Page 6 of The Night the Stars Went Dark

“The doctor gave me medicine to help, but I need to rest a lot.” Mom ran her fingers through my hair. “I’m going to be ok,” she reassured. Part of me wanted to believe her, but another part of me knew that her chances were slim.

I spent most of the summer at home that year. I skipped music camp, which upset my music teacher, but I think Dad understood. I wanted to soak up every moment. Every day was a gift, and I didn’t want to take any of them for granted. Mom passed away the week before Thanksgiving. The end was rough. She began sleeping most of the day, and the times she was awake, were brief. She said her favorite moments were when she was sitting on the couch in the living room listening to me play. I worked hard that summer. I learned several of her favorites, and Dad and I played several duets. I let music speak for me. The melancholy melodies helped me express what words couldn’t. Some days, I’d play until my hands cramped and then curl up beside her and we’d cry together. On her last day, she requested a piece that Dad had always played for her. It was a waltz, and she always said she could see them dancing in her mind. I’d never tried to play it, but I knew I needed to do this. I sat at the piano, placed the music in front of me, and took a deep breath. My fingers moved painlessly across the keys. The tune was light and brought a smile to my face. I, too, could see my parents moving about a ballroom waltzing to the music. When I finished, I sighed with pride before turning to get my mom’s approval. When I looked over, she was slumped on the couch, her eyes closed, and a slight smile on her lips. I knew that was it. She wanted to dance into the afterlife and be happy.

Dad and I spent most of the night reminiscing as we cried together. It was the first time I’d seen my dad cry. He’s always been the rock, but as we picked music for Mom’s service and whispered memories of her through our grief, I knew I’d be ok. It would take time, but we’d help each other. As cruel as it was, we’d had a warning. We were able to prepare and accept what had happened.

The day of the funeral was a beautiful fall day. The sun was shining and there was a crisp breeze in the air. The leaves danced, a complete contradiction to the way I felt. Our house had been quiet for days. Dust was beginning to settle on the piano, something that was unheard of in our home. Dad hadn’t wanted to play, and I didn’t out of respect. He was playing at the funeral, and I could tell by the look on his face that it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

When I came downstairs in my black dress, Dad was standing in front of the window, staring out at the street. He looked lost. His dark suit fit him perfectly, and his hair was combed neat as always, but I could see the turmoil in his eyes. There was a storm brewing, and I wasn’t sure how to help him through it. “I’m ready when you are,” I murmured as I touched his arm. He nodded and we slipped into our coats and began the three block walk down the street to the church.

When we arrived, people were already seated and quietly whispering to each other. White lilies, Mom’s favorite, covered the wooden casket placed at the front of the church. I squeezed Dad’s hand in support as we stepped through the door. We madeour way to the front and took a seat. The minister came in, nodded to us, and then took his spot at the pulpit.

As the minister began reading scripture, I kinda zoned out. I wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, and I still hadn’t really accepted that this was happening. Dad stood at one point and strode over to the piano. As he sat, I saw his shoulders drop. He placed music on the stand and held his hands over the keys. His eyes closed; he was playing Mom’s favorites. His fingers began to move, slowly at first. A lone tear slowly made its way down his cheek. I watched in complete awe as he pushed away his grief and played for her. His fingers moved faster, dancing over the keys. The tune light, almost happy. When he finished, his shoulders shook with silent sobs. His chin dropped and his hands covered his face. He made his way back to me and sat before leaning over and releasing the tears. I’ve seen my dad angry, happy, and frustrated, but never this sad. It was like a piece of him died with her, and he couldn’t figure out how to be without her.

I leaned into his side and wrapped my arm around him. “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered. He turned and kissed the top of my head.

When all was said and done for the day, we made our way home. I changed, but Dad stayed in his suit. He sat at the piano in our living room for the first time since the day she died and played. He played for hours, lost in the music. Some songs I recognized from my childhood, others I didn’t. There were happy songs, and sad songs. The music filled our house until the late hours of the night. When he finally stopped, he looked exhausted. He closed the piano and turned sideways on the bench. He looked around the room, and then broke down into tears. I stayed silent, just letting him grieve. There were no words to make it better. It just was, and I knew in time we’d be ok.

I watched this strong man stand, and stumble up to bed. When the house got quiet, I made my way to my room. Music would heal us. It was what made us who we were, and I knew we’d be ok.

Chapter 4

Aspen- age 17

The day that Mom died changed everything. Music became my life. It had always been who I was, but things were different now. There was nothing else. School, lessons, and practice. I played every day, and every day I became better. My father was almost obsessed with my success. He was constantly pushing me to be better. Just one more piece, one more hour of practice, one more day closer to a career in music. I didn’t know any different, and I wasn’t sure if I’d know what to do if I was given the chance for a different path. I loved it but seeing my father light up when I’d master something, was what drove me for perfection. I knew I could always be better, and I knew that if I played more I’d be closer to it.

“How was that?” I sat back and took a deep breath. “Do you think it was enough?” I blinked up at my father. My eyes werebeginning to cross from staring at the music. We’d been working on this piece for days.

“I think you need a faster tempo. I think other than that, it was flawless.” He nodded as he paced our living room.

“Faster?” I half gasped half whined. “I don’t think my fingers will go any faster.”

“You can always improve.” He sighed. “Faster is an improvement.”

“Anything else?” I placed my hands over the keys and tapped with my foot, setting a beat. My fingers soared over the keys, tapping as my eyes blurred looking at the pages. I glanced up once to see what his reaction was, and I stumbled. My right hand hit a wrong note, and it snowballed from there. I stopped, angrily banging my fists on the keys.

“It’s late.” Dad sat down beside me and patted my shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ll work more tomorrow.”

“Do you think I’m ready?” I wearily looked over at him. I could feel tears from the exhaustion pooling in my eyes.

“I think you’re ready. I think you need to think you’re ready.” He smiled. “Where is that confidence I used to see?”

“She hid when Bobby Childers scored higher than her last year.” I sighed as my shoulders sank.

“You’re just as good. Berklee will be happy to have you.” He hugged me.

I’ve been dreaming of going to Berklee since I was six. If I wanted a career in music, that’s where I needed to study. I’ve spent every summer since I was eight at Juilliard, with the exception of the year my mom died. Their summer consortium has welcomed me with open arms, but it’s time to take the next step, college, and as great as Juilliard is, I need to experience other instructors.

“Get some sleep.” Dad yawned as he stood. “I’ll go over it with you again in the morning.”

“Night.” I smiled softly as he made his way upstairs. Just as he reached the top, I turned and took my position again. Holding my hands over the keys, I tapped my foot and started again. I’ve played this piece so many times I have it memorized. I closed my eyes and let my fingers dance. I heard my dad chuckle as I moved faster and faster. When I finished, I let the sound ring through the house and blanket me. I sat there remembering why I do this. My lips pulled into a soft smile as my eyes fluttered open. I’d made it through the whole piece flawlessly. “Just like that,” I whispered. I rubbed my eyes as I closed the piano and stood from the bench. I turned off the light and made my way upstairs. They had to let me in. They’d be crazy not to.

“You ready?” Dad held open the front door as I stood in the middle of the room, clutching my music bag. This was it. Today would determine the rest of my life.

“Is it bad if I say no?” I grimaced.

“No.” He laughed lightly. “I would think something was wrong if you weren’t a little nervous. You’ve got this.” He motioned for me to go ahead of him. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my feet to move. We took a cab to the other side of the city, and when we stopped by the campus, my nerves grew exponentially. “I don’t think I can do this,” I muttered.

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