“Fine. Okay.”
He smiles and bumps his arm against mine. “One day, little bird, you’re going to be a fantastic pianist. You’re going to be a beautiful, strong woman and you’re going to choose the life you want to live. Not because you’re allowed to, but because you fought for it.”
I sigh. “I don’t know what you mean when you talk like that.”
He laughs. “Sorry, I’m ranting now. Will you play me something?”
“I’m not very good.”
“So keep playing until you are,” he encourages. “Either way, I’ll listen.”
I smile and start playing. This time, I get it right.
* * *
“Are you crying?”
Katie’s question jolts me back to the present and I try hastily to blink back my tears. “Sorry,” I say, smiling down at her. “I get emotional when I play.”
“Why?” she asks, sounding dumbfounded.
“The music helps me remember things about my childhood,” I admit to her. “From when I was your age.”
“Like what?”
“Memories of my older brother,” I tell her.
“Oh,” Katie nods. “Where is he?”
She’s a perceptive little thing and I don’t want to lie to her. “He’s… not around anymore,” I say simply.
Katie nods so solemnly I almost laugh. “Do you miss him?”
My answer is swift: “All the time.”
And it’s true. I do still miss my brother, but my feelings go further than that.
I hate him for leaving me with such a mangled, fucked-up image of who he was.
In fact, I hate him for leaving me at all.
“You play really good,” Katie tells me. “Like really, really good.”
I smile. “Thank you,” I tell her. “That means a lot to me.”
“I wish I could play like you.”
“You will one day,” I tell her. “You just need to keep practicing.”
“I don’t like my teacher,” she admits, leaning in a little and lowering her voice down to a whisper.
I fight the urge to laugh as I lean in too. “I didn’t like my teacher, either.”
“Really?”
I nod. “He was awful. He was really boring and really mean and he never smiled.”
“Mine, too!” she chirps. “Maybe we have the same teacher.”