Disequilibrium

Part 1: Freshman Year - Scene 6

It was the first time Dad took notice of my gift. At first he passed it off as imitation, but when I did it again, the idea finally hit home.

As I walk to the bench, I imagine myself as a world-renowned pianist. There's a large crowd seated before me, dressed in their finest and waiting for me to grace their ears with my genius. A loud applause comes from the crowd as I take a bow, dimming once I'm seated behind the keys. There's an announcer calling my name as I crack my knuckles, relax my fingers, straighten my back, and play on.

The music starts with a tinkling sound, almost taunting, as my body regresses into the feel of playing the piano. I'm clumsy at first but it doesn't take long to master it, mind flashing back to the moments of my childhood where I sat in an empty theatre, losing myself in another world while Dad swept floors and changed garbage bags.

They're all watching with baited breath, eyes trapped on the movement of my fingers against the keys. All ten are moving in a rapid flow, going left to right, close together, drawn apart, over and under; so quick that my toes curl in excitement.

Somebody in the crowd whispers, "Isn't that Gaspard de la Nuit?"

"Yes," another answers. "One of the hardest pieces known to man."

"And he's only fifteen?"

"Such a tender age, yet so bright."

"Holy shit."

The music cuts. I slam my fingers against the keys at the interruption, turning to the doorway to see Casper gawking with his mouth half open. How the hell did he find me?

"S-sorry," I say as I stand from the bench. "I-I didn't...I mean, I wasn't..."

"What the hell are you apologising for?" Casper walks in the room, shutting the door behind him. "That was amazing."

My face is getting hot again. "I-it was nothing."

"Nothing? That's a hard ass piece and you're telling me it's nothing?"

I open my mouth, but I can't speak. The words are lodged in my throat. I probably look like a goddamn idiot, but Casper doesn't make a show of it. Instead, he's walking over with footsteps full of determination, which makes fear rise at the pit of my stomach. I think about backing up—running away, even—but once Casper's eyes meet mine, I seem to lose all sense of feeling. His lips are moving; probably asking a question, but all I can think about is how pretty he looks under the florescent lights.

"Holden?"

"What?"

"Where did you learn how to play like that? You must've taken classes, right? Nobody can play like that without some high class teacher."

I shake my head, sitting back down on the bench before my legs can give away. "Nobody taught me. I learned by ear and sight."

"Ear and sight," he echoes. "So you mean to tell me you just sat and watched somebody play, then you did it yourself?"

"I mean, I read a little..."

"The bastard says he read a little. Damn." Casper pushes my body to the side with his hip, sitting next to me. My face hits a new level of heat but he doesn't seem to notice it; just sits staring at the keys. "Let's play something."

"What?"

"I feel jealous. Let's play something so I can feel on par again. Do you know Duet by Philip Glass?"

I blink. "Y-yeah, but—"

"Be quiet."

Okay.