As she peered through the heavy black curtains she saw rows of shadowy figures, features and colors blocked by the bright lights shining on the stage. Not only were they impossible to see but sound was absent, too. All she heard was silence. She knew they were talking. But what about?
She made her way back to the piano and sat down on the bench, the deep red velvet cushion catching her. She smoothed out her navy blue skirt, the material swelling up and then back down as her hand skimmed across it, much like the ocean that laid just outside the window. Her instructor, with her taut gray bun, walked across the stage, her heels clicked on the wood. â??Are you ready?â?? the teacher asked, before she pushed back the midnight curtains. All the young brunette girl could do was nod.
While she rested her small, delicate fingers upon the ivory keys, her soft brown eyes scanned the page one last time, committing every single note to memory. As the curtains opened the spotlight poured through illuminating every corner of the stage. In the middle was a piano, seated at it was a fragile girl, at the mere age of 10.
She took a deep breath. For a moment there was silence, there was nothing, and thenâ?¦ she played. She played a song by the most famous composer on Earth better than he had himself. She played Beethoven.
