At 1:45, the first family walked in. Darcy smiled and handed them a program.
I’d put on my dusty rose blazer over a cream blouse. Leif always said that blazer made me look like I was about to win an argument. I brushed my hair, chestnut gone gray at the part, down to my shoulders.
By two o’clock, thirty-four people were sitting in my living room. Not counting family.
Eleven students between seven and fifteen, scrubbed and nervous in their good clothes. Their parents and grandparents sat behind them, holding up phones to record.
Before it started, I asked Dedra to help me with one thing.
Together, we went out to the garage and carried Leif’s green chair back into the house. We set it down in the back corner of the living room, behind the very last row of folding chairs.
I sat down in it. My hand rested on the split leather of the left arm.
I took his reading glasses out of the side pocket and put them on to read the program. They were the wrong prescription. Everything swam a little.
I didn’t care.
Darcy saw the chair from across the room. Her mouth went tight.
She didn’t say anything.
Lainey sat on the piano bench beside her other grandmother, in a velvet dress, turning the pages of the sheet music with enormous seriousness. When she spotted me in the back, she waved with her whole arm.
I waved back with mine.
Then the children played.
A seven-year-old boy, listed in the program as Linus, played “Ode to Joy.” He missed two notes. Then he bowed twice, because he forgot he’d already bowed once. The whole room laughed, and he grinned.
A twelve-year-old girl played a Chopin waltz so beautifully that the room went completely still. Even the father with the mortgage put his phone down.
I clapped for every one of them, the whole way through. The same as I would for my own.
And I’ll say this plainly, because it’s true.
Norine was wonderful with them.
She knelt beside each child before they started and whispered something in their ear. And every one of them stood up a little straighter, and played better than they knew how.
The metronome sat silent at the far end of the piano the entire afternoon.
At 3:40, the last child bowed. The room clapped. People started reaching for their coats.
Then Darcy stood up in the front row. She picked up a plastic cup of cider and tapped it with a spoon.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.