This is my twelfth contribution to:
The 750 Word Project 2024
He'd made me feel alive. And that was wonderful. But the obvious obverse? I now felt as dead as he. Shriveled up, closed off. Not wanting to engage with a World that had brought me eighteen years of joy, then a remaining lifetime of misery.
He'd told me to move on. To keep living. I'd said 'of course,' but more for his comfort than mine. I had no such hope. From the first diagnosis, to throwing dirt into his new home, I knew it was over for me. They say that there is someone for everyone. Well, I no longer had mine.
I'd kept giving the classes. There was no need really. The policies had paid out. I was comfortable, financially at least. But it was something to do. And a connection to what had gone before, my lost life. Also some of my customers, friends is how I thought of them, were ones in whom I had invested decades. Seen them grow. Seen their musicality blossom. Or wither, there were no guarantees.
Joe was one of them. Something of a lost soul, it had to be said. He'd been visiting me weekly for twelve years. Since he was thirteen. Joe wasn't like other people. Introverted. Awkward. Over-reactive. Sometimes seeing slights where none were intended. Misunderstanding less frequent praise. Often not quite getting the World, and least of all, its other inhabitants. I wasn't sure that either he or his Mom had ever sought a diagnosis. But his mind ran on different rails. He was just Joe. And I liked him.
And Joe was one of my successes. I was proud of him. Music may not really be able to soothe the savage breast, but it seemed to salve at least one
savant
