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Everything had happened so quickly. All we wanted to do was go out and celebrate the Maestro’s birthday. Just the three of us. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
A group of men had begun to quietly insult the Maestro when we first walked in. Calling him a crazy old man who never got anything done. I had tried to ignore them at first, but eventually it became too much. I moved to confront them, but Salaì had beaten me to it.
The Maestro called to Salaì and told him to leave it alone. That he didn’t care what others thought. But Salaì didn’t listen. He walked up to the men, ready to cause a scene. He was good at that.
He argued with them for a few moments when it happened. Time seemed to stand still as the sound of a shot rang out, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air.
None of us had noticed it, but one of the men had a pistol. It shouldn’t have been hard to spot. But we didn’t notice it.
The entire room was silent for what felt like an eternity, until someone screamed. As if on cue, the world started to move again. People fled the building, Salaì fell to the floor, the Maestro jumped from his seat.
No matter how hard the Maestro tried to stop the bleeding, Salaì wasn’t going to make it. No matter how heavy the pressure of his hands, no matter how much the Maestro pleaded and begged, I knew that the minute Salaì closed his eyes, he wouldn’t open them again.
As the Maestro sobbed over Salaì’s unmoving body, all I could think about was how that could have been me. Salaì’s impulsiveness saved me from my own.
It saved my life.