The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 28. New Year's Eve

“All I’m saying is that if you want this to work you’ll have to stop making this into a competition.” Karen’s voice came from the music room.

“Aw, but the competition is the fun part! Come on, let’s run through the scales again! I bet I can beat you in chromatics too! Name your starting note!” Dmitri’s voice sounded annoyingly louder.

“Why do you feel the need to play scales at nine in the morning when half the house is trying to sleep?” The music room was messier than usual. My cellos and music stand had been moved to the corner, between the electric piano and the wall. The table was covered in disorganised music sheets. Karen and Dmitri stood in the middle of it all with their instruments in hand, like they had just summoned a hurricane with their horrid scales.

“We’re not supposed to be playing scales, Siggi. I was hoping we could just jam and have fun, but Dmitri somehow turned it into a competition,” Karen grumbled. Dmitri, as per usual, showed remarkable lack of empathy by deploying his trademark annoying grin.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“But your question kind of answered itself!” Dmitri placed the oboe on its stand. His hands were soon busy touching any part of my body they could reach. “We’re playing at nine in the morning precisely because half the house is asleep!” A pat on the back became an ass grab. “It’s the last day of the year! We better make something good out of it, and enjoy it for as long as we can!”

“I don’t want to enjoy it; 2012 was my crappiest year since I was fifteen. It’s about time it goes away.”

“Then how about you join us and we do what Karen wants and have a nice jam session before we all go do what we were supposed to be doing today?”

“If that’s what you want, I challenge you to play base lines. Think Pachelbel’s Canon in D, but with even more boring notes. Karen and I will work on the melody.” My arm slung over his shoulder on its own free will. I definitely did not order it to go there.

“Aw, man! That boring?” My lips, on the other hand, had express orders to grin as sadistically as possible. Karen laughed. “Fine, whatever you want, if it means you’ll be in a good mood for the rest of the day.”

“I think seeing you struggle with the same four-note sequence on endless repeat will definitely keep me entertained.” Karen was still laughing. I almost felt tempted to join her.

“You know, there is a reason I didn’t go for the cello when I was deciding my musical career…” For all he was complaining, Dmitri was quick to get his oboe ready again.

“And I though this reason was called ‘sexy, manly teacher’.”

“That too.” Karen’s laughter resonated through the whole room. I prepared my cello while she tried to recover.

“Karen, we get it that you find our snarky friendship amusing, but we need to tune now. Please stop laughing and recover your breath or we’ll start without you.” Dmitri and I rolled eyes together. I played a particularly nasty open A (the kind inexperienced beginners would produce with annoying frequency) to drive my point across and she did not object.

“Sorry, I’m just happy to see you guys like yourselves again.”

“Don’t get too used to it. I’m being nice because I’m not sick anymore and because I’ll be away from you all soon.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” It was Dmitri’s turn to laugh. “But whatever the reason is, we’re all glad you recovered well, so let’s end the year on a musical bang to celebrate!”

I saw no reason to celebrate the end of one particular round of sickness, but this was not the time to have an argument about it. Other sicknesses and other annoyances (i.e. the replacement) were waiting just around the corner. If there was to be any celebration, it would be because until I reached that corner I could forget about what was to come and have a good time for a change.

(...)

The jam session lasted for about two hours, at which point Gísli invaded the music room with a tray containing a huge plate of assorted biscuits, three hot chocolate mugs, a glass of water, and two toasted slices of gluten-free bread with butter. “Guys, you sound lovely, but if you don’t eat soon, your bodies will complain.”

“Hey, look at that! Gísli got food for everyone!” Dmitri jumped on the tray like it was full of penises. “He even remembered Siggi’s lactose pills!”

“And I was careful not to let biscuit crumbles touch your plate or your glass,” Gísli reassured me with a proud nod. Karen dragged me to the food and we ate at the table in the music room, using some of the scattered music sheets as tablecloths. Thanks to Dmitri, I got a full make-out session before he took his first bite of innocent-looking biscuits that could kill me and make my stomach upset (not necessarily in that order).

“We won’t get to do that again until next year!” This was Dmitri’s excuse for the make-out, but obviously none of us believed it.

“Yes, how horrible. Next year is so far away…”

“Time is relative. Every time I remember that I won’t fuck until 2013 it feels like midnight is still days away.” Dmitri ate the first biscuit and washed it down with hot chocolate. He would definitely not be kissing me anymore.

“Then grab Gísli by his dick and have your way with him upstairs. I promise I won’t be bothered if you at least try to keep the volume down.”

“Sorry, Siggi and Gísli, but I’m too busy for it today. Karen, I’m still getting a lift, right?” Dmitri’s puppy eyes stared right into Karen’s soul. He knew very well how to get what he wanted from her.

“Yes, I’ll give you a lift, but only after Siggi is gone.” She turned to me. “When is Arnar coming?”

“He said we would have lunch together, so hopefully soon.”

“I don’t know how you’ll be ready for lunch after just eating breakfast, but I hope you guys have fun.”

“Worst case scenario I’ll just be there for the company. I’m not spending New Year’s with him for the food anyway. Also, Arnar said today is going to be like the old times. He bought lots of fireworks and promised I could light them all.”

“It does sound like fun.” Dmitri’s hand found its way to my leg. “Are you staying with him until the New Year Concert?”

“That’s the plan. Gummi asked Arnar if he wanted to help backstage, so he will be there too.”

“That’s great! I miss having him around,” Karen said. Her mouth stayed open, like she wanted to say something else, but nothing happened. She gave up. Gísli and Dmitri nodded, and right on cue, the doorbell rang.

It hurt to keep seeing Arnar with his arm bandaged and secured in a sling three months after the accident. It hurt to see that he could still smile and greet everyone with the same old enthusiasm, like we were back in the rehearsal room ready to start a six-hour marathon of music. It hurt to see that he could so easily move on from something that had destroyed his career and his life. He had accepted it so easily, like he had cared very little about it to begin with.

It was a lie, obviously. Arnar cared more about the ISO than anyone else.

But it still hurt.

“Hey, Siggi, are you ready to go?” He hugged me with his good arm. The others queued after me to get their share of attention too. Arnar had not been a father figure only to me, after all.

“Almost. I’ll finish packing, be back soon.” One bag for clothes, one for medicines. I could not just assume Arnar still had my old packs of pills, or that if he did, they were not past their ‘use by’ date. I could leave some there this time around, and run to his house every time the replacement came by. Or I could just move back with him. But he would not like that. He had been too proud to see me move on.

“See you in two days, then.” Arnar hugged my housemates and Dmitri stole a kiss on the cheek. Then the oboist jumped on my lips and his hand found my ass.

“I’ll miss you, Siggi. Come back in one piece!” He hugged me too, and kept his arms around me for way too long. “Happy New Year! See you in 2013!”

“Yeah, see you.” Someone else’s hand found its way to my shoulder. Arnar’s grip was firm, but not painful. Against my best judgement, the corners of my lips went up.

“Oh my God, did you just…” Dmitri’s mouth snapped open, like he had just seen an elf climbing my ponytail.

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll make you choke with your oboe reeds.”

“You don’t sound half as threatening when you look like you’re about to start laughing.”

“Don’t make me do it. I would hate to get rid of my best live dildo.”

“Is that all I am to you? I’m really hurt now.” Dmitri reverted to his mercy-seeking puppy eyes strategy. It would have not worked under normal circumstances, but Arnar’s hand was still on my shoulder, working like a cheesy force-field against the pain of the last few days. It would not last forever, but there was no reason to not make the most of it.

“Fine. You are my best friend, as well as my best live dildo. Happy New Year to you too.” The smirk came naturally to my lips as I tugged his shirt and tried to pull him towards me. Most likely, he helped me out when he realised what I was planning. I kissed his lips, careful to not let him open his mouth and pass to me the deadly biscuit crumbles it still contained. Dmitri knew the deal by now, though, so he made an extra effort to keep his mouth shut.

I should consider kissing him after meals more often. If that was the only thing that would keep his lips sealed, it was more than worth the risk.

“Isn’t that beautiful?” I heard Karen say, though I was already walking towards Arnar’s car, so there was no point in turning back to confront her. I would be satisfied never knowing what she was talking about, but Gísli’s loud voice did not allow me to.

“What? The kiss? Siggi walking away in the not-really-sunset? Dmitri’s creepy face?”

“Nope. Siggi’s acting like himself again. I was beginning to think he would never get there.”

“I think he can still hear you.” Dmitri was right. Thanks to the existence of crude hand gestures, it was not even necessary to turn around to tell them to fuck off.

(...)

“How have you been? I heard you were sick again, but…”

“Let’s not go there. I’ve just managed to not feel like throwing up every time I get out of bed, I don’t want to remember it.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it was so bad, I would’ve visited if I knew.”

“It was better that way.” Or at least I wanted to convince myself it was. “All you would’ve seen was me being grumpy, insulting your whole family tree and vomiting on your nice clothes.”

“Then it would be just like four years ago, and I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Stop, I don’t need this now.” Two minutes in the car and water was already building up around my eyelids. This was not the New Year programme I had signed up for.

“As you wish. Shall I tell you what Ágústa and I have prepared for lunch and dinner instead? We got some gluten free pasta and baked gluten free bread, and I cut the chicken myself.”

“You did not!” Alarm bells went off. This story had been told before, and not with a happy ending.

“I know, right?” Arnar’s wife sounded just as pissed as I felt. Shame she was too busy driving to let me see her face. “I tried to stop him, but he wanted to be the one responsible for your food, and nothing I said would change his mind.”

“What were you thinking? That’s what got you hurt in the first place!” Arnar was getting more proficient at tempting fate than I was.

“I figured I had run out of bad luck already. It’s about time I mend my relationship with chicken corpses and sharp blades.” He answered like it was no big deal. Like he had not seen blood gushing out of his wound, spilling all over the kitchen counters. How could he have been so quick to forget the pained screams that reached all the way to Ágústa and me on the second floor? “It’s all part of the healing process.”

“Right. The shrink told you that?”

“Yes. Laufey is a very good shrink. She’s helping me a lot.”

“Good for you. She hasn’t been helping me much.” Particularly if she was taking a two-week break over Christmas and New Year.

“Then let’s not talk about her anymore. Let me brag about our meals instead! We’re going to be eating the same as you, because we miss having you around, so we really want to do things together like a family. You better not spoil that!” Arnar grinned. Despite my best efforts, I did too.

“Why are you assuming I want to? What’s with all that crap about trust you’ve spent the last four years trying to teach me? Shouldn’t you give me a bit more credit?”

“Yeah, I miss you too, Siggi.” Ágústa laughed. A family indeed.

(...)

My room looked exactly like it did four years ago, before my cello took permanent residence in the corner opposite the desk. The dresser was empty, but there was no point putting just a handful of clothes there. My personal mini-pharmacy would fit just fine on the desk, but even that was not essential for my survival.

“Nostalgia trip?” Arnar appeared by the door, smiling like he was the one going on such trip.

“Not really. It’s not like I’ve never been back here since I moved out.”

“Before my hand was nearly chopped off,” Arnar had to remember the accident on its most gruesome details, “Ágústa and I were talking about having foster kids again. But then we realised we didn’t have the guts to give this room to anyone else.”

“You sound like those cheesy parents who keep their children’s room after they’ve married and started their own families. It’s almost creepy.”

“Well, you moved away, but you’re still our son. I think we kind of hope that you still consider this place your home too.”

“Maybe.” Arnar was suddenly standing close enough to hug me. His good hand caressed my ponytail. “You want me to be the only child in your lives, then?”

“As selfish as it may sound, yes.” He finally hugged me. Water returned to my eyes.

“I guess I’m enough trouble on my own.”

“Never say that. Never.” His arm tightened around my chest. My eyes closed, but not in time to prevent some of the water from escaping. “We never thought of you as trouble. You’re the greatest blessing we received, even when you didn’t trust us, and when you were having a bad day and doing your best to be as offensive as possible.” The rest of the water fell on Arnar’s shoulder. His hand became a comforting touch on my back, and my arms held on to him with as much strength as they could muster. Then my whole body began to shake, and he sat me on the bed. He did not let go. “You’ve been through some rough days.”

“It’s been hell.” Arnar’s presence was soothing. The hand on my back sucked away three months’ worth of nightmares and pain, and the relief was almost too much to bear. “I haven’t felt this bad since before we met. I can’t hope for good things anymore. Hell, I don’t even feel like myself anymore. I don’t believe anything will get better. I’m just… here. Surviving for no reason other than that my one attempt at ending everything failed so spectacularly.”

“Did you really want things to end back then?”

“I did. I still do, but I’m too much of a failure to manage even that. I have so much control over my own life that I can’t even end it when I want.”

“You feel powerless.”

“I feel fucking useless and fucking weak and fucking horrible. And I can’t even actually fuck anything because Dmitri is scared of me.”

“I see.” Arnar lifted my head from his shoulder. He seemed sad. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help you out this time. I’m doing all I can to get better so I can become part of your life again.” He sighed. There was more water in my eyes, and his too. “I hope I won’t be too late.”

“Come back to the ISO. Find a way to be there again. I can’t stand to look at your chair and see the replacement there every day. You were the reason I got there in the first place. It feels meaningless if you’re no longer there.”

“I understand, Siggi, and believe me, I miss you all very much. All I want is to be back with you, but we must accept that this won’t happen. I’m trying to move on now, and I’ll find a way of being there for you even if I’m not up on that stage anymore. Can we try to do that? Can you trust me, and hang in there until we have worked things out?”

“I really want to say I do.” But it would be a lot harder once rehearsals restarted.

“That’s good enough for me. As much as I want to, I can’t force you to get better. You’ll have to get there by yourself. I’ll trust your resilience. It’s what brought you to me after all.”

“That has nothing to do with what’s going on now.”

“I don’t know about that.” Arnar smiled. “You had to be pretty resilient back then, to turn your own father in to the police. You endured a lot under that man, but you found the strength to turn the tables. And now you’re still here. Even if you think of it as a failure to end things with your own hands, you survived long enough to see the New Year surrounded by people who love you and want you to feel better. I’m pretty sure those things are linked.”

“Fine, if you say so.” Arnar brought me closer to him, and I rested my head on his shoulder again. All the worst events of the past three months played like a horror movie in my mind: witnessing Arnar’s injuries, using my best friend to try to end my own life, being attacked by Kresten in my own workplace. This time, water flowed freely from my eyes, and my throat produced uncontrollable choking noises at regular intervals. Arnar’s hand remained on my back the whole time. It was the only warmth I could feel when everything else was taken by cold darkness.

(...)

“Here, Siggi, go ahead and light the first one.” We had ten rockets lined up in front of Arnar’s place. The few houses in the neighbourhood were also preparing to light their own fireworks at midnight.

“I would rather not get too close to fire, thanks.” No one in their right mind should trust me with weapons of any kind when barely a few hours earlier I had remembered all the reasons I should find a map to the world of the dead. Arnar did not get the message, though.

“Are you sure? I thought you liked firing them up. We got these for you.”

“I do. It’s just…” Arnar was smiling. He saw no reason his nearly-suicidal kid should not be handled something capable of exploding the house. For someone else it would be a death wish, but with Arnar it was an issue of blind trust.

“I guess it’s fine if you’re not in the mood, but I thought it would be a good way of symbolically letting go of the troubles you had this year.”

“You think they’ll disappear if I turn them into pretty lights?” Arnar was still smiling. My eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“No, I’m not that naïve. I just think it would be nice to at least start 2013 with some optimism.”

“So I should pretend to send my bad feelings away with the fireworks, and pretend to be cheerful as the year starts.” I took the matches from him. It was as good a plan as any. And the fireworks were pretty.

“Let’s try to be quick here, so we can watch the rest of the city’s fireworks from the roof.” One minute to midnight. Arnar turned on his camcorder and turned it to his own face. “This is Arnar reporting from the outskirts of Reykjavík.” He spoke in English. This video would soon find its way to the internet. “With me tonight are my dear wife Ágústa and my beloved son Siggi, and we are going to show you the amazing New Year’s Eve experience of Iceland! Soon fireworks will embellish our skies, as families everywhere light their own rockets to welcome in 2013. We’re no different, and Siggi will have the honour to kick-start our New Year this time around. Anything you want to say to 2013, Siggi?”

“It can’t be worse than 2012.”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” Arnar patted me with his left elbow. “Ágústa, darling, what do you want to say to 2013?”

“We have fifteen seconds,” she answered. As the countdown started, Ágústa hugged her husband. Arnar filmed her briefly before turning the camera towards me. Our arsenal flew to the sky with perfect timing and Arnar caught it on camera. Then we headed to the third floor of the house. Years ago it had been converted into a greenhouse, so the walls and the ceiling were made of glass. It was probably the best place in Reykjavík to watch the fireworks.

Arnar filmed at the greenhouse too. He liked to have all important family moments recorded for posterity. It was the fifth time I was featured in his New Year’s Eve footage. “Those fireworks are beautiful. They make me want to go all cheesy.”

“Then do that, darling, no one is stopping you.” Ágústa smiled. She had clung to her husband all the way to the greenhouse. “Though I want to film that. Give me the camera.”

Arnar decided that the best thing to do once he was free from the camera was to pull me for a one-armed hug. He stretched his good hand to reach the top of my head and mess with my hair. “I’m very happy to be here tonight, sharing this beautiful moment with the two most important people in my life. 2012 was far from great. I had my share of setbacks,” Arnar lifted his left arm to illustrate his point, “but I’m still here, I still have my family and a great group of friends who will help me get through everything. I will stand on my own two feet again. It might not be in 2013, not even 2014, but it will happen eventually. Mark my words ISO, I’ll be back to you in no time!”

Ágústa clapped. They would hopefully edit this part out of the movie, so no one would have to see the camera shaking. The fireworks were still going. The plants in the room reflected the colours coming from above, turning the greenhouse into a sci-fi-like space. Arnar still hugged me.

“And I’ll be back for you too, Siggi. I’ll be a better father, and you won’t have to suffer alone anymore.”

Four years ago Arnar had asked me to light the fireworks and taken me to the greenhouse to look at the city sky. His wife held the camera as he told me he wanted to become my new father, someone I could learn to trust, someone to teach me what real families were about. It was all registered in the 2008-2009 New Year’s DVD, like a binding contract for life. His new promise would likewise be recorded and registered for posterity on the shelf in the living room (and all over the internet). And, like the old one, this new promise sounded more like wishful thinking and a silly resolution that would not last a week.

But the old promise became true. Maybe this time around I could afford to believe the new one would too.