Jimmy’d offered to leave an extension cord in the vestry, but Michael wanted this first rehearsal to take place unamplified. He flexed his hands the way his physio taught him, bending each finger in turn and rotating his wrists. No pain. He tuned the bass, being even more careful than before his accident to turn the pegs one tiny fraction at a time. Then he took a breath; picked up the bow. A slow, not too complex, classical piece to begin with. He caressed the instrument like a long-lost love, flattering her, encouraging her to produce the very first pieces he had learned note-perfect.
He was reborn. Reunited with his music, carried away on an emotion he could never express.
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