Going West

Prodigy

              "With an IQ of 136 and incredible piano skills, ladies and gentlemen, Westley Harris!" Dan Ferris would spat at the audience with a grin. I would walk out, waving like a smartass and strut in my smartass suit. "Dan, buddy, how are you?" I stood patting his back, as if we were having a father and son bonding moment. "Westley, you are growing like a weed!" Dan chuckled, and I responded with an uncomfortable grin at the camera. The audience laughed and Dan went along with it.
               My life is full of fake smiles and tacky advice for the children of America. Psh... What all the kids in America need is a smack of reality that one day, they'll be shoved into the adult world. I won't need to be worrying about that, since I shoved myself in the cold world and taught myself adult skills. My mom was always to busy to care about my childhood. All of my concerts, tours, and TV interviews... Mom was the magician behind that magic.
               So, here I am watching a 15 year old piano prodigy on the, "Dan Ferris Late Night Show," thinking about of how much of a crock this guy was, I carry on scarfing down my ramen. "Westley, can you please tell of some stories of your, World Tour?" Dan Ferris looking at the audience, and not me. Dan finally glances at me and nods. "Well, Dan. It has been one hell of a ride, I got to tell you!" I chuckle and pat Dan's desk.
               My mom walks into the living area of the hotel room, carrying a bowl of cereal. "I still can't believe you said, 'hell', on a national talk show! You completely humiliated yourself!" Mom plops onto the couch, spilling some milk on couch. I have to say, I am more grown up than my own mother... "This isn't our couch, go clean it up," I demand and she does what she is told. I also have to say, I have more 'mom control' than her. "So, here I am in Germany-" I cut myself off by turning off the TV.  Manson, my older brother, comes limping in. "What's up with you?" I call out on him for limping. "I stub my toe on the damn dresser." Manson lays on top of the ottoman and rolls around the living room. "Manson! Watch your mouth! See West, your starting to become a bad influence," Mom shouts out from the kitchen. I just laugh and lean further back on the couch.
               "Hey Manson, did you see Albert Asstien?" I ask, and Manson chuckles. His face was deep down into the cushion of the ottoman. "Jah! He was in the bathroom," Manson responded with an awful Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. I grin, getting off the couch, and walking towards the bathroom. "Hey Albert? Where are my glasses?" I knock on the door. "Was? Why would I have your glasses?" Albert lied. I open the door to reveal him, wearing my glasses. "Mm hm?" I nod and said, "Golly, I'm afraid I lost them..." Albert frowns and nods, trying his best to look sorry for me. I walk out and snicker, "He is such a dumbass..." Albert is mom's German boyfriend and my tutor. I almost burst when I found out my mom was dating my idiot tutor... Albert told Manson and I that he will propose to her when we reach L.A. Shaking off the thought, I go into my temporary bedroom and change into my street clothes.
"Yo! Mom?"

"Yes dear?"
"Did you finish cleaning the couch?"
"Getting there..." I hear her reaching to her boiling point with me.
"Well, okay. I'm going to the lobby to play some tunes."
"Okay! Don't carry on around down there, okay?"
"Okay!"I mimicked her.
"Hey, West, I'm coming along. There might be some of the Canadian soccer babes down there." Manson slips on his leather jacket, still wearing his pajamas. "You sir, are disgusting..." I laugh and walk out of the hotel room.
                The piano in the lobby is a jewel... It is a Fazioli grand piano and was shipped straight out of Italy. I almost drooled at the sight of her... Hey, I am a piano man, what can I say? We reach down to the lobby area and I practically run to the piano. I press one key and then another. The sound was so rich. "Manson...I might cry..." I say in a daze. "Oh my god...West... Number 24 is here!" Manson pats my back frantically and I turn around. I see a blonde girl wearing a soccer jersey. Sure, she was hot, but I stay away from girls. I can't talk to one without babbling like an idiot. "Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini...variation 18, coming right up." And I play the keys. People say its amazing that I can memorize pieces from just playing it twice or even once. I get totally lost into the sea of notes and I blank out into beautiful harmony. Remember when I said I was a piano man? Exactly.
                  I finish the section and I look up. A crowd of people are staring at me awe. They finally arupt in applause and I nod. "He must be faking it!" A man in suit whispers. "A recording, maybe?" A woman in professional attire guesses. Amongst the train of whispers, a buff guy in a suit steps up. "So, you think its smart to trick these people into thinking your Mozart...Reborn?" He chuckles. "Give us the REAL show, buddy." Another man retorts. I give them a sly grin. I instantly began to play, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The crowd starts to snicker. Acting embarassed, I start to speed up the pace. I start to improvise and make the dainty song into a masterpiece. I stop and I see a girl in front of me. She starts to burst into tears. It was Manson's number 24. "Can...I hug you?" She hiccups and I get up to hug her. I look at Manson during the embrace and mouth, "Oh yeah." My music makes people cry and rethink life...Well that's what the New York Times said in 2013. After shaking the hands of the witnesses of one of my great improvistions, I notice Manson sitting on one of the couches. He was talking to the number 24 soccer babe. I wave at him and point at my watch. Albert wanted to have lunch at one o'clock at some fancy café. Manson sighs and hands the soccer babe a piece of paper out of jacket. I bet that was in his pocket all morning.
                 "West, I am so glad you are my brother...The babe has a name...Cecile..." He sighs and almost misses a step on the main staircase. "Woah...she has a name? Incredible." I shake my head and Manson shoves me. He is pretty strong, I have to say. Manson isn't that ugly, either. In every country, he usually snatches himself a chick. For me, I am not a handsome devil. I have choppy, mud brown hair, and a jungle of freckles on my face. Which is odd, since I didn't go out that much when I little. I was always playing the piano. My lips resembles a duck's. Manson used to call me Guppy when I little. I would cry and go tell my mom. Even if I'm a brainac, I am extremely sensitive. Albert says I have a 'blue personality.' Which means that I am very romantic and dramatic. When he told me that, I laughed and shook my head. "I'm not a pansy, like you." I remember how red his face got and how much trouble I got in.
                   Manson and I reached the door to our hotel room. Manson gave me nookie on the head and I smacked his ribs. During the Great Battle of Canada, Manson and I hear mom squeal and Albert chuckling. We exchanged disgusted looks and knocked. "Room service," Manson said in a high pitched voice, and I whacked his cheek. We finally got the courage to open, fearing that we might see Albert butt naked. But what we saw was much worse...