Sixteen

She made the piano weep. Pretty melodramatic of me, I know. Ever since the day I heard her play Pathetique, second movement in A flat minor, certain things inside me began to move, to change. All because of her crooked little, freckle spotted, chewed nailed hands that coaxed my mother's piano to make noises I'd never heard of in my life.

I'd been chasing a ball tossed by Jack...

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