Mother's Shadow

Short Story

My Mother sat in front of me on her greyish wheelchair. Her eyes were light green, unlike mine, which were a very dark black. We both had jet black hair, one of the only things we had in common of our appearance. She was holding her walking stick in her right hand, and in the other one, a small pamphlet. She moved her hand forward, indicating for me to take the paper. I took it with hesitation and read what was written on it:

National Piano competition.

27th of April

On the edge of the paper it also had some announcement on it, encouraging people to either perform or to get a ticket to attend. I read it once again, making sure to take a good look at the important details. The 27th of April. That was only weeks away; the month was still young. Below the date, it read Love's Sorrow. That was the piece that was required to be played in the competition. I got a sudden nostalgic feeling, and goosebumps tangled up my spine.

Mother used to play it for me all the time as a lullaby. I remember how delicately she played it, and I would always fall asleep to it as a baby. Sometimes I wish I could go back to those times, when Mother wasn't sick, when she had that smile on her face that would calm me down when I was feeling anxious. But from then on, she started to get progressively worse, and then she couldn't even walk for herself. So I would play the piano to please her, to do everything that she couldn't do. In that competition, the average age ranged from fourteen to nineteen, but it included all ages to join, especially since it was a very high level competition. My piano skills were way above average, even though I was only nine.

"Arima, you need to do as good as you did last time. Get 1st place, like I have always told you to. It will make Mom feel better, okay?" she spoke, returning me from my thoughts.

"Yes, Mother." I nodded, making it clear that I would do all that she asked from me. Mother was just sick, and doing well in competitions would make her feel better. Or at least that's what she told me every time there was a competition coming up. I just wanted her to be okay.

"With this competition you will get to the international level, "

┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

Hours had passed since the practice started that day.

"Again!"

I started the piece from the top again, trying to not make one mistake.

"Wrong! Again!"

The same keys, over...

"NO, again!"

and over...

"Again!"

and over...

"Again!"

Sweat was slipping from my face onto the keys, my hands were burning from the effort I put into the piece, my head felt heavy, and I started getting dizzy. How many times had I practiced the piece? I panted and gasped for air, trying to not pass out right then and there. I reminded myself that I was doing it for Mother, and a good performance from me was what she wanted most deeply.

And so once again, from the top. Loose fingers, controlled wrists. Good technique. Don't pound on the keys. Mother had always told me to treat the keys as if they were a baby's head, because I would always strike the keys way too hard.

Knock knock.

The sound came from downstairs, from the front door. I lifted my hands from the piano and stopped playing and faced my Mother.