Once More With Feeling

Compassion was not Connor's first thought when he saw the woman. Instead, he noticed his hands sliding down his eyes, and all the stiff muscles and veins, like Michelangelo's statue, shuddered as they reached for a drink. When he looked up, he saw a young woman with straight hair and wide eyes who looked at him in need.

He must have been missing, for he kept going without saying a word.

Connor knew he wasn't in the crummy bar as he did, but he didn't say anything. What could he say? After all, if things had been different, she would have been playing violin songs on her international tour and ended up celebrating every night. Instead, he found himself with an unexplained addition when he was thirty-two and a violin that failed to give magic to his ears.

She had poured champagne into crystal glasses. Now he stared at his cup of beer overflowing, noticing that the foam formed small cracks like notes on the page. A slight movement sent them swaying quickly, and then slowly, a symphony before silence. He drank deeply and wondered if Beethoven saw the notes in "his" beer.

For some reason, she looked back at him and saw him trying to hug her by the arm of a drunken man. Well, sir, you're trying to pull him now, Connor noticed. Some people were just beginning to notice. Empaths are known for drinking alcohol and drugs for liberation, but to do so with contempt was not an everyday occurrence.

"It will be taken by Containment," the man sat down crying.

Eating his last beer, foam notes settle in his stomach. Connor had no idea what made him stand up. Before he knew it, he was standing next to the woman, with a smile on his face and his hearing aids.

"Hello," he said. "I think we should have met at night." His eyes begged her to play with him.

She rolled her eyes. He dropped his lifeless arm.

Connor put his arm around her and leaned his head in the middle. "I know you are compassionate. You are very clear," he whispered.

Her eyes widened in fear. "Please," he whispered. "Please, I do not mean bad. It is already over. I will have to release you."

"Let's go back to my place," he said loudly. Then under his breath, "You can use me."

His step narrowed, and he looked at her, why on his lips. He nodded: yes he knew what Khululiwe meant.

To gain empathy, emotional emotions are formed deep within a person until one can no longer control them. An outburst of anger or grief was usually too great for the body to absorb. But empathy can release many of the emotions of another person through the flames of closed emotions. However, even those who suffered from alcoholism and drug addiction are frustrated.

There was a reason why a lot of sensitivity ended up in Containment: they might be crazy, or their Release drove some crazy.

Not surprisingly, empathy was questionable. Why would Connor not volunteer for such a thing? Connor laughed softly, and bitterly. He knew he was feeling in a dead place of his soul, where music used to fill him. Hearing aids gave her violin notes again, but the sounds were strange and loud, and she disappeared into obscurity as she reached higher ground. He was a deaf artist. There was nothing left for him, so why not let him use her, keep her in Containment, away from her solitary confinement?

He must have heard all of that, nodded, and followed her out. No one said anything at the bar — they went back to their drinks.

His apartment was dark, bigger than home from his violin days. He loved the dull dust in the pictures and did not bother to hang them. Some things had better be left unattended.

"What's your name?" Asks Connor.

"Joanne."

"Okay, Joanne. I don't know how this works, but do what you need to do."

He moved closer, breathing hard. "Close your eyes Relax. Do you want to drink?"

She shook her head. "Just do it."

His hands pressed against his shoulders, and he miraculously recovered. "Thank you," he whispered. Then the emotions hit him so hard that he almost put him in the dark, his heart just pounded with a feeling that he thought maybe anger, strength blinded him. All of a sudden, he went into a trance, and then a bad laugh, his emotions suddenly changed and his heart could not bear it. He needed to focus, he couldn’t keep this up.

The violin appeared in his hands without his realizing it as he pulled it out of the cupboard dust, but there was the usual smell of wood and varnish, his fingers pressing hard against the metal strings, the bow moving in a sudden rage that left him. wants to stab the whole universe because of its ugly, horrible conditions. With the loss of his hearing. With the death of his dreams. The bow dropped, and suddenly it slipped into the largo. Pain, loss, pain.

Walking the bike between emotions, he did not know what he was playing for or how long it took, but when he stopped, his fingertips were red and cracked with retractable cords. Breathing hard, Connor felt ... empty. Even the alcohol he drank seemed to evaporate. It was not what he expected after he had emptied himself of his emotions.

And where was the compassion? Joanne? He looked around his little house and found a book on the counter.

"The first 15 minutes were me; some were you. The music was good. I think you needed as much release as I did."

Connor wrapped up a note. He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook hands, and turned off the hearing aids. The violin remained under his chin, the strings went into his fingers, but he did not care as he began to play again, inaudibly. It did not matter how the notes sounded. Because up to that point, he had forgotten how to play, not with sound, but with emotion.