He showed up at my recital. Front row. I hadn't played piano in fifteen years.
She started playing again at forty. Her first recital. One person in the audience who mattered.
I hadn't played piano in fifteen years.
Then one day I walked past a music shop.
A keyboard in the window.
I bought it before I could talk myself out of it.
Practiced in secret.
Early mornings before work.
Late nights with headphones.
My fingers remembered more than I expected.
The community center was hosting a recital.
Open to all skill levels.
I signed up before the fear could stop me.
Told nobody except him.
He said what time.
I said 7 p.m. but you don't have to come.
He said what time.
The night of the recital my hands were ice.
I peeked through the curtain.
Thirty plastic chairs. Mostly empty.
Front row. Center seat.
He was already there. Jacket on. Hands folded.
He was sitting like a man at a symphony. Front row of a community center recital.