Upbringing

It was pitch black, an endless sea of darkness. Were I to struggle, I might find myself drawn deeper into the abyss too far from the surface. My consciousness a mere afterthought in the face of such a void. Tears stung at my eyes before my vision jerked back to normalcy, and the world faded back into view.

I continued to peer into the black curtain. It was drawn partially, achieving a rather dramatic effect while emphasizing the center stage and shrouding us bystanders. I listened closely then to the chant of the keys. Preferentially, I like the song with its melancholic quality. I even like the use of the more “joyful” progressions sprinkled throughout. It feels bittersweet and…realistic.

As I listened, I felt my disdain grow with every wrong note and awkward rest. Why even get on the same stage as me if you're not even gonna try? When he finished his attempt, he bowed toward the crowd and solemnly made his way backstage. His face was strained in frustration, but I felt no pity towards him. If this actually mattered to him, he would have tried harder not to be such a dissapointment. It’s his own fault. I followed him as he made his way towards two others standing next to each other.

“Sorry, I really tried my best,” he said, smiling shyly.

I couldn’t tell if his smile was intended to brush off his failure or meant as an apology, but I felt my anger rising.

“It’s fine, Cole.” I drew my attention to the girl standing to my left. There was an edge to her voice. In fact, everything about her appeared somewhat sharp and lethal. Her light brown hair was pulled tightly back, not a strand out of place. A single, perfect, braid arced uniformly from the part of her hair, disappearing into the neat bundle resting above her neck. Her eyes were narrow and focused behind her long lashes; her lips were full and firm, accentuated with a neutral red lipstick. She appeared…like she was too mature for our age.

Her expression didn’t relax, but her voice softened. “We all know you struggle with music. You’ll survive.” She nudged him supportively, an odd sign of comradeship given who she is.

Her name was Irene Winters, and, by all observable means, she had everything going for her: the grades and resume to secure multiple scholarship offers, a father who both inherited and made his own fortune, and the skill and dedication to ensure she would perform flawlessly tonight.

She glanced towards me, but I swiftly drew my gaze forward before our eyes confronted each other. I’d like to avoid getting involved with her right now. Luckily, it seemed it was my turn to take the stage.

“Alright, Noah.” Principle Perkins looked back towards me from the edge of the curtain. “You’re up next,” he beamed.

“Alex,” I addressed patronizingly, “I take it the fundraiser went well.” sliding on a cocky smirk.

“Hey, I’m happy just getting to see how talented all my precious students are”, he remarked with feigned innocence. His expression melted then, appearing more genuine. “I really am proud of all my students for being so brave and talented. I’m also glad that, thanks to you elitists and all your elitist parents’ wallets, I’ll be able to offer more scholarships to the less fortunate.” Naturally, his words were offensive, but I’d only appear foolish if I were to say so. I was decked up to my neck in an all black luxury ensemble: satin button up, black trousers without a wrinkle or stray fuzz in sight, and clean, black loafers highlighted by a decorative silver buckle.

I moved to where we stood shoulder to shoulder and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Aren’t you sweet,” I cooed teasingly.

“Now why don’t you stop bullying your principal and go make me some more money, my number 1 student.”

The compliment made me more uncomfortable than it made me happy. Something I’m sure my therapist would love to dissect, and I’ll choose to bury deep down.

I heard my cue to walk out and initiated long, careful strides towards center stage, sinking into the spotlight. I felt my heart stall. I wasn’t nervous about my performance. I knew I’d do perfect. But among the darkness shrouded figures, there was a silent, overbearing pressure. I’d have likely suffocated under it once.

I bowed solemnly. I’d like to think up here, alone and quiet, I come off as enigmatic and sophisticated. But people are said to be drawn to those types of people, and, historically, I’ve been left in solitude. Which has led me to the conclusion that I must just look cold and bitter.

I startled slightly as the crowd broke out into applause. I didn’t look at them again when I lifted my head back up. I found my way to the piano, and, as I slid onto the bench, the cheers died out. I took a long slow breath, emptying my mind leaving only the steady pulse of my heart.

It’s always the first step that’s hardest to take, like blindly leaping through a door that could contain your salvation or damnation. The anxiety it gives way to eats a burning hole in your chest that seems to burn brighter with every passing moment. But once that first step is taken, you are greeted only by certainty. Once that very first key breathes life, my thoughts of failure, of embarrassment, of uncertainty, of what may await me on the other side…that all disappears. My hands take on a life of their own faithfully finding each note, each chord, each rest.

‘The Tempest’ is not an easy piece by all standards. Spanning three different movements and coming in around 7 minutes long, it is an extremely stamina consuming work. It attacks strongly at times and at others it is but a delicate whisper. Should my pace slip up? Or I lose my pace entirely? Miss an entire key? A key too delicate? A key not delicate enough? If so, I would find myself unable to recover in any capacity.

But right now, I could only think of the boy's face earlier. My fingers danced on to the third movement finding a strange kinship with its creator, sharing in his bitterness and persevearance. And when my fingers finally found their rest, I smiled to myself, my breathing now quick and heavy. The silence rose out, and I remembered myself and found a quick twinge of fear in my heart. All at once the crowd erupted into celebration. It was bewildering to me as I looked out at the crowd. Bewildering that they found something in me to celebrate. I breathed in the relief as I bowed to the crowd again.

As I made my way backstage, I passed Irene who was now making her way onto stage. She always plays the violin beautifully, and I was gonna stand and listen to her performance when I saw Father with the Principle in the back. I wasn’t surprised to see him, and I made my way to join them. I made note as I walked through the group of students that I didn’t see the boy from earlier. From what I heard as I got closer, Alex was talking about Father’s latest book.

“No, I'm serious!” Alex interjected. “The ending genuinely got me. It’s amazing how you can actually come up with such things.”

“Definitely one of my favorites.” I interrupted, giving Father a half smile.

“Noah!” Alex cheered. “That performance was insane!” It was moments like these when you can really hear his youth. In all fairness, he wasn’t much older than myself.

“Well, I had to go all out for my final performance here. I don’t know who you’re gonna find to draw in the masses when I’m gone.” I joked.

“He’s too shy to admit it, but that song’s my favorite” Father chimed in. “I think I might even like my son’s version more than the original.” He smiled lovingly as he passed his arm over my shoulders. The display of love and scratch of his salt and pepper scruff had me straining to not outwardly cringe.

“Or perhaps we just have a similar taste in music.” I remarked, matching Fathers energy.

Alex and my father chatted for a little bit longer, while I tuned in to Irene’s song. Her performance was beautiful and refined, every bit as impressive as my own, but Father and Alex paid it no mind which I found rather irritating. Father then turned his attention back towards me.

“I’ve gotta head home early, son.” I was informed. “Don’t forget you and your sister still have therapy today.” He paused. “Noah,” he chastised, “You shoulda told me she was performing.” I looked back towards Irene standing on stage.

“Sorry, I figured you knew.” I said apologetically.

“You and your sister are still going to therapy?” Alex addressed. “That’s really good. I try to encourage a lot of other students, but they are very ‘into’ the idea.”

“Of course. You know, losing their mother was very tough for all of them, and, as their father, I just wanna do everything I can to help them.” Father expressed.

At the mention of my mother, I checked out, moving automatically til I found myself sitting next to Irene in silence. The uber pulled around the fountain, resting at the entrance to the old bricked building. We headed towards the stairs, the only sound being the crunch of the gravel. I looked down as I made my way up thinking of the lower levels whose walls could be seen from the front. It made me inwardly shiver.

“You should go first,” suggested Irene as she opened the door. The inside was oddly modern with blank walls and tasteful marble floors.

“Alright,” I agreed.

The stairs were directly in the entryway which I quickly jogged up to find the long hall stretching before. Thankfully, our meetings were in the first room on the right. As I reached for the door handle, I felt my heart’s pace quickly picking up. I hated these sessions so much. I took a deep breath, clenched my jaw, and stepped through the door.

He didn’t address me as I walked in. He just silently scanned over the notebook that I knew had my name in it. I made my way to the center of the room, placing myself in the brown leather chair across from him. His tortoise shell glasses rested firmly on his nose as he looked up at me. His analytic gaze felt invasive and uncomfortable. But I guess that's the point of these things.

“The recital went well?” He spoke more as a comment than a question.

“Yes, I think so.” I answered.

“And your sister?” He asked.

“She also did very well.”

“But your brother did not.” I thought of the boy with the shy smile.

“He did not.” I agreed.

“Given that you’ll be graduating soon,” he continued forth. “ and I won’t be able to continue these sessions, I’d like us to address the death of your mother. Do you feel responsible for her death?”

“No.” I replied.

“But you left her in that fire to burn.”

I thought of the smell of cookies then. Our family wasn’t well off, but that night there were cookies in the oven. Mom and Dad were fighting. They were always fighting. The one thing they agreed on was that I was the reason their lives were miserable. I cried as dad yelled when mom told him she’d been fired. I screamed when he threw her into the wall and hit her. But when he turned his attention to me, I grew quiet. With every kick I felt my worth crumble. With every kick I felt less and less.

I didn’t cry again. Not when I saw the man behind father grab a knife and sink it into his back. Not when mother cried as her legs were tied together. I watched as the man turned the oven on, placing cookies inside. And, after, I didn’t cry when I took his hand and walked away from the building as a large pop sent it roaring into flames.

“I did leave her. She deserved it. Both of them did.” Father regarded me quietly then. The validation I saw reflected in his eyes let me know I’d answered correctly. I don’t know if Father is redeemable. But I do know that me and my siblings aren’t safe from him.