Lively Lime #7
"He should have never been there in the first place," many whispered. But Joel knew better. This was exactly where he should have been. He wanted it, he earned it, and he deserved it. Tonight, he had won the spotlight.
Joel's messy mop of hair and grungy t-shirt was a sharp contrast to the sea of neatly groomed youths being fussed over by ambitious parents. He seemed so out of place, as if from a lower caste. A street hooligan dropped into the world of aristocrats. Music aristocrats. Competitive music aristocrats. Amidst the din, a giant velvet banner boldly proclaimed the occasion: The 28th annual Young Piano Masters Challenge. A yearly event where participants aged 10-16 battled with sonatas instead of swords, though with no less ferocity.
Chatty mothers canvassed the lobby area with children in tow, hoping to snag some stats on potential rivals. Fathers tailed them with pep talks and tie adjustments. Some kids sat on the couches, staring at their sheet music for a final memorization boost, moving their fingers in the air as if playing imaginary keys. Other just sat and shivered as air conditioning and fear numbed their fingers. The veterans wore gloves. In the crowd, less tactful competitors pointed at Joel and giggled at each other. Who is this kid? Some newcomer…well, he won't get a high score. How long do you think he's been playing? 3 years, max. Whatever. Check out his shoes….weren't those in the window at Kmart?
Joel, age 14, saw the sneers, eyes on him as if he were a bug crawling on their arm. Something to be brushed away and scorned. He ignored it all. None of them mattered. Only the music mattered.
Unbeknownst to others, Joel had been a pianist for 10 years. A kid destined for life on the wrong side of the tracks, he had his first encounter with luck as a toddler, when a retired jazz musician trying to put his life back together "felt the talent" in this child living down the hall in a downtown boarding house. Louie taught Joel the magic in those ivory keys, and Joel gave Louie something to believe in once more. Filling a void left by a physically absent father and emotionally absent mother, the music kept Joel on the good side, filling him with a sense of confidence and hope that poverty and birthright could not crush.
When Joel heard about the Young Piano Masters, he knew this was the chance to prove himself to others, and more importantly, to show the world what Louie had taught him. He had no fancy clothes to wear to the competition, and expected the reaction he received, but that was fine. Just wait until they hear me play, he thought. Then they'll know.
When Joel won 1st place, everyone was stunned.
"That upstart, how dare he?? My Ethan has been practicing night and day for months with the best elite teachers!"
"Well, you think that's bad. My Samantha trained in Russia with the national European champion! My little girl's talent is unbeatable! How could this happen?"
"How's Bobby going to get into Carnegie Hall now? He's already 16, his music career is ruined!! That brat who won doesn't even have enough talent to comb his hair!"
One of the judges was kind enough to lend Joel something nice to wear. An old but respectable suit that her son had outgrown. When it came time for the winner's performance, he took a deep breath, walked onstage, and sat down on the piano bench. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, imagining Louie's raspy yet soothing voice telling him to "let the music be the guide." Then he put his fingers on the keys and started playing.
When Joel played the piano, his world stood still and the music became the world. At a certain point, it felt as if he wasn't controlling the playing anymore. He was floating, the movement of his fingers came automatically, and it was almost an out-of-body experience. The "pianist's high," Louie liked to call it. A high better than any drug or evil deed could ever bring. A high that could only come from dedication and love.
Joel didn't remember much after he finished his 23-minute long combination of baroque, romantic, and modern, spiced up with some improvised jazz accents. Maybe his audience changed their minds about him. Maybe they continued to scoff. But Joel didn't care. He looked up, closed his eyes again, and thought,
"I hope you heard me from Heaven, Louie, because I played all that for you."
Joel's messy mop of hair and grungy t-shirt was a sharp contrast to the sea of neatly groomed youths being fussed over by ambitious parents. He seemed so out of place, as if from a lower caste. A street hooligan dropped into the world of aristocrats. Music aristocrats. Competitive music aristocrats. Amidst the din, a giant velvet banner boldly proclaimed the occasion: The 28th annual Young Piano Masters Challenge. A yearly event where participants aged 10-16 battled with sonatas instead of swords, though with no less ferocity.
Chatty mothers canvassed the lobby area with children in tow, hoping to snag some stats on potential rivals. Fathers tailed them with pep talks and tie adjustments. Some kids sat on the couches, staring at their sheet music for a final memorization boost, moving their fingers in the air as if playing imaginary keys. Other just sat and shivered as air conditioning and fear numbed their fingers. The veterans wore gloves. In the crowd, less tactful competitors pointed at Joel and giggled at each other. Who is this kid? Some newcomer…well, he won't get a high score. How long do you think he's been playing? 3 years, max. Whatever. Check out his shoes….weren't those in the window at Kmart?
Joel, age 14, saw the sneers, eyes on him as if he were a bug crawling on their arm. Something to be brushed away and scorned. He ignored it all. None of them mattered. Only the music mattered.
Unbeknownst to others, Joel had been a pianist for 10 years. A kid destined for life on the wrong side of the tracks, he had his first encounter with luck as a toddler, when a retired jazz musician trying to put his life back together "felt the talent" in this child living down the hall in a downtown boarding house. Louie taught Joel the magic in those ivory keys, and Joel gave Louie something to believe in once more. Filling a void left by a physically absent father and emotionally absent mother, the music kept Joel on the good side, filling him with a sense of confidence and hope that poverty and birthright could not crush.
When Joel heard about the Young Piano Masters, he knew this was the chance to prove himself to others, and more importantly, to show the world what Louie had taught him. He had no fancy clothes to wear to the competition, and expected the reaction he received, but that was fine. Just wait until they hear me play, he thought. Then they'll know.
When Joel won 1st place, everyone was stunned.
"That upstart, how dare he?? My Ethan has been practicing night and day for months with the best elite teachers!"
"Well, you think that's bad. My Samantha trained in Russia with the national European champion! My little girl's talent is unbeatable! How could this happen?"
"How's Bobby going to get into Carnegie Hall now? He's already 16, his music career is ruined!! That brat who won doesn't even have enough talent to comb his hair!"
One of the judges was kind enough to lend Joel something nice to wear. An old but respectable suit that her son had outgrown. When it came time for the winner's performance, he took a deep breath, walked onstage, and sat down on the piano bench. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, imagining Louie's raspy yet soothing voice telling him to "let the music be the guide." Then he put his fingers on the keys and started playing.
When Joel played the piano, his world stood still and the music became the world. At a certain point, it felt as if he wasn't controlling the playing anymore. He was floating, the movement of his fingers came automatically, and it was almost an out-of-body experience. The "pianist's high," Louie liked to call it. A high better than any drug or evil deed could ever bring. A high that could only come from dedication and love.
Joel didn't remember much after he finished his 23-minute long combination of baroque, romantic, and modern, spiced up with some improvised jazz accents. Maybe his audience changed their minds about him. Maybe they continued to scoff. But Joel didn't care. He looked up, closed his eyes again, and thought,
"I hope you heard me from Heaven, Louie, because I played all that for you."
posted by Anonymous at 10:05 PM
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