anything. Mum passed me the phone. She had dialled the numbers without having to look them up on her phonebook.

The phone rang in my hands. I slowly filled with apprehension and dread as I waited for my cousin to pick it up. How would Eiríkur be after all this time? Had he changed? His serious seventeen-year-old face invaded my mind, I remembered the voice I didn’t like, that feeling close to fear I had when I was a kid…

“Hello? Aunt Lilla, is that you?” asked the voice from the other side of the country. It was a very deep voice, but also a pleasant and warm one.

“Hi… It’s Gunni. Is Eiríkur…”

“Gunni! What a surprise! I saw you in the news! Congratulations on your new job!” he seemed genuinely happy and I caught myself smiling as he spoke. “So, what do you want from your humble and talentless cousin? Is there anything I can do for Iceland’s newest celebrity?”

My mouth dropped in shock. Was that really Eiríkur, the scary, anti-social cousin from the past? Was that the person I had been so afraid of? It couldn’t be… The Eiríkur I remembered was almost the complete opposite of the person speaking to me over the phone.

“Er… Well… I need… I need…” Mum was grinning. This did nothing to help me find the right words.

“You need…? C’mon, Gunni, I don’t bite! Just say it!”

Eiríkur seemed so excited I felt reassured, but there was this part of me that feared he would not really like what I had to say and would become just like the Eiríkur in my memories. I took a deep breath and told him mum’s idea, hoping for the best.

“I’m moving to Reykjavík, but I can’t live on my own, and…”

“It’s fine by me. I have a spare bedroom you can use. Just tell me when you arrive and I’ll have it ready. Oh, and of course, I’m picking you up at the airport too!”

“You’re…” it was too easy to be true. It was as if he already knew why I was phoning him. “Really?”

“Yeah! Why not? We’re family, right? So, what time?”

“Er… tomorrow at ten. It is late, you don’t need to…”

“No worries! I’ll have everything ready by then, and you can wait for me at the airport! I’m looking forward to finally see you in person, you know? I miss my little cousin!”

I didn’t know what to say to this. Fortunately mum asked to speak to Eiríkur, so I gave her the phone and left the room. That phone call was too much for me. I couldn’t be sure whether to feel happy or worried that everything was going so smoothly so far.

(...)

There was one last unexpected event that weekend. A few hours later, when I had settled down a little about the whole ‘living with Eiríkur’ thing, my friends from school appeared in my doorstep and invited me to go with them for a walk around the city centre. I accepted even though I still had a lot to pack. I wouldn’t be seeing any of them for a while, so it would be good if I could spend some extra time with them. Initially I was planning on saying my goodbyes on Monday, since I would have time to go to school before heading to the airport in the evening, but that was a very welcomed change of plans.

Most of my friends I had known since Primary School. Out of the ten of us only three had joined the group in the last two years. We were all very close (some closer than others) and we all shared the same passion for music. We had our disagreements every now and then, but most of the time we were happily telling jokes about each other and about the school. They were all very thrilled for me, but that afternoon had its share of awkward moments in which they all seemed sad, but didn’t want me to find out about their true feelings. I couldn’t blame them; maybe even I was a bit sad at that point.

“And if you find yourself a boyfriend there, Gunni, I want to be the first to know!” exclaimed Fríða when we were on our way back to my house. The others laughed, and I blushed a little. “And don’t forget to tell me if you find a straight version of you there, ok?”

“Yes… I will…” I joined the laughs in the end. Fríða never ceased to amuse me. To make a long story short, Fríða was my first and only girlfriend. We were together for a few months until I sort of realised I wasn’t all that keen on girls. She was the one who pointed it out to me, in fact, and after that we developed a very close (and sometimes awkward) friendship punctuated by jokes and by her cheering on the sidelines for me to find the ‘perfect man’.

In the end, my friends decided to stay with me ‘until the end’ and help me pack. Fríða actually stayed the night. We had fun remembering certain bits of our past until we fell asleep at some obscene hour of the morning.

(...)

For all the fun we had on Sunday, the final good-bye at school was fairly dramatic. My teachers decided they should make sure I was fit for my first day at work the next day. They wanted me to “overcome stage-fright” (which I didn’t have) by playing for them the entire morning. I didn’t complain, but I could feel how sad they all seemed to be. And yet, they were all smiles for most of the day. I received many encouraging messages and good-luck hugs. It was only when mum came to pick me up and take me to the airport that the drama and tears began.

Fríða was the first to break down. She hugged me at the school gates and stole a last kiss. There were tears coming out of her eyes and she refused to let go for a very long time. Then my teachers cried too, and my friends did one last group hug which ended with me almost falling to the ground. I got in the car amidst cries of ‘we’ll miss you!’. It took me a while to stop crying too.

Finally, it was time for me to get on the plane. I said the last good-bye of the day and didn’t look back as I passed airport security and walked to the gate. Ahead of me was the ISO, my future as a professional violinist and my life with my mysterious cousin Eiríkur. There were many things about him that I didn’t understand, beginning with how easily he let me live with him. At least I would have my chance to ask more questions once I was safely with him in Reykjavík.