The Fiddler

Max invited me to hang out with his group of friends last night, for games and drinks and such.  It was a really nice evening, although there were a few awkward moments — "So, how do you two know each other"? moments where the true answer, through Rachel, was somehow slightly odd; "What year are you?" moments where I was the oldest by far in the room; "Do you know everyone here?" moments where Max was in fact the *only* one there I knew…but it was a lot of fun.  I was there until nearly 2:00, so it must have been good.  We listened to nice music and played Apples to Apples and I probably drank more in a smaller space of time than I had done in the past.  I actually have a surprising tolerance for alcohol — I was certainly feeling the effects, but not really drunk, and I feel completely fine this morning (I have never yet been drunk enough to have a hang-over).  His friends were very nice and very welcoming, and he was…well, he’s quite remarkable, I guess.  His walls are adorned with postcards of Highland men with bagpipes and fiddles and things, and he has two large "Save Darfur" posters above his bed.  And most of his music on his computer is Celtic.  And it’s all quite awesome.  He’s very talkative, too, so there are no awkward silences, which is good.

When the party started to wind down, at around 1:30, Max was persuaded to get his fiddle and play for us.  He has always said that he’s not much good, he doesn’t play much, he’s not a skilled violinist, he doesn’t know many pieces, etc, etc, etc.  I was a bit surprised when he turned out to make beautiful music.  He may not be a technically expert violinst, but he can handle a fiddle, and I could have listened to him all night.  I’m going to see if I can work him into my cabaret, find enough pieces where he would be needed to make it warranted — it’s awesome.

He walked me home at 2:00 in the morning, and while the mood was slightly spoiled by a beggar who claimed to be pregnant and have pneumonia (I believe the illness, her story was specific enough, but it seemed that the pregnancy was thrown in for good measure) and to whom I gave three dollars (I think Max disapproved slightly, or at least would have done differently himself), overall it was good.  He suggested it would be nice to see me again before break, and I said yes, give me a call, and he hugged me and I could feel his heartbeat and we said goodnight.

This has…possibilities.

Yesterday was also the semesterly masterclass for my voice teacher’s studio.  I took a chance and sang "Holding to the Ground."  What I did not expect was that I was the only person who chose to belt.  So it made quite a stir.  It wasn’t fantastically executed, but it was certainly passable, and I think there is now a group of freshmen who will go back to their friends and rave about how amazing I am, which is not true but kind of nice.  So that was a great deal of fun.

Alas, I must go — there is work to be done.  Little as I want to do it.  The semester is winding down, suddenly, already.  I don’t know where it went.

–Stephanie