Short Stories (without happy end)

Amelia (part. 3)

It is a little after midnight, my parents are sleeping. Without making the slightest noise, I take out my tennis bag and put my clothes and my scores in it. Of course, I don't forget to take my headphones and my charger. I wait a few minutes in the silence of the night before going out the window of the bathroom. In front of the gate, I feel something clutching my ankle. It is only Chopin. I simply say to him "come" and this one follows me as it took the habit of it already some time ago. The night is clear, lit by the moon. It is rather good, the air is soft. I take the path that I already know well with, this time, my cat on my heels. I often turn around behind me, probably out of habit, but mostly out of fear that my father is still watching what I am doing. I finally arrive after what seems like an eternity. I knock on the door and wait a few seconds. James opens it and I see that he hasn't gone to bed yet. I know he is a great insomniac who composes better when the moonlight overhangs the city. He doesn't ask any questions even though this is the first time this has happened. He invites me in and goes to his kitchen to make us some tea. When he comes back with two cups and a box of cookies, he sits down in front of me and asks me what happened. I tell him what he already knows, that my parents - his sister and brother-in-law - have never asked my opinion. That they spend all their time talking about tennis and entering me in competitions and that they have no idea what I like in life. They don't even know what my favorite food is because every meal I eat has been prepared with the sole purpose of improving my performance. Finally, I bring up the last topic on the table: college. I explain to him what my parents have planned for my future and that even though it was foreseeable, they decided without talking to me and without asking my opinion. Do you know why your parents don't want to see me anymore? Because when I understood that you didn't really like tennis but that you were only playing to please them, which they still don't understand, I asked them to stop forcing you to play. Of course, your father got angry and said that he knew better than me what was best for his daughter, that I only had to have children to choose for them. It had been two years since my wife died so you can imagine that I couldn't let that go. So I brought up his failed career and he didn't like that. Your mother didn't say anything, she didn't have to choose between the man she loves and her brother, but she could have at least thought of you. Finally, the problem does not come from you but your father's wounded ego. You know he got hurt early in his career, a few years before you were born. It broke him in his rise, he couldn't play tennis anymore. He had hopes of a brilliant career, but it stopped overnight. After that, his father didn't talk to him anymore, it destroyed your father who always looked for recognition in his father's eyes. Today, what he wants is for you to have the career he never had, even if it means being blinded by his ambitions. As I said, the problem is not you, but for him. It's been twenty years since he's talked to his father and it's eating him up inside. I know you don't blame him, you're just going through the motions, but it has to stop now, he's starting to cross the line." James calmly explains. I need your help. Dad isn't going to like it if I miss the competition tomorrow, but I have to do it. Do you think you could teach me a song? I have a pretty good idea and it just might work.'' ''Sure.''

* * *

It's a little after seven, my parents have to wait until I get back from my jog. We need to get out before they get worried. I was able to sleep for a few hours after explaining my plan to James and working on the piece most of the night. After a breakfast that would have been way too much from my dad's point of view, I do a final run on the piano to make sure I've mastered the piece and we head out to execute the first part of my plan.

I take advantage of the car ride to rest and listen to the song over and over again to soak it in. Without realizing it, I mime the movement of my hands on the keyboard. When I open my eyes, I see that my uncle has a radiant smile.