Play my heart

Chapter VIII

It's barely the start of November, but the world has apparently decided it's not too early for some snow. Darren scowls at the snowflakes falling around from the inside of the competition's precinct, rubbing his gloved hands together to keep them warm. The whole group is there, under the promise of a celebratory dinner after Darren wins, like that's inevitable.

Dawn takes his beige coat from him before he goes backstage to get ready. Connor and Caesar ruffle his hair and wish him luck, Adryan gives him a fist bump and a look, and then they're gone.

An hour later Darren steps onto the stage and bows before sitting in front of the piano. He forgets every note as soon as he plays them, and gets up after twenty minutes with no idea of what he just did. He catches a glimpse of some of the judges smiling at him and clapping along the public, but he can'thear them.

The rush of adrenaline only hits him once he's backstage again, and his hands shake uncontrollably as he foregoes getting changed in favor of running out of the concert hall. There's a buzzing in his ears, and his stomach twists and turns non-stop.

Dawn and the others meet him outside the concert hall, already telling him to stay and wait for the results. Darren doesn't hear a word.

"I have to go," he breathes out.

"What? Where?"

He can't get his feet to stop moving. For a moment, he's sure staying there a minute longer will kill him.

"I have to go. Get dinner without me, see you guys tomorrow!"

Just like that, he's out of the building before his friends can utter a word. He hears the faint calling of his name behind his back, but doesn't turn around.

Running on the frozen streets is tricky, but not running doesn't feel like an option. Darren rushes through the city, blind to the funny looks people shoot at him, deaf to the complaints of those he almost runs over. The cold air burns its way from his mouth to his lungs, bites at his face and his neck, makes his nose and his fingers go numb. He almost trips more than once.

His mind is set on one thing and one thing only. It's only a few blocks more, he thinks to himself, just a few more minutes. What if he doesn't make it? What if they're all gone already? Is he too late?

The fairy-lights dangling from the trees go blurry around him, mixture of white, blue and golden. He quickens his pace, pushing the boundaries of his slow musician's body. Come on, come on. One street more. He's gonna make it, he has to.

In the distance, a colorful sign calls him. He skids on the frosted pavement, barely manages to stay upright.

He's there.

In front of him stands a tiny Christmas town in all its splendor. A crowd gathers in an open space; a hundred coats and gloves and scarves and white puffs of air with every breath. Red and green pennants dangle from one lamppost to the other, tangled with twinkling lights. At the back of it all, a small stage rises proud, complete with blue curtains and a clumsy painting of a landscape.

Darren arrives just as the crowd bursts into applause, on time to see a group of twenty or thirty children scattered on the stage, running to sit at the back of it. They wear several layers of clothing under their costumes, some fairies, some elves, some trees. Out of breath, legs pained and hands freezing, Darren scans over the crowd until his eyes land on the corner of the stage.

The black piano is adorned with golden tinsel, and before it sits the proud figure of a brown haired boy.

A smile breaks through Darren's face, pulling his numb cheeks so suddenly it hurts. Relief washes over him (I made it, I made it) as he allows himself a second to regain his breath. He doubles over and rests his hands on his knees, exhaustion weighing on every muscle of his body.

The crowd starts chanting something, and it takes him a moment to decipher their words.

"Play something!"

He looks up and finds Lee Jung standing with his back to the piano, bowing for the public. There's no way of being sure from this distance, but Darren has the feeling he's smiling. The people's asking for an encore. His own smile grows bigger, and he soon joins the chanting.

"Play something! Play something!"

Lee finally gives in, bowing again and sitting on the piano stool once more. Darren claps along with the rest of the people, then waits with wide eyes for the pianist to start.

Long fingers press down the first notes and the whole world falls under a spell.

Chopin's Mazurkas are known for having a special kind of technical difficulty. They're meant to be played with great spontaneity, as if the interpreter was just discovering the notes as he's playing them. Light and unassuming, they need precision and care and then something else, something few pianists stumble upon by chance after years of practice.

Lee Jung plays the first page like it's a surprise even for himself, like he hadn't known what he was playing until well into the piece. Darren strains to see him better, and catches a glimpse of a delighted smile as Lee's hands produce the next few sounds on a whim.

He makes light as effortlessly as he makes music. Sparks of pink and orange and gold go flying with every note, scurrying through his fingers and floating around the piano, hovering above people's heads. It's like a chorus of flowers laughing—just a minute ago, flowers seemed like a vague idea in the stark cold of November, but now they're here, dancing with the falling snowflakes like they're not complete opposites.

Darren finds himself unable to draw a breath, to close his mouth, to drag his eyes away from the scene. Realizing why Lee Jung kept beating him in piano competitions doesn't weigh half as much as he had expected—it's everything but disappointing, despite what he had imagined. It only makes sense, he reckons. Lee's playing is honest, innocent, like he never got past the wonder of a child first touching an instrument, eyes wide and hands free. It lacks the pretentiousness of someone who knows themselves to be good, as well as the uncertainty of someone who doesn't. It just happens, a bit like an accident and a bit like a given.

The piece only lasts four minutes, but it seems to have changed the world once it's over.

After some blinking, Darren joins the clapping multitude, their mirth truly contagious. Lee stands and bows one last time, along the children of the orphanage. A lady with a microphone thanks everyone for coming and reminds them to make their donations. As some of the people start dispersing, Darren makes his way to the corner of the place before heading towards the stage.