Your Mark on Me

The Competition (III)

On the way back, I couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. Had it really been just for the sake of demonstration? He seemed to want me to believe that, but I knew what I saw in his eyes. They couldn't trick me.

I went back to the quiet house after he ruffled my hair one more time, telling me to go to sleep right away and to stop worrying.

In the morning, the sound of the alarm woke up an achy, sleepy me. Mom helped me get dressed and ready, I had a coffee and a tiny bit of breakfast, took my beta-blockers, then all of us, the Whites included, headed to the hall.

I felt unusually calm - and it wasn't just the effect of the Propranolol.

I was scheduled to play first, so thankfully I didn't have to wait. Unlike other times in the past, when all I hoped for was to give a decent, correct performance and then get away, now I felt that I didn't only want to be decent: I wanted to shine. I wanted to feel again the joy I had felt the night before, the carelessness, the freedom, the beauty of the sound that was in my power to create.

It was still early and there wasn't much of an audience, but already more people than during the first round. For the finale, the hall would be brimming with people. While waiting for the last two judges to arrive, I saw Mark come in. He looked tired, a cup of coffee in his hand from which he sipped while walking. He smiled and waved at me and Mom, then went and sat in the exact same seat as the night before. There was no need for words: I immediately understood. He wanted me to recreate the image of the previous night and play as if there was no one there, just him.

And I did.

When I heard my name being called and I walked up the stage in my long dress, my hair tied back, the heels of my shoes resounding on the platform, my heart started beating faster just as always, my breath became shorter, my palms got clammy, my stomach fluttered, but the fear, though still there, was not paralysing me anymore. Now I knew that I wasn't only nervous: I was also excited.

Sitting in front of the piano, I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply, re-creating the mental image behind my eyelids. Little by little, the space around me evaporated, vanished, just like the previous night, when Mark's lips were brushing against mine, and suddenly, there was no one else there, no audience, no judges, no one else but him.

And in front of him, I could be myself.

As I attacked the thunderous chords and chromatic scales in Liszt's Transcendental Etude "Mazzeppa", the galloping octaves were an extension of my galloping heart. I wasn't riding through the steppes on the back of a wild horse, but on top of my bottled-up emotions, voicing my frustrations, all the things I wasn't able to say, all the times when I felt jealous or rejected. I continued with "Feux Follets", the leaps and thirds and double notes coming from under my fingers with clockwork precision and crystal clarity, in a condensed exercise of virtuosity by the end of which I could feel drops of sweat slowly rolling down the side of my forehead. I carried on with Chopin's Fantaisie Impromptu. This was an old friend, one of the pieces I had played at the corporate event where I met Mark, in what seemed a whole another lifetime. In the middle of my insanely difficult program, the Chopin was a moment of relative break.

After demonstrating my technique, it was time to paint pictures using only the black and white of the piano keys, making them sing, shimmer and glisten with the brilliant atmosphere of the Ondine and then, tremble with the ghastly scene of Le Gibet.

When the ceaseless B-flat that was the ending of Le Gibet died down and there was no other sound in the vastness of the hall, not even the sound of one's breath, only then, after half an hour of intense concentration, I dared to turn around and face the audience

I heard the clapping. I saw Mark smiling. I saw Mom looking as she was getting teary. I saw the judges nodding at each other and the Asian boy who played the day before stare at me as if he had seen a ghost.

Only then, I felt the ache and sickness in my stomach kick in and I got up, bowed and quickly walked off the stage.

I'd done it.

***

Later in the afternoon, when we went to check the list of the finalists pinned on the grey board in the lobby of the Arts Center, my name was among the five.

Somehow, I'd done it.

And it was all thanks to him.

***

After the performance, Mark joined us for lunch: me, Mom and the Whites. He congratulated me, in a neutral, complacent manner, which I found very disappointing considering how much I wanted to jump around him and tug at his sleeve, fishing for compliments. Did I do well? Did you not think I was amazing? Are you proud of me? I couldn't ask any of these, not with all the other people around us.

After lunch, the Whites took us to see the harbor town light and the coastal museum. Mark didn't come along. He wasn't there either when we had dinner, to both my disappointment and Mom's.

I texted him later, to let him know I got through to the final.

Well done, he replied.

Just that. Nothing else, the whole evening.

***

It was getting late, so I lost my patience and I called him. Once, twice, many times, until he finally picked up.

"I'm heading off in the morning", he announced. "Something came up. I'm sorry I won't be there for your finale."

That was definitely not what I had expected to hear.

"Can I see you before you go?"

"I'm afraid I'd rather have an early night. It's a long drive tomorrow."

I didn't understand. Where were my compliments? Where was my celebration? Why didn't he sound happy, excited for what I had achieved, for what we had achieved together?"

"But...I haven't even thanked you. I couldn't have done it without you. I wouldn't have been here at all if it wasn't for you."

As he wasn't saying anything, I continued, warily. I had an idea of what the problem might have been. "You know... I became quite good at pretending things never happened. If that's the issue."

He let out a long breath which made a scraping, harsh sound through the tiny speaker of the phone. "Okay, you got me. I was worried you might have read too much into it."

"Does that mean I can see you now?" Clearing my throat in a significant way, I put on the best carefree tone I could pull off: "That is, if we agree to no more kissing."

"It must have been a rubbish one if you're willing to let go so quickly", Mark replied, jokingly, sounding like himself again.

We agreed to meet up for a bit, later when Mom and the Whites would go to sleep.