The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 34. Uphill Struggle, Downhill Crash

Please note that Chapter 33 is no longer a teaser for Siggi's solo story. It has now been updated to the actually chapter 33 written by Gunni. If you haven't read that yet, please do so before looking at this one. Thanks.

(...)

A mouthful of light brown hair marked my re-introduction to wakefulness. Gísli’s wild mane was far too close for comfort as the rest of his body entangled with mine in unnatural positions.

“Morning, Siggi.” Apparently there was a mouth hiding under the wild mane. Gísli’s face emerged from the mess of hair (tickling my nose and ears and any other exposed bits of skin in the process), and smiled like he had spent the entire night being injected with morphine. “Thanks for last night. I think I feel a bit better.”

“Good for you.”

“Are you ok?” The smile disappeared. At least he had enough sense to look like he cared.

“No.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Then how about I make us breakfast? You can stay in bed a bit longer if you want.”

“No, I don’t want to stay in this room.” Not in the bastard’s room. It was his before they invited me to share with him. It is still his when he tells me to sleep in Gísli’s room because he has company. It is the room he fucked the replacement’s brains out at least once. It was never really my room. I do not have a space that is just mine in this house. In Arnar’s, at least I had my own room.

“Fine, do what you think is best. I’ll be in the kitchen if you want anything.” Gísli disentangled us and left. Naked. If he had any common sense, by the time he reached the kitchen he would have made a detour to his own room and found some more appropriate cooking attire. I had had plenty of his cock in my mouth the night before; there was no need to have his cock touch my food too.

But Gísli was not the kind to cook naked. The bastard was. Wearing only an apron was somehow sexy to him. Not unhygienic. Not disgusting. Just sexy.

He should never touch my food again.

(...)

“Breakfast is ready, Siggi. Do you want to eat now?”

“I’m busy. Later.” I had a cello between my legs and Haydn’s Cello Concerto in C Major on my stand. This was not the time for interruptions.

“Ok, sorry. Is that the Haydn Concerto you’ll be playing on the twenty-fourth?” Gísli entered the music room, apparently forgetting about his breakfast.

“Yes. I have three weeks to practice before the ISO puts me in the spotlight, so I really have to work on this.”

“I know. It’ll be cool to have you as a soloist. I’m looking forward to that!”

“There are no timpani in this concert. You won’t be there.”

“I still get to listen to it from the backroom.” Gísli grinned. “I know you string types are not used to sitting out when your instrument is not listed for a particular piece, but I can assure you that we can hear you very well from the side-lines.”

“Yeah, and you also spend the whole time making jokes at our expense and betting on where the first mistakes will come from.” Eye-roll. If Gísli wanted to complain about being occasionally left out, he should have picked an instrument that is always part of the repertoire. Like the violin. Though it was better not to imagine Gísli as a violinist. The replacement had already nearly ruined the instrument’s reputation to me; my friend did not need to contribute to that too.

“That’s not true! You’ll have your chance to sit backstage when you’re not being the star of the show on the 24^th, so you can see for yourself.”

“Sorry, but I’ll be sitting with Arnar in the audience. We got our tickets already.”

“Fair enough, but you’re missing a great opportunity.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. I think you lot will be glad you don’t have to endure me backstage for most of the concert.”

“You do know that’s not true, right?” Gísli appeared more concerned. He got too close for comfort, depositing a hand on my shoulder. His voice then got that annoying paternalistic tone of empty political reassurances. “You know we actually like you, right? You’re part of the family and we’re really happy to have you around.” I did not feel like giving more than a raised eyebrow to that kind of speech. “Even when you get all grumpy and insufferable. That’s what unconditional love is about.”

“Yeah, right…”

The rest of our useless conversation was cut short by the bastard’s impeccable sense of timing. We heard him banging the front door and calling our names until he spotted us through the glass door of the music room. The bastard came in hurriedly and almost banged shut this more fragile door too. He was lucky Gísli realised what was about to happen and lunged forward to save the room’s physical integrity.

“I think I screwed up really badly.” The bastard told us, barely noting Gísli’s stunt to save the glass door.

“What happened?” Gísli approached him. I stayed with my cello. The bastard’s problems could not be more important than an upcoming concert as the soloist. Particularly if such problems involved his paedophiliac urges with the replacement.

“I slept in a hotel with some guy I found in the bar yesterday, but this morning a reporter called me to ask about Gunni and me and she heard the guy in the background just as I said we’re in a relationship. I told her Gunni and I had never fucked, and then she…”

I laughed. Hard.

“What’s your problem, Siggi?” The bastard was not happy. Angry, it seemed. Or even… hurt?

“I just don’t think you’re capable of not fucking someone you have your eyes on. Knowing you, the two of you could’ve fucked your way to China by now.”

“Then you don’t know me at all.”

Dmitri stormed out of the room, with Gísli following soon after. Silence once more. Finally. Back to practice.

Except, nothing I played came out right. The concentration was no longer there. My will to play was no longer there. I gave up. As much as I hated to even think about it, I knew why this was not working.

Time to show I cared about someone.

“Dmitri…?” His bedroom door was closed, but I could hear voices coming from there.

“Go away.” It was surprisingly painful to hear Dmitri say that.

“No, look, I…” This was a lot more difficult than it should have been. “I’m sorry, ok. You know I don’t like what you do with the kid, but I guess I stepped over the line.”

The room turned silent, apart from footsteps approaching the door. Dmitri’s face came into view. He was obviously crying. “You jumped over the line and landed so far I can no longer see you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ve known each other for three years. We share a room and a bed. You’re supposed to be my best friend. But you can’t believe me when I say I haven’t been fucking Gunni. You can’t believe I’m capable of choosing not to fuck someone. What kind of person do you think I am? What kind of monster do you take me for?”

“I…”

“I know you have a shit-ton of problems and issues, and that you’re going through some of the worst periods in your life. I can understand you’re in a bad mood and angry with the world. I’ve so far accepted when you say things that hurt, because I know you’re only saying those things because you’re horrible at processing your own emotions and dealing with your own crap without taking it out on others. I know you well enough to tell when you’re saying something out of anger, and when you really mean what you say.”

Dmitri’s face was red. He kept crying. And somehow this made my eyes sting.

“You meant it back then. You really believe I’m some kind of sex-crazed monster who can’t see a dick without going crazy. You think I can’t control myself, or that I’m incapable of not feeling sexual attraction for a guy. Deep down, this means you don’t really trust me. You call yourself my best friend, but you don’t trust that I respect other people’s right to say ‘no’. And now I have to wonder if you even think you can say ‘no’ to me, if all the things we’ve done over the past three years happened because you were afraid to tell me to stop.”

“No, that wasn’t…”

“You’re making me question everything we ever did together, at a time when I ran to you because I needed help with my own problems. I came home really scared today, and I guess I was hoping you would notice that and be able to put your shit aside for one second and actually be the best friend you claim to be, but instead you give me reason to believe our friendship has always been based in intimidation, fear, and lack of trust.”

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Well, too late.”

Dmitri tried to close the door, but my foot got in the way at the last second. It hurt, it would most likely be bruised afterwards, but for the first time in seemingly forever, I did not give a single piece of shit. Talking to Dmitri was harder than it should have been. Listening to his piercing words was more painful than I could process. I silently held the door with my foot as he tried to force it shut.

“Why don’t you guys talk inside?” Gísli broke the silence. He had been in the room with Dmitri this whole time, listening to everything he said. Gísli came up behind Dmitri and opened the door for me to get through. “You’re both obviously very emotional right now. Let’s sit down, get some tissues, and cool down a bit. I think you need to have a serious talk to sort all this stuff Dmitri brought up.” Gísli guided Dmitri to the bed, and I sat by his side. Dmitri avoided looking at me. “I’ll go have breakfast and make some nice comfort food for when you’re ready to come down.”

Gísli left the room. Dmitri was still crying, and I could not bring myself to say anything. The words were trapped in my throat, threatening to suffocate me with their sharpness and their weight. Dmitri was obviously done speaking. He said all he needed, and his puffy, red face and shaky hands ensured I did not forget a single word of it.

“I really… I don’t know how to start this. I don’t know how to do what I know you want me to do.”

“But you really want to do it?”

“I do; I just never learned how.”

“You can start by saying you’re sorry.”

“But I already did.”

“No. You said you were sorry before I told you what you actually did. You only said sorry for making me upset, but it doesn’t cover everything else.”

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

“Now tell me what you’re sorry for. Show me you know what you did wrong and how it affected me.” Dmitri still did not look at me. Tears fell silently on his trousers, making them wet.

“I think… I think what I said made you upset because it made you think I don’t trust you. I’m sorry I said that.”

“What else?”

“There’s more?” Dmitri nodded. It was hard to find the words I needed. “I think… I think you’re also upset because… because I wasn’t a good friend when you needed?”

“You know, Siggi, this talk makes me feel like I’m dealing with a four-year-old who doesn’t know how to share toys.” He finally looked at me. “Which is horrible and sad in its own way, because it means someone really fucked up your emotional development. So I’m going to give you another chance and tell you what I wanted to hear you say.”

“Should I feel sorry about this too?”

“You tell me. Do you?”

“I… I’m confused, really. I think I probably should, but…”

“But you’re not sorry at all?”

“That’s not it. I think I probably am, I just can’t… I don’t know. I can’t give a name to what I’m feeling now. It’s not something I’m used to. I don’t think I can deal with it.”

“Can you describe your feeling in some other way? Like, remember how I used to have to go on long descriptions about simple everyday objects to ask what they were called because I didn’t have enough Icelandic vocabulary…?”

“It’s not something good, but it’s not the kind of horrible feeling I’m used to. It’s like… it’s not painful. It doesn’t make me want to hurt myself, and it doesn’t make me angry. But it keeps telling me I’m about to do the wrong thing, or say the wrong thing, and that I should run away before I actually do and it ends up hurting me.”

“So it makes you… anxious?”

“I think it makes me scared.” Maybe it was just an impression, but Dmitri seemed to have gotten closer to me. “It’s not the kind of fear I had when my father was coming at me with an obvious threat, but it’s still some kind of danger message.” The more I spoke, the more the feeling began to make sense. Dmitri was no longer crying. He settled for watching me intensely.

“Maybe you’re scared of screwing up your apology.” Dmitri seemed to smile for a second, but it was gone almost immediately. “In a way, that’s almost as good as hearing the actual apology.”

“Is it?”

“It shows you might actually care, even if you can’t put it in words or consciously realise it.” Dmitri edged closer to me, this time much more noticeably. “What I wanted you to say is that you realised that what you told me made me think you don’t trust me and don’t feel safe around me. That, basically, you made me doubt we were really friends, that you really liked me, and that you have enjoyed our time together.”

“I’m sorry. For all of it.” Dmitri looked at me and started to cry again. The words that had so far been hurting my throat finally found their way out, though not as smoothly as Dmitri probably hoped. “We are friends. You were the first person after Arnar that seemed to really make an effort to include me in things. You tried your best to not poison me, and I know how scared you were when it happened by accident. It’s just… I don’t know how to tell people how much they mean to me. I don’t know how to show these things either.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“And I don’t think you forced me to fuck. If anything, it was me who forced you to hurt me when I wanted to kill myself.” At that, Dmitri tried to interrupt. But the words were coming out non-stop now; I was not going to break the flow. “Actually, I’m sorry about that too. I don’t think I ever apologised properly. Everything was so unbearable then, I just wanted it to end and I could have cared less if anyone else had feelings about it too.” He smiled. Apology accepted? “And I think… I think I’m so used to you always fucking someone that it never occurred to me you could not fuck. When I told you I wasn’t in the mood, you just found someone else to keep you company.”

“But I always respected your wishes. It’s the same with Gunni. He doesn’t want to have sex, and so we don’t do that. I would never lie about something like that.” Dmitri got close enough to hug me with one arm. “It’s true I like to fuck, but I know how important it is that everything I do is safe and consensual, and so it really hurts me when someone thinks I don’t do that. It was a hard lesson for me to learn when I was seventeen. I don’t like the implication that I’m still like I used to be

“Ok. I think I understand.”

“Then I accept your apology, and I can be your best friend again, but you have to promise you won’t say this kind of thing to me again, even when you’re upset and angry with the world. I’ve been trying to be here for you as much as possible, but even I have my limits.”

“Ok. I’ll remember that. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem. Thanks for trying to talk to me. I can see how difficult it was for you to get even a little bit of your feelings out. I admire your effort.”

“You are my best friend. I had to.” Another unfamiliar feeling settled in. It was warm and… not really bad. It was similar to the feeling when Arnar told me I was his son for the first time, and when I got my job at the ISO and they organised a welcome party for me, but still too strange to be properly recognisable.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Now, enough of my feelings. I’ve had enough of those for the whole year.” The bastard laughed. His insufferable manners were back to normal. “But you said there’s some crap coming your way?”

“I think it’s best to talk about it over yummy food, and I think Gísli should hear about it too. Let’s go have breakfast and tell him we’re back to being best buddies.” The bastard pulled me by my arms, so that I fell on him like a flimsy RomCom female protagonist. He proceeded to drag me down with renewed enthusiasm and annoying bounciness. Like nothing had changed. Like he had not messed with my head so much I could barely begin to unravel everything.

But whatever. The bastard was back, and as annoying as he was, I would rather be annoyed by him all the time than not have him around at all.

Not that I would ever be able to tell him that, at least not in those words.

(...)

“So let me get this straight…” Gísli pointed his spoon towards the bastard, shaking it slightly as he repeated the story we had just heard. His chocolate cereal was only half-eaten and smelling like the forbidden fruit it was for me. “Some reporters have been harassing you and Gunni, trying to get details about your relationship.” The bastard nodded. “And you’re even more worried because they seemed kind of obsessed with the age difference between you two, and by the fact that you’re Russian.”

“That’s pretty much it. I never trust reporters; I know they’d do anything to sell their stories. I don’t know what kind of thing they could be trying to pull here, but just imagining it makes me scared.” The bastard dug another spoonful of his hot chocolate pudding. Gísli’s idea of ‘comfort food’ involved a lot of warm chocolate for those who could digest it, and a glass of lactose-free milk for the one with a fussy digestive tract.

“You think there’s any chance they’ll try to look into more than your career at the ISO?” I decided I should make an effort to participate in the conversation too.

“That pretty much qualifies under ‘just imagining it makes me scared’.” Dmitri’s face turned serious. “And also qualifies under ‘worst case scenario’.”

“What’s so bad about your life before the ISO?” Gísli asked. His cluelessness was almost endearing. “What do you think is going to happen if they find out about it?”

“At this point, not knowing anything, I fear losing my job. I fear being forced out of the country because no job means no visa. I fear been sent back to a place like Russia after a scandal that would likely brand me as a gay monster.”

“No shit…” Gísli lowered his spoon. There was silence; it was heavy and hopeless, until his optimism shattered it for good. “But if it comes to that, then I’ll marry you and get you a new visa. We won’t let you go so easily.”

“You can marry me too. It’s probably more believable since we share a room and everything…”

“Aw, you guys!” Dmitri’s eyes filled with water once more. He completely disregarded the food under him to jump across the table for a group hug. It was a miracle he did not get chocolate all over his shirt. “Thank you, thank you! That’s really reassuring. I’m touched.”

“No, you’re touching me. And most likely Gísli too.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not really. I’m just pointing out you’re technically not the one being touched.”

“Ok, I can live with that.”

“But what could be so bad about the reporters messing with your past? I’m sure the ISO will support you no matter what they uncover.” Gísli had absolutely no clue what he was talking about. Not that we could blame him.

“I hope so too, but…”

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?” Gísli’s eyes had a cartoony moment of inexplicably growing to twice their size.

Dmitri filled the kitchen with laughter. Probably a good sign, but not good enough to make my ears appreciate it. “No, I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never intentionally harmed anyone.” Cue guilty side look towards me. “When you put things in that kind of perspective, I do feel a little more relieved. I didn’t do anything that bad. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I guess it can’t really be that horrible… Thanks, guys!”

Another group hug. Another pair of ribs irreparably squashed. The bastard let go of us and spent the rest of day in a much more unbearably cheerful mood.

(...)

But the most basic lesson of life is that happiness is not made to last. The very next morning, Dmitri’s spirit suffered a painful blow looking at the front cover of Iceland’s biggest circulation newspaper. There was a photo of him innocently cuddling with the replacement during the New Year concert under the headline ‘Young Musical Prodigy Chooses Russian Lover’. There was far too much text underneath the picture for it to be just a basic story about the couple. Dmitri grabbed the paper with shaky hands and read it out loud for his three housemates.

“Gunnar Helsson, Iceland’s youngest musician to play for a professional orchestra, has announced his romantic involvement with fellow musician Dmitri Miroslavich Kovlov. The couple was seen at the New Year Concert of the Icelandic Symphony Orchestra (ISO) last Wednesday, 2^nd January, sharing an intimate moment together. Gunnar is the leader of the ISO, recently hired to replace acclaimed violinist Arnar Sæmundsson, who had to retire due to an unfortunate accident. Gunnar, who turned seventeen on Boxing Day, does not see his young age as a barrier for a loving relationship. His partner of choice is Russian oboist Dmitri, who is twenty-three years old.”

“That‘s not too bad so far.” Karen had that deluded tone of false encouragement, but it was not enough to stop Dmitri´s hands from shaking. In fact, the further on he read, he more obvious the shaking became, to such an extent that by the end I was the one holding the page.

“The couple declined to discuss private details of their relationship. However, when inquired whether the nearly seven-year age gap between them posed any obstacle for a fulfilling love life, Dmitri claimed he and Gunnar have not gone beyond ‘kissing and cuddling’.

“Despite his claims of innocence, Dmitri is well-known in the Reykjavík gay scene as an ‘enthusiastic lover who will take as many men as he can entice’ on a night out. Valkur Valkarsson, who regularly has such ‘intimate’ encounters with Dmitri, said that the oboist ‘never misses an opportunity to get things going. He’ll kiss you, and hold you in such way that there’s really no escaping his appetite.’

“Further supporting Valkur’s statement is the fact that our reporters found Dmitri in the company of an unknown male the day after the New Year Concert. We could not verify whether Gunnar was aware of this development. Dmitri declined to comment on his relationship with this unknown male, but the evidence suggests they had more than a ‘friendly’ encounter.

“The blossoming of young love is beautiful and inspirational. However, today’s youth needs to be careful. It is unclear whether the ISO approves of this relationship among its core staff, but it is certainly of our nation’s interest to ensure that one of our brightest young minds is not damaged by what might as well be called a Russian menace.”

Dmitri finished reading the article and let his body fall on his chair like a deadweight potato sack. The newspaper fell abandoned on the ground, but not for long. Karen snatched it from Dmitri’s feet. She was definitely not the only one outraged by what she had heard, but was by far the most vocal about it.

“I can’t believe they did this! How can they get away with saying such horrible things?” Karen scanned the article, most likely with some false hope that Dmitri had imagined all the cruel slander against him. Once she was done, she angrily tossed the paper to Gísli and grabbed her phone. “I’m calling Gummi. We must do something about it!”

“No, Karen, don’t…”

“You don’t want to defend yourself? Don’t you understand what they’re doing to you and Gunni? One more paragraph and they would’ve outright called you a sexual predator of the young and innocent!”

“I know that. I just don’t know if I want Gummi and the ISO involved in this.” Dmitri’s words acted as some sort of creepy magnet, because his phone chose this exact moment to blast the fourth movement of Tchaikovsky’s Pathetic, indicating Gummi wanted to talk to him. “Hi, Gummi, how are you…?”

“I just read the newspaper.” Our boss’s voice was perfectly audible through Dmitri’s phone. “I’m frankly appalled by their attitude, and I want your permission to lodge a complaint, or to at least release an official answer from the ISO in support of you and Gunni.”

“What would that answer be like?” For someone who was clearly receiving full support from his superiors, Dmitri sounded worryingly reluctant to accept such support.

“Just a note saying we are aware of your relationship with Gunni and we approve of it. I can also say I trust you and that you are a valuable member of the ISO, and that anyone who knows you would be appalled by the implication that you could be anything less than an honourable, responsible musician and gentleman.”

“I don’t know...”

“Hopefully this way we can cut the fuel for any further story they might be planning about you. I still have to talk to Gunni about this, but if both of you allow me to write on your behalf, I will show it to you before I send it to the papers.”

“Thank you, Gummi…”

“You’ll be ok, don’t worry. I know you, and I have total confidence in you. The ISO will support you no matter what; you don’t have to be afraid.”

Dmitri began to cry again. He was doing far too much of that lately. I was supposed to be the one with the crappy life, not the guy who was always bending over backwards to make everyone happy. Yet another proof of the unfairness of life.

“I’ll call Gunni now. You can take time off work if you want, though I think our colleagues will be worried about you and will want to know if you’re ok.”

“Thank you, Gummi. I might stay home today, but I want to be back on Monday and play in our next concert. I don’t want to give these people any more reasons to say bad things about me.”

“Do as you wish, but it’s ok if you need more time.”

Dmitri thanked Gummi over and over again before ending the call. As the morning went by, we got more calls from worried colleagues wanting to know how Dmitri was doing and if there was anything they could do to help. At some point, there were calls coming at the same time to Dmitri’s, Karen’s, and Gísli’s phones, all from concerned musicians wanting to show their support for their friend.

The ISO was like a big family. They had taken me in and offered that same support even before I was officially in their ranks. So it was not surprising that they did all they could for Dmitri too.

Sometimes it was good to be reminded that even in this crappy life there were people who would move mountains to protect their kind. It was far too easy a thing to forget.