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The Fuel

Giuseppe Baptiste, the violinist

The crowd stood towards the middle of the lawn where Giuseppe Baptiste was getting ready in the center and Pearsons Rockfield sat on a bench beside him. Giuseppe Baptiste had his violin and began to pluck his strings, rehearsing the first few notes. The crowd became silent as I looked around with Karina, Rambo and my Father.


Giuseppe Baptiste played the first few notes again, and swayed his torso as he strung the notes high to perform his abstract composition. He strung low notes and screeched high tones as the crowd ooohh-ed and aaahh-ed. I had no idea what sort of recital this was, but it was not normal.


"What the hell is he playing? Does he know how to play?" I asked Karina.


"I think it's supposed to be some kind of music?" said Karina.


"The man is playing dissonance and its hurting my ears!" said Rambo.


The crowd clapped as they were probably the only people in all of Denver who were fans of Giuseppe Baptiste and Pearsons Rockfield.


"He's nuts!" I said. "Its all a whole bunch of screeches and plucking!"


Giuseppe Baptiste plucked the strings of his violin and stroked another high and low notes that sounded like a dying cat howling. 


"This is crazy, he's not a violinist," said my Father. "I thought he was supposed to be mesmerizing?"


Giuseppe Baptiste raised his arms with his bow and violin and jumped off the ground in circles, then resumed his screeches of high and low notes, giving me a headache.


"I'm never going to another one of his performance. This is horrendous!" I said. 


"We still have to stay to speak to him about what happened with Karina," said Rambo.


"Are you sure he's sane? He looks and acts like a crazy monkey," said Karina. 


Pearsons Rockfield clapped his hands, but the whole performance was not the sort of music that needed clapping. I was utterly confused. I've never seen a most horrible performance and the sad thing was, the crowd kept Oooh-ing and Aaah-ing, and it drove me nuts.


"I can't handle it anymore!" I said, closing my ears. "He's horrible!"


Giuseppe Baptiste broke a string and kept playing with his bow looking torn out of its horse hairs. He looked like a mad man.


"This can't be music in any universe, can it?" asked Karina.


Rambo cried because the sound was just too much to handle. He wiped his tears and said, "Something was wrong with his childhood, and I'm sorry."


"I want this to be over now," said my Father. 


Giuseppe Baptiste kept stringing his violin and Pearsons Rockfield kept clapping, and it was just the first number.


"How many songs was he supposed to play?" asked my Father.


"I don't know," I said. 


"We're going to die listening to this," said Karina. Boris and Betina began to cry and my Father pushed the stroller away from the lawn. I stood in the middle of the lawn closing my ears. 


This was not a good morning.


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