Don't Blink | ✓

050

B L I N K | AGE: Eleven

My fingers were moving fast. Faster than they ever had. Although my fingers were aching in pure agony at the action of playing for endless hours, I blocked out the pain to focus.

I hurried to flip the lightly ruffled music sheets, my eyes surveying the sheet quickly to know what to play next. I couldn't stop the smile from exploding across my face in that moment.

I can't believe I was really doing it!

I was nearing the end of one of Mr. Frédéric Chopin's pieces. Number one of Chopin's Etudes, one of the most challenging finger busters known to man. Although it was the first piece of ten originals and eventually number one of fifty-three arrangements after Mr. Godowsky's work, it was astonishing.

Compared to some of my friends who's dreams were to be a teacher or a doctor, I sat here nearly fulfilling mine.

My dreams pulled to a screeching halt in seconds as my left hand, going slower than my right, slammed into each other. My fingers slipped at the impact and before I could stop it, the dreadful sound of multiple chords firing at the same time ripped through the house.

I drew my hands up to my chest, balling my hands into fists as I stared down at the keys in front of me in utter disbelief.

It was too late.

I couldn't help myself even if I tried.

The TV from upstairs shut off and the dreadful sound of footsteps echoed throughout the house like daunting music from a scary movie. I knew what was going to happen now and even though I rarely let it happen, I couldn't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes.

Sooner than I had thought up an excuse, the footsteps were moving down the steps and as I opened my mouth to mutter an explanation, my mother was already telling me to be quiet.

"Mamă" I whispered after we sat in silence longer than I would've liked.

(Mama)

"Shut up Diem!" Her voice raised as she advanced closer.

"Do you think I paid all of that money for you to make sounds like that?" She questioned as she closed the fallboard harshly. I had to snatch my hands back quick enough in order for her to not catch my knuckles or the tips of my fingers.

"It was a mistake" I whispered as my hands made work picking at the beading of one of my recital dresses I wore. It helped me imagine I was on a stage in front of hundreds. "Chopin's pieces put the original right-hand part into the left hand...this one is strictly left hand. I was testing my non dominan—"

"Diem excuses are for the weak minded. What did I talk to you about?"

I couldn't remember exactly what she was referring to. She had shouted so many things at me in the last week, I couldn't remember specifically what she wanted me to say.

I could tell I was taking too long to respond because soon enough the piano bench I sat on was being roughly pulled away from the piano. An involuntary squeal escaped my mouth at the rush of her actions and the gravity nearly taking me to the floor.

At the last second, I was tightly gripped by my upper arm and stabilized as my mother crouched in front of me. Her gaze was piercing and if I chose to not focus on their coldness and seeming resentment, I would say they were an exact replica of my own.

"What did I talk to you about in front of your instructor?" Her voice was distinctively low and suddenly threatening, like if I didn't remember, I was in for a world of trouble.

Then as I thought about it, weeks ago with my piano instructor Ms. Anne, Mamă had mentioned that mistakes were not to be made. That mistakes were what took opportunities away and that only those who wanted to lose made mistakes. After Ms. Anne had explained that everyone made mistakes, Mamă had given her one of the looks she gives me.

Ms. Anne apologized quickly and when Mamă turned, I didn't let her see the pat on the back I gave Ms. Anne for reassurance. It was ok, she would come to learn. Mamă was strict about what she wanted and even though she dished out dirty looks, she only really ever meant them towards me.

I caught all her coldness. Even when I didn't think it was possible for a person to have so much in them, she proved me wrong.

"No mistakes" I whispered.

"Say it louder" The grip she had on my arm quickly jostled me.

"No mistakes!" I cried when her grip became too harsh.

I knew what was coming and as I stood to reposition the bench at the mouth of the piano, my mother moved towards the backdoor. Disapproval stood within every fiber of her being; Not only was it evident in her voice, but her stance too.

"Start over from the top"

"But Mamă!"

"Nu vorbim inapoi!" She barked, swiveling from her view from looking out the sliding backdoor to glare at me.

(Do not talk back!)

I tried fighting the feeling, but soon it became too much and a single tear rolled down the apple of my cheek. I had been practicing for four hours now. Ever since I'd gotten home from school till dinner time. I too stared toward the door my mother stood against with her back to me.

Although it was getting dark and the streetlights were beginning to turn on one by one, there was still a pretty large group of kids playing in the back alleyway of our townhouse. They were laughing and play fighting as they battled for the soccer ball gliding between their feet.

Without realizing I'd let out a wistful sigh, my mother turned suddenly. "Are you crying Diem?" There was obvious amusement in her tone. "Crying is for babies"

I couldn't stop another quiet whine from leaving my lips as I scrubbed relentlessly at the single tears left on my cheeks. Licking my lips, I hurried to sit forward and prop open the fallboard, also making sure to move my music sheets back to page one.

I tried my hardest to ignore my mother's intimidating steps as my fingers worked on beginning Chopin's No.1 again. As she rounded to my other shoulder, placing a hand there, I sighed at her words.

"I want this perfect" she didn't have to speak very loudly as I made sure to press softer on the chords to hear her. "I want this perfect Diem or you won't be eating dinner anytime soon" 

This is 50 and I'm thinking this story will end around 60 or 65.

Vote. Comment. xx