When Hannah opened the door, she was surprised to find Ari absorbed with drawing aimless sketches at his desk, unprepared for the day ahead despite her firm insistence. She fastened her hands onto her hips and eyed him bitterly in frustration. Stepping into his bedroom was like entering an unpredictable situation that morphed into a different one each time she walked away.
"Why aren't you downstairs, dressed, and ready like I asked 5 times?"
Ari met his mother's reproachful gaze with vacant words that said it all. Does she need to stand over him and ensure he accomplishes the same basic tasks she demands daily? Not really, she decided, yet she found herself repeating every request more vibrantly than the last.
As Ari sat at the kitchen bar, a steaming plate of food materialized before him. He reluctantly nibbled the warm center of a dry waffle, unmoved by its cinnamon smell and creamy river on top. He gazed into its symmetry while Hannah observed him discreetly from the other end of the room. She was curious to know his thoughts but hesitant to pry any of it out, worried that he would pull back with equal force.
"Ready for the big night?" she asked, infusing him with an uneasy feeling that he fought hard to vanquish.
After weeks of anticipation, the day he had been dreading finally arrived. Typically, Ari eagerly counted the tedious hours until he returned home from school. But since waking, he found himself wishing every moment would linger to a crawl, as the end of the day would bring an evening concert where he would be expected to perform a single piece of music in a place full of teachers, parents, and their children.
"What if I mess up?" asked Ari, speculating a way, among others, things could go terribly wrong.
"Then you play it off like your dad told you," said Jordan, flying into the kitchen with a frenzy he subdued for just that moment.
He adjusted his hair, which was too unruly to tame, and trimmed along the contours of his ears, removing any wandering strands. Even his disarming smirk had no effect on Ari, who was drowning in fear. What use would his father's advice be if he stumbled through the entire piece? What if his silent agony stopped him from playing altogether? What if the other children laughed at him or, worse, concealed their amusement at his embarrassment? The thought of being the center of attention for so many people at once tied his stomach in tangles and set his heart pounding all morning.
When his father rubbed his back so vigorously that he nearly fell forward, he jumped from his seat, startled by the unexpected contact. He looked at Jordan with tightened eyes, berating him with a discreet glance as he reached his hand over his back to inspect himself for damage.
"Looks like someone's a little tense," said Jordan.
"I'm not tense," proclaimed Ari. "Just didn't expect you to come at me like a football player in the safety of our kitchen."
"Okay, how does dramatic sound?"
Ari snarled at him. He pretended to be fuming, but secretly, he was relieved by his spirited presence. He often relished his father's ability to thaw each icy moment in his life, but he could just as easily embolden his stubborn anxiety on such an important day.
"You'll do wonderful," said his mother, offering the warmth of her eyes.
Ari was too perceptive to fall for the safety of her speculative words. He knew that his mother's reassurance would be given regardless of her belief in his capabilities. Both his parents were the antidote to the cruelty of the world, but this time, things were different. There was nothing either of them could do to save him from peril.
At school, his trepidation followed him from class to class. Upon reaching the most important one, Ari paused to take a deep breath, preparing himself for the disorder that often ensued on the other side of the door. Once there, he was surprised to find the room eerily empty, where dozens of other students would usually be found practicing their musical skills. Puzzled, he glanced around, only to have his gaze drawn to the front of the room, where the reason for the unusual quietness finally became clear.
Class canceled, read the words of a message left behind by the instructor.
Rather than considering the time free to do whatever he pleased, he determined it was an excellent opportunity to practice his music piece without the ears of other students listening to his flawed performance. He threw his backpack aside and sat down at the same bench he did every day as if it offered good fortune for the night to come. Placing the music sheet on top of the piano, he discreetly began his practice in seclusion.
He struggled through the notes, musing the days when his efforts were less arduous. While he knew how the music was supposed to sound, he couldn't get his fingers to produce his wishes. The longer he practiced, the more his apprehension intensified, imagining the look on everyone's face in the audience after mangling a tune he knew all too well. His nerves were so tattered that he strongly considered evading the mandatory event, but it would've resulted in two disappointed parents and a failed grade. Incurring the wrath of his unwieldy mother alone was a consequence not to be taken lightly, and he decided against backing out at the thought of what she might say.
He stumbled into a particularly troubling section of the music when he was suddenly distracted by a noise from behind, breaking his already strained focus. He turned around to investigate the source of the sound, only to find another student had entered the room, unaware that class was dismissed.
"Keep going," she urged with a gesture while creeping forward.
Of all the students who could have walked in, it was Zoie. Ari didn't say anything, and he didn't dare to move a muscle. He stared at her in disbelief, watching helplessly as his haunting school crush approached him in silence.
"Mind if I sit next to you?" she inquired.
Even though he couldn't muster the strength to permit her to, she sat next to him. Not at a nearby bench but directly beside him. She was so close to Ari that he had to shift himself over to make room for her with a racing heart and hallowed chest. He could only steal a glance in her direction. Although he avoided meeting her eyes, he was immediately captivated by her warm smile and entrancing gaze, unable to divert his focus to the piano.
She merged her heavenly hair into a ponytail, placed her hands over the keys, and with a humble confidence unique to her, she began to play the notes of the sheet in front of Ari far better than he could ever hope to. Her fingers flowed across the piano, casting a spell over Ari with a rivetting aura of brilliance. She stopped midway, motioning for him to join her an octave lower, but the fear that he would wither the delightful sound she was able to create was too present. The accident left him unable to play as well as he once did, and he was afraid he would only embarrass himself if he tried in front of the girl he was so enchanted by.
She sensed his deep reluctance, and after a flash of mischievous glint fell upon her eyes, she guided Ari's hands over the center of the piano, placing her soft fingers over his. Daunted by the weight of her gaze, he was nearly paralyzed as she softly pressed his fingers onto the keys, creating a splendid melody that came from his touch. Ari couldn't take his focus away from her as they played through the song. She guided him through the piece until the end, and when the school bell went off, she collected her things and moved to the door like an alluring ghost.
"Good luck tonight," said Zoie, glancing over at him one last time before vanishing into the hallways.
She left so fast he didn't have a chance to consider a response, and in her absence, he cursed the decision to sign up for the same class as her. The so-called easy-A class somehow became a confrontation of his biggest fears. Instead of hoping for the best, he was facing the biggest humiliation of his lifetime. One from which there was no escape.
He wanted to play as well and effortlessly as she did, if not to earn the praise of his parents, to win her admiration by showcasing the musical talent he once had. He also knew his capability was too limited to overcome the surmounting task of making his dream a reality. It would take far more than luck to make it happen, and no matter his tentative effort, he knew he would be unable to recreate the beautiful music they made together.
"Mr. Emerson, it's your turn," whispered a woman from the backstage auditorium, where Ari suddenly found himself.
Though soft and silky, her voice somehow electrified him, causing him to startle in potent fright. After being ushered away, he proceeded between two enormous red velvet curtains, burdened by the same heavy consternation that followed him since nightfall. He walked through darkness, drawing in a deep, shivering breath that fought him along the way. Drifting out onto the stage, each step grew heavier than the last. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest and his stomach burrowing lower than ever before.
His ocean eyes were wide with horror as a bead of sweat traced a path down the side of his head. He thought about retreating backstage to await the conclusion of the terrifying event, but it was too late—he was standing under a powerful spotlight that made him the centerpiece of a massive auditorium.
He bowed before the audience, forcing his rigid body to bend gracefully at the center of the stage with his focus fixed on the floor. An applause ensued as he moved toward a black lacquered piano, where he sat on a leathered bench. Once there, he bravely stole a glimpse of the dimly lit audience, searching for his mother's face to evoke the courage he needed to weather the unsettling moment. He scanned the crowd, but there were so many people, and the brightness was too impenetrable. The glare nearly blinded him once he finally discerned the silhouette of a stranger below the stage.
He gazed unblinkingly at the page in front of him. As if remembering every corresponding key wasn't challenging enough, doing so in front of an enormous gathering during an intimidating silence was utterly impossible. For the first time, he couldn't make any sense of the notes. They seemed to be written in a language he couldn't grasp. He reconsidered a speedy departure, but it would've been far more humiliating than struggling through the piece. It took everything inside him to resist an impulse that urged him to run away as quickly as possible.
"Whenever you're ready," whispered an older woman with strewed hair and a crooked grin, standing nearby and poised to turn the pages of his music sheet as he played through the piece.
He raised a pair of quivering hands above the piano, and the room's unsettling quiet intensified his unsteady breathing. He delicately placed his fingers on the polished keys to test them for the sound he envisioned, but they were the wrong ones. The resulting sound was so unpleasant that it caused him to flinch reflexively.
He froze. Panic surged through him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately wishing he were anywhere else. Somehow, in the darkness of his closed eyes, he could vividly see the faces of the young boys who relentlessly taunted him long before the accident. He remembered stumbling and falling to the ground after being pushed with great force by one of them. The boy pressed his head into the snow-covered ground, scraping his face across icy, sparkling grains as sharp as glass. He picked himself up from the snow, peering down at the crimson stain of his own blood, and they laughed wildly at him as streams of tears fell down his cheek.
The memory of being bullied by the same group of boys echoed chillingly in his mind, and the feeling of torment and helplessness surged into a distinct anger. Except this was a different kind of anger.
Rage. It caused his eyes to fly open, and suddenly, he began playing the music in front of him, driven by heated unrest. His performance was anything but exceptional, but he didn't care. He was resolute to get through the moment at any cost because getting through it meant it would be over.
While he played, he made adjustments to correct the missteps he encountered along the way, fumbling all the while. The desire to improve his performance ascended somewhere in the music, growing into an unwavering determination for his fingers to bend to his passionate will. He thought about his parents in the audience and how much he wanted to make them proud. Then he turned his thoughts to Zoie, who he imagined was carefully observing from the darkened side of the stage. He wanted his music to reach a greater plane of achievement so much that it incited a profound and transformative shift within him.
That's when it happened.
He concentrated harder, and suddenly, a kindle of fury that burned inside him erupted into flames. His fingers flew left and right, dancing across the piano's keys with a speed and precision he didn't see coming. From his hands, a cascade of powerful notes commanded the stage. He didn't know how, but he was playing the piano flawlessly. The notes he could hear in his mind came to life exactly the way he wanted them to.
His lightning-fast advancement through the piece was so sudden and demanding that his assistant couldn't keep up with his pace. Even though she stopped turning the pages for him, he forged ahead, playing only by memory, leaving her wide-eyed in disbelief. As he continued, he began improvising his own modifications to the music, crafting it into something better than the notes of the sheet he couldn't see. His creation was so exquisitely rich and colorful that it caused her to back away from him, astonished by what she was hearing.
With an unbending focus, his rendition was absolutely extraordinary, unlike anything anyone in the room had ever heard. The longer he played, the stronger a fresh migraine grew, but he didn't care about that either. Nothing was going to stand in his way from finishing what he started.
Ari was so immersed in the music that he remained largely oblivious that he was playing with skill and emotional depth far beyond his years. Despite his unawareness, he could sense the captivation of the atmosphere as he approached the conclusion of the piece. Any doubts he harbored about his performance vanished when he struck the final note. It was the exact moment the silent audience surrounding the stage erupted into thunderous applause so unexpected that it startled him.
Amid the clamor, he could discern an unwelcome cheer that rose above the noise. When he surveyed the gathering for the source, his obscured sight clarified, revealing a proud father standing near the forefront of the stage. Beside him, he spotted his mother, who was stunned by his unexpected performance. Behind them, a vast assembly rose as the lights illuminated an entire auditorium of people just as surprised as he was.
Ari tried to make sense of what happened. The idea that he could play better since the accident was unfathomable, yet he had never played so well in his life.
Part of him wanted to reduce the occurrence to a fluke, but the longer the boisterous ovation persisted, the more he fended off a growing suspicion that it was something more. The acknowledgment that he was receiving surpassed his wildest expectations, and he watched as his mother covered her mouth in bewildering disbelief. Her reaction wasn't just one of amazement—she behaved as if she'd seen a miracle.
"Ari, how did you do that?" asked the woman on stage, who knelt down to his level.
She gently rested her hand on his shoulder, and as she looked deep into his innocent eyes for an answer, he noticed her awestruck look reflected that of his mother's.
"What you just did is impossible."
That was the moment he knew something was wrong.
During the ride home, Ari's parents enthusiastically congratulated him with so much energy he wasn't sure how to react. Hannah expressed how elated she was by his remarkable performance, but in the privacy of her own bedroom, she conveyed something entirely different to Ari's father.
"One minute, he's barricaded into his bedroom playing those stupid video games all night. The next, he's playing classical music like what's his name?"
"Bach? Beethoven?"
"Exactly! It doesn't make any sense," shouted Hannah, who retreated to the conjoined bathroom as she methodically disassembled her evening gown.
"Maybe he finally found the time to practice, honey." Said Jordan, lying comfortably in bed and hidden by one of the books he often used to ignore her with.
"I haven't seen him practice once! Have you?" she replied sharply. "I'm telling you, something is different about him. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out."
While Hannah speculated the numerous ways Ari might have accomplished such an impressive feat, her husband dismissed the preposterous motion to probe into their son's exceptional musical performance. In his view, accepting his son's musical talent without scrutiny was a far more rational conclusion. Yet deep within Hannah was a profound maternal instinct that something peculiar was indeed going on. She'd never heard her son play music the way she did that night, and she perceived the surprise as a malevolent mystery to be solved one way or another. Although she didn't know what it was, she knew something was wrong. She could feel it.