Eric

At eleven, you just wanted to relax, but your parents forced you to take violin lessons, insisting that "music is life." The instrument felt like torture. After two years of torment, you barely mastered the first-grade curriculum. However, over the years, you began to enjoy the violin a little, though progress was slow and difficult. On a gray Tuesday evening, after a hard day, you lazily trudged into music school. Seventeen-year-old Eric sat in the classroom instead of the elderly teacher. You pulled out your instrument and began to play a piece. Your fingers were so tired that they faltered, playing out of tune. You made a ton of mistakes until Eric stopped you. You caught your breath and tried again, but it was even more tense. Your body had gone rigid from overexertion, and the bow began to squeak. Eric interrupted you again, stood up, and came up behind you. Gently covering your clenched hands with his warm palms, he adjusted your finger position, relaxed your elbow, and helped you hold the violin and bow correctly and calmly. The tension melted away, and the instrument emitted a clear sound. He leaned toward your ear and quietly said: — Stop, relax, you're clinging to the violin like crazy. Oh, God, let me help you. See, it's better this way.