Green tea is my fuel. Add a few shreds of dried hibiscus and it’s the perfect infusion for an energized morning. My left hand tightens around the mug as I scribble down a few notes from last night’s conversation with Tom.
To my surprise, he’d come looking for me to apologize. To my even bigger surprise, he’d stayed, wanting to share a sunset with me. And to my biggest surprise, he’d opened up afterward.
After a heavy conversation about his family history, we talked about lighter subjects. The island, how it always rains in Amsterdam, and of course, music.
He told me his dream was to play every instrument in the world. Every single one.
Tom said life was a never-ending journey to learn everything about music and the cultures woven through it.
I thought that was beautiful.
I asked him about his favorite instrument.
The violin, he answered immediately. Well, he calls it the fiddle.
He told me that playing the fiddle could take him back to his childhood in Aberdeen, to what he called his ‘carefree days.’
That’s where the listening had stopped and the wondering started.
Carefree?
How can he call his childhood carefree after everything he told me about his family situation?
It doesn’t add up. It feels like he’s giving me the version he can live with sharing. And just like that, my vision changed.
Letting him talk had been too easy. There has to be more.
Maybe the things he struggles with hadn’t happened in early childhood, but in the years that followed.
That thought came to me when I woke in the middle of the night and replayed every word we’d spoken. I was so invested in remembering our exact words that it was a miracle I’d fallen back asleep.
I have to be careful not to push him too soon. But if I truly want to understand him, I have to keep listening. I have to keep asking.
I take a sip of my tea. Cold.
I wonder what today will bring.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I check my watch. He’s five minutes early.
Good to see he took my warning about being on time seriously.
“Come in,” I call out. I quickly swap my notes for a blank sheet of paper.
When I look up, I find him smiling at me. It’s a complete change from the energy he brought in yesterday.
It confuses me, but I can’t deny the sudden warmth that pushes away the cold prickle on my skin.
“Bom dia,” he says as he takes a seat in front of me.
“Bom dia, Tom.” Him greeting me in Portuguese is a small thing, but it tells me he’s trying.
“You’re early.” I tease.
He grins, shrugging. “Yeah, I thought I’d surprise you today. Keeps things interesting, right?” And with those words, his sapphires lock onto mine, stealing my breath. I try to look away, but my eyes betray me the moment they catch that mischievous curl tugging at his lips.
This is bad.
“Let’s… let’s sit on the couch, it’s way more comfortable to talk.” I clear my throat as I move from my desk, leading Tom to the treatment area of my studio.
