When his parents, who were notorious for their critical remarks, disparaged his daughter’s piano performance at a family meal, a single father was forced to face a difficult reality. His daughter’s joyous moment swiftly devolved into a fight to preserve her self-worth and innocence.
I saw Lily’s brows knitted in concentration as her little fingers lingered over the keyboard. Her nervous face was softly illuminated by the soft glow from the lamp in the corner, which made our living room seem warm and inviting.
My gaze strayed to the framed picture of the two of us on the piano. We both smiled broadly as she sat on my knee, just five years old at the time. It served as a reminder of my motivations.
I replied, “Take your time, sweetheart,” in a steady, quiet voice. “You’ve got this.”
Her shoulders tensed as she inhaled deeply. “All right, dad. I’m hoping I don’t make a mistake.
In an attempt to get her attention, I bent forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “It’s alright even if you do. Simply give it your all. Your extensive practice makes me proud.
With a little grin on her face and a lack of confidence, she began to play. I could tell how hard she was trying, even though the song was easy with a few pauses and missing notes. I applauded when she was done, beaming from ear to ear.
“That was great!” I replied, experiencing that well-known surge of pride. “You’re getting better every day.”
“Really?” she said in a little, unsure voice.
“Absolutely,” I said, getting to my feet and embracing her. “You’re already playing like this after only a few lessons! You’re doing a fantastic job, even though I know it’s not easy.”
She looked at the piano’s photo. “Do you think Grandma and Grandpa will like it?”
I stiffened my grin. I didn’t want to express my uncertainty to her. I answered, “I’m sure they will,” and hoped I was correct.
I was startled out of my reverie by the sound of the doorbell. A beat skipped in my chest. I inhaled deeply before opening the door.
“Tom,” my mom remarked, interrupting to give me a brief, firm embrace. “It’s been too long.”
I said, “Yeah, it has,” and moved aside to make room for them. Jack, my father, nodded curtly, not even glancing at me as he brushed by and entered the home. I closed the door, already feeling the recognizable constriction in my chest. It was meant to be a pleasant evening.
Lily was standing with her hands clutched tightly in front of her as they entered the living room.
“Hello, Grandmother! “Hello, Grandpa!” Brightly, trying so hard to seem confident, she said.
A little softening of my mother’s grin occurred. “Hello, sweet Lily. How you’ve matured, my dear.
My dad hardly gave her a look. He said, “House looks fine,” looking around as if he were examining the space.
I suppressed my annoyance. I remarked, “Dinner’s almost ready,” while attempting to maintain a steady tone.
I began cleaning the table after we had completed our meal. Lily paused, glancing between the living room and the kitchen.
“May I begin playing now? She glanced at my parents and said quietly, “Is that okay?”
My mother smiled politely but without her eyes. “Of course, darling,” she replied. “We’d love to hear what you’ve been working on.”
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” I grinned. “You are free to begin playing. From here, I’ll listen.”
With her fingers fumbling with the hem of her blouse, she questioned, “Are you sure?”
I gave a nod. “I hear you well. And when I’ve finished cleaning up, I’ll be right out.”
She turned to the keyboard and smiled slightly at me. My mother smoothed her skirt and looked around the room as my parents settled onto the couch, my father sipping a drink.
With her fingertips hanging above the keys, Lily inhaled deeply. I distracted myself by doing the dishes while attempting to concentrate on her playing. She began slowly, and at initially, the music was a bit erratic. She was clearly anxious. I listened intently as I dried a dish and put it away.
She hesitated, missed a few notes, and then began again. Her playing was determined, and I could hear it when she made an effort to overcome her errors. I felt a surge of pride. What mattered was that she was giving it her best.
I heard an odd noise just as I was ready to begin cleaning the pans. I first believed that there was a problem with the piano, but I later discovered that it was my mother. She was chuckling, a suppressed giggle at first. With a dishcloth in hand, I froze and strained to hear.
Then, louder and harder than ever, my father’s laugh joined hers. It reverberated across the kitchen like a slap. My stomach turned over. Setting the plate aside, I moved to the doorway and took a quick look into the living room.
I could hear the typical edge in my mother’s voice as she said, “Was that your first time playing it?”
Lily’s little fingertips were still hanging over the keys as her gaze flew between them. Her confused and wounded expression made my stomach turn like a dagger. She seemed to be attempting to vanish as I watched her contract and fold in on herself. She blinked quickly, holding back the tears as her lip trembled. In that moment, my heart broke.
She stumbled, “No, no, I-I’ve had two lessons,” and her voice trembled. “It’s just… hard to play with both hands.”
My dad’s voice boomed as he laughed more. He replied, “A dog could have done better,” as he wiped away a tear. He glanced at my mom, and they exchanged a glance as if they were both laughing at the same cruel joke.
I was immobile. I was paralyzed, stuck between incredulity and a raging anger that was accumulating inside of me. My parents were like this. Like they did to me so many times before, my parents, who were meant to love and support their granddaughter, are pulling her down. I choked on the old, familiar rage, but I forced myself to remain composed for Lily’s sake.
I managed to utter, “Hey,” in a strained voice. “She is just getting started. She is doing well.
My mother dismissed me with a sweep of her hand. “Oh, stop being so touchy, Tom. We’re simply enjoying ourselves a little.”
Have fun. They referred to it as such. I turned to face Lily, who had become quiet and was staring at the ground. That expression seemed familiar to me. For years, I had worn it.
I tried to speak steadily as I said, “Mom, Dad, I think it’s time for you to go.”
They both stopped laughing and looked at me as if I had gone crazy.
My dad got to his feet, his face flushed. “This is not how we brought you up. You’re acting too leniently. If you treat her this way, she will never make it out there.”
It was more than I could handle. All of the hurt and rage from years of their unrelenting criticism, as well as how they minimized everything I accomplished, suddenly returned. Even though my voice remained calm, I felt as if I were perched on a precipice.
“This,” I said in a quiet but forceful voice, “is the reason I was so troubled as a child. You couldn’t just be kind. You had to bring me down every time. I won’t allow you to do that to her, however. Now leave.”
They looked at me with disbelief. I shook my head as my mother opened her lips to speak. “No. Gather your belongings and go.
With a last scowl, they packed their bags and jackets and walked out without saying another word. After they left, the door clicked shut, and I stood there gasping for air. When I looked back, I saw Lily with tears running down her cheeks.
She said, “Daddy, I’m sorry,” in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”
I dragged her into my arms after taking two strides across the room. “No, darling, no. There was nothing wrong with you. You did fantastic, don’t you? I’m very pleased with you.”
She clung to me and smelled. “But they laughed at me.”
My chest constricted once again, but I spoke softly. “My dear, they were mistaken. Sometimes they lack the ability to be kind. However, it is their issue, not yours.
After hesitating, she slowly nodded. “Okay.”
She resumed playing when I took a seat next to her and put my arm over her shoulders. The melody was smoother and her fingers were a bit more certain this time. As I watched her, pride filled my heart.
“See?” When she was done, I whispered. “You’re getting better every time.”
She grinned slightly at me, and I felt warm all over. It was more than this particular moment. It had to do with all I was attempting to do and be for her.
I sat by myself in the living room after Lily went to bed. There was a heavy stillness as my thoughts continued to relive the events of the evening.
I inhaled deeply before getting up and moving toward the piano with the image over it. I lightly pressed the keys, reflecting on how their brutality had corrupted this instrument that had once brought me delight. However, it is no longer the case. They couldn’t take it away from her, in my opinion. They couldn’t take it away from us, in my opinion.
Lily and I sat at the piano once again the next morning. With a query in her eyes, she glanced up at me. I nodded and grinned.
“Let’s try it again, okay?” “I said.” “You and me.”
She nodded, found the keys with her fingers, and began to play. A bit more confident, a little stronger, the music filled the room. With my heart full, I observed her and felt we would be OK as the music continued to play.
We’d be all right.
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Fin !!=====================================================================
"Paper Planes and Pinky Promises"
On the edge of a small, sleepy town nestled between golden fields and quiet woods, there stood a cheerful little elementary school with cracked sidewalks and a playground that squeaked when it rained. It was there, in Mrs. Gibbons’ second-grade classroom, that 7-year-old Eli Jacobs first laid eyes on Maya Collins.
Maya had two long braids, a box of colored pencils she guarded like treasure, and an infectious laugh that made Eli’s ears go red. She wore a red raincoat even on sunny days and always saved the grape lollipops from her lunch for someone else—usually Eli.
He didn’t know what love was, not really. But he did know that when Maya smiled at him, he felt like someone had turned on a light inside his chest.
They became friends the way kids do—easily and with no real explanation. They built elaborate forts out of fallen leaves, shared peanut butter crackers at lunch, and raced each other to the swings during recess. When Eli fell off the monkey bars and scraped his elbow, Maya kissed his arm and said, “There. It’ll heal faster now.”
It was the first time Eli thought, Maybe I’ll marry her someday.
In fourth grade, Maya moved three blocks away from Eli’s house. From then on, they walked to school together every morning. On rainy days, they shared her red coat. On snow days, they built lopsided snowmen and gave them pinecone eyes and lollipop mouths. They made a pinky promise under the jungle gym that they would always be best friends—even if one of them got cooties or moved to outer space.
When they were eleven, Maya’s cat died. She didn’t come to school for two days, and Eli showed up at her house with a shoebox of tissues and a drawing of her cat wearing a superhero cape. She hugged him and cried into his shirt, and Eli thought, I would fight the whole world just to make her smile again.
In middle school, things started to change. Boys became awkward. Girls formed circles. Eli grew taller. Maya got braces. People whispered that they were “a thing,” and they both blushed when they heard it—but didn’t exactly deny it.
In seventh grade, they slow danced at the school winter social, arms stiff and eyes wide, and afterward, Maya whispered, “That wasn’t so bad,” and Eli whispered back, “Wanna do it again next year?”
By the time high school arrived, they were still best friends—closer than ever—but life was growing more complicated. Maya joined the drama club; Eli played soccer. Their schedules started to conflict. There were new faces, new friends, even new crushes.
But somehow, they always found their way back to each other.
When Maya didn’t get the lead in the school play, Eli brought her daisies and told her she was better than all of them. When Eli tore his ACL sophomore year, Maya sat with him in the nurse’s office every lunch until he could walk without crutches.
One night, during their junior year, they sat on the hood of Eli’s car, watching stars in silence. Eli looked over and said, “You ever think maybe we’re just supposed to be… you know, together?”
Maya didn’t answer right away. She leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, “Sometimes I do.”
They didn’t kiss. Not yet. But something settled between them. A deeper promise than the one they made under the jungle gym.
Senior year was filled with college applications, yearbook signings, and late-night talks about the future. Maya wanted to study art in New York. Eli got accepted to a state university nearby. There was a moment of panic—what if time and distance undid everything?
On the night before Maya left for college, they met at their old elementary school. The playground looked smaller now. The monkey bars rusted. But the memories were still there.
Maya pulled something from her backpack: a folded paper plane. Inside was a note, scrawled in purple ink:
“If we’re meant to find each other again, we will. But even if we don’t, I’ll love you forever—for the forts and the peanut butter crackers and the pinky promises and all the days in between.”
Eli smiled and pulled out a second paper plane from his jacket pocket. His said:
“I’ll find you. Even if you’re on the moon.”
They hugged for a long time.
Years passed. They grew. They dated other people. Made mistakes. Built their separate lives.
And then one summer evening, eight years later, Eli walked into a small art gallery in the city, where a new collection was being displayed. It was called “Paper Planes and Childhood Promises.”
There, under a canvas of a red raincoat blowing in the wind, stood Maya.
She smiled.
And just like that, the light inside Eli’s chest flickered back on.