Top Peeled Back

Six

Jasmine dried the tears just before stepping out of the shadows and into the bright lights of the concert hall. The audience politely applauded upon her introduction and she mustered what was technically a smile. Sequins sewed into her black dress began to sparkle in the spotlight as she approached the grand piano in the center of the stage. Among the crowd, her mother joined in the clapping with an empty seat to her right.

Mrs. Lewis, a respectful audience member, had turned her phone off at the beginning of the evening. She listened in peace to the other students' performances – treating other children as she hoped hers would be treated. Had she kept it on during the recital, though, she may have caught the breaking news that not one, but two more hip hop artists had been captured and brutally killed with two million, eight hundred and fifty-one thousand, seven hundred and eleven viewers tuned in. Her phone also would have helped explain the empty seat. Terrance was caught up yet again, but Deborah was able to replace any annoyance towards her husband with admiration for the beautiful young woman their daughter was becoming. She looked radiant. But—

Is her mascara running a bit?

It was. On stage, Jasmine tucked her skirt and took a seat behind the keys. The applause died down and she began her program with absolute grace. Showing little effort, her fingers danced to the music that they themselves were creating, letting the prepared piece float into the air. The onlisteners were in awe as she executed such a wonderful rendition of the classical arrangement. Her father would have been too, had he shown up.

Deborah nodded along, feeling every note Jasmine played. In her mind, she transported herself back to when her daughter was small enough to sit on her lap on a piano bench, barely able to reach the keys. Mrs. Lewis had felt her daughter's energy run through her then, just as she felt it today. Only—

Is she shaking?

She was. And as a heavy tear began to crest in her eye, Jasmine began to divert from the well-known score. Building on a string of sixteenth notes, she overtly incorporated a Big Tricky riff, hammering home the final strokes with determination. When the tear fell onto her cheek, she returned to the confines of the sheet music. A light whisper wafted amongst the crowd and Deborah felt the warmth of a dozen eyes turn in her direction. But she managed to keep her own eyes straight ahead, focused on her baby girl.

C'mon Jazz...

Jasmine continued and the crowd reverted to a hush, quieter and more attentive than before. The auditorium hung on every note and Jasmine could feel the tension rising. But instead of allowing the pressure to consumer her, she was encouraged to have their undivided attention. And then as she changed keys into the second movement, she added in one of Miller Heavy's hooks. A low murmur spread throughout the audience. This time, however, Jasmine did not switch back. In that moment, she stopped playing music and began to make it. She continued with the upbeat rhythm, covering off on the melody with her right hand and the lyrics with her left. Her mother saw that all signs of sadness had vanished. They were replaced by anger.

Is she...rapping?

She was. Under her breath Jasmine was matching her fingers word-for-word. Her eyes closed and teeth clinched, the young lady in the sparkly recital dress was absolutely spitting.

Miller Heavy's hook then faded into a Cold Perm intro with a deep walking bassline. Her foot began to tap beside the piano pedals. Growing ever louder, the sharp slap of her shiny black flats created an impromptu snare – directly on beat, of course.

When the first Cold Perm verse came around, Jasmine's vocals elevated from underneath her breath into a steady spoken flow. Audience member's toes began to wiggle, their heads began to nod. And in an involuntary wave, the entire crowd relaxed their disposition. They were straight vibing. Her mother began to snap her fingers in support.

Get it, girl.

The Cold Perm cover shifted to one of Nick Brady's and Jasmine let loose. Standing up from her seated position, she kicked the piano bench to her rear with complete disregard. In a confident tenor, she matched the intensity of the late Nick Brady with spot-on inflections and pace. She then took her hands off the keys and ripped through a technically demanding verse. Firing explicit lyrics at speed, Jasmine felt a strength build within while she flew through the remaining bars. Curses and slurs were belted in confidence. She even flicked off the crowd. Her teachers and classmates had never heard or seen sweet Jasmine Lewis display such raw obscenity - neither had her mother.

Oh shit!

Jasmine returned to the piano to play her way through a makeshift bridge. When she reached the chorus, however, she fumbled. Familiar words from four different songs became jumbled in her throat as the deaths of each artist flashed in her mind. Tears then returned to her innocent eyes. Her words became softer, then silent. She crumpled to the ground, bawling in a heap of emotion. A painful air was suspended about the stage.

But in an instant, her mother sprung to her feetand began clapping as loud as her hands would allow. Fellow crowd membersjumped to joined into the ovation, and in a matter of moments the entireauditorium was shaking with applause. Jasmine picked her head up from hertear-drenched hands and scanned the audience. For a moment, she soaked in theadmiration until wave of embarrassment washed over the teenager. In a panic,she got to her feet and ran off the stage.