Music in the Endzone (Wally Clark)

Evelyn's Coda

1994

Split River High School Music Room

I could hardly believe it. Graduation was just around the corner, and soon I'd be leaving Split River High behind. New York City and Juilliard were waiting for me, a dream I'd nurtured for as long as I could remember. Music was my life, my passion, and the scholarship to Juilliard was my ticket to a future I had always envisioned.

My fingers danced over the piano keys as I practiced for the upcoming competition. Each note was a step closer to my dream. I glanced at the photo on the piano, a picture of me and my best friend, Jason, the one who had always been there for me. There were times when I wanted to give up, when the pressure felt too much, but he was always there, encouraging me, reminding me of why I started this journey in the first place.

Lately, though, things had changed. He seemed moody, his glances lingering too long, his words carrying a weight they never had before. I chalked it up to the stress of graduation and the impending changes in our lives. Maybe he was just worried about what the future held for us, for our friendship.

I tried to ignore the unease, focusing instead on the music that flowed through me and the competition tonight. I wished things could go back to the way they were, back when we were just friends, sharing laughs and dreams. Little did I know, those innocent days were slipping away, and something far darker was taking their place.

Later that night, Split River High was buzzing with excitement, the hallways filled with students and teachers eagerly anticipating the performances. I could feel the energy in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation that mirrored my own emotions.

I arrived at the auditorium early, wanting to get in some last-minute practice before my performance. The grand piano stood on the stage, its polished surface gleaming under the stage lights. I took a deep breath and sat down, letting my fingers glide over the keys as I played through my piece one more time. Chopin's Prelude in E Minor, Op. 28 No. 4, had always been one of my favorites. Its haunting melody and emotional depth resonated with me in a way few other pieces did.

As I played, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. This was where I belonged, where I felt most alive. The music flowed through me, each note a step closer to my dream. I could almost see the future I had envisioned: the bustling streets of New York City, the hallowed halls of Juilliard, the endless possibilities that awaited me.

My best friend arrived just as I was finishing my practice. He gave me a reassuring smile, his presence a comforting reminder of all the times he had supported me. "You're going to be amazing," he said, his voice filled with confidence. I smiled back, grateful for his unwavering belief in me.

But there was something different in his eyes today, a shadow I couldn't quite place. I brushed it off, attributing it to the stress of the day. After all, this was a big moment for both of us. Graduation was just around the corner, and everything was about to change.

As the competition began, I watched the other performers with a mix of admiration and nervousness. They were all so talented, each one bringing their own unique style to the stage. When my turn finally came, I took a deep breath and walked out onto the stage, the applause of the audience ringing in my ears.

I sat down at the piano and closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music fill my mind. Then, with a deep breath, I began to play. The notes flowed effortlessly from my fingers, each one a testament to the hours of practice and dedication I had poured into this moment. As I played, I felt a connection to the music that went beyond the notes on the page. It was as if the piano and I were one, the music a reflection of my soul.