The Scratch In My Bass

The varnish was stripped, you could see the soft maple wood where a coat of varnish should have been, there were other marks too, the flamed varnish pattern danced within the bass, the elegant curve of the violin corners danced off of the bass, the upper bout had been slashed and it was this wound that killed it.  I stood in the practice room where the philharmonic orchestra was running through our repertoire. It was after our break when i had noticed what happened to my bass.  The gash was deep, deep enough to be a costly repair.  I thought about who could have done this to my bass, maybe a violin player carrying something heavy and in a rush scraped the cold metal edge of their music stand against the soft bout of my bass.  The cut was surrounded on all edges by a sea of varnish, it seemed to interrupted the bass's side like a person asking a very rude question.  The violinist who did this, they were probably worried, they were scared that they would have to tell what they did to their parents, who they know would be unable to pay the damages.  The guilt might overwhelm them, having to sit maybe 15 feet from the person whose instrument they vandalized.  The guilt would make them want to come clean to me with some sappy heartfelt apology, but it was always "Next week i'll tell him, for sure."  But next week would never really come.  

"Oh, Steve what happened to your bass, that looks bad!" my stand partner said.  The conductor raised his baton and we played 8 measures before he stopped to correct the cellos.

"What, happened, was your bass already like that?"  she said.  I looked back down at my bass.  The varnish was stripped and the maple wood of the bass peaked out like the baldness under an aging man's comb over.