“You don’t want to be around me right now,” I said.
“You’re pissed, Shannon, always about something, what now, Melody? Let it go, man.”
“I’m busy and I swear to God I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t get out of this studio — right now.”
“You’re always the sunshine on a cemetery aren’t you?” Mark said. “Well you’re an ass if you think I give-a-shit over the shit with Sam. This is about Sam, right? That’s why you’re so mad, you ass, wake up.”
“I swear to God, when you’re not kicking me in the balls, you’re a pain in my ass.”

I wanted to pull a cord out and whip him a few hundred times and then strangle him with it. I stood up and stared right at him and said with no uncertainty, “Get out of here. My performance is in four hours, I need this time to practice. Get out of here, right now.”

Sometimes things just happen. Something inside you runs through all your workings, gaskets, filters and blows straight through, without thought, hitting the gas pedal way before your brain knows it. When it happens you just tell yourself a story. One pretty, beer filled story where the girl kisses you and you turn to look at your brother and slug him right in the face and that’s only fiddling around because you meant to break his nose. But the first few swings were no good. So you continue to swing frantically until you finally hit it – right on the sweet spot.

Mark staggered around and so did I, he got a good swing on me. I reached over to place the dropped cello back on its side. I was not finished with him but did not intend for it to go past what they call in football as “the slaughter rule”… meaning way past bad.

“I knew you’d give that prize money to Sam so I wasn’t really stealing it from him. I was stealing it from you.” Mark spoke with the breath of someone who just finished a one hundred yard sprint and staggered around like a boxer, but I gave him play. We circled like wrestlers and I saw some blood from his nose. Mark said, “Are you committed? I’ve always wanted to do this, nothing personal.”

The company of two men can turn brutal and this was one of those times. I paid the price for every swing I took, and although he said I was never a man because I “dilly-dallied” in orchestras my whole life, he was right: I was no good at fighting. I was on the floor tackled by his shoulders, it put blood in my mouth, and so did biting his ear. He kneed me and I used my fury to hit him harder, but when he overcame me, I could feel his hands clutching my neck. I felt his hate for me in his fingertips.  His rage stirred in his bulging chest, coming up, to close off my windpipe. I was scared because I knew it was true. He wasn’t lying, he hated me. And he was not going to let go like he did when we beat on each other as kids. He’d always let go and then laugh this devilish staccato sound that I always despised.

I reached for his face and got a finger into his eye and he buckled on top of me like a whore. I rolled out from under him seeing the cello and grabbed it. I stood up with strength from no where and used the cello’s sharp end-pin to stab him in the neck where I knew it would count for something. He looked at me startled, and then his eyes rolled back, he fell limp. Mark’s head rolled to his side seemingly coughing blood that was gurgling from his mouth but it wasn’t from his mouth it was from the puncture. Then Mark made wet sounds and the blood started to race out of his neck, spreading quickly around the hardwood floor. It was a thin liquid that flowed, and not like I imagined, I thought blood clotted, the blood wasn’t doing anything I knew, it just flooded the floor, it was too much fluid.

He was defeated and I was shitless. My heart pumping blood rushing through my ears and head, I wasn’t sure of any reality. I panted out some words, “Mark…Mark…get up.” I was scared shitless when he said nothing. Even if I could let you run along side the car, I’d still leave you behind. Then I kicked him. He did not respond. I’d still leave you behind, is all the reality I could muster, I’d still leave you behind.

I picked up the cello, the case and ran. I was all-bruised-up inside, blood from my nose, aching pain, but ran and ran. I was running so fast, my arms full, catching the wind with the sun blinding me. I was flying – I am Icarus ascending into nothing. I am foolish Icarus flying — is all I could think as I ran home. I needed to change and get to the hall. All I could think about was the performance – changing and getting to the hall.