“4Malyshka,I wish I had good news,“ she says. “With your parents gone, the bank took the house, and…”
I turn to the side, looking at the window with gray stripes for curtains, watching how the world outside just continues. Rays of sunshine reach my face, making my eyes close again.
“There is something else…” she hesitates. “Please, say something,” she whispers, coming closer.
My heart is beating a little too fast. I can hear every beat in my ears, and the sound pulls me back to when I was just six years old.
It was a bright day, just like this one. It was the middle of the Cold War, and a Russian teacher arriving in San Francisco was something people whispered about. All those whispers eventually reachedthe San Francisco Conservatory of Music.
My school teacher sent them a letter about a young piano prodigy who had a bright future and needed a good tutor to guide her. That was how it all started.
My parents were nervous at first. Russia was still the enemy on the evening news, and money was something they didn’t have. Not enough to afford a school like that or a private teacher. But they were reassured that Dasha was the best teacher I could ever have and that I would receive a scholarship.
I remember that my mom made me wear a white dress with a black ribbon around my neck. She put my hair into a ponytail and tied it with a matching ribbon. My black shoes were too tight, just like that year was for my parents. They were struggling, and I was their only hope.
And the school was right. My future was bright.
My father was so proud. He couldn’t stop talking to his friends about me. About how a blue-collar man had a daughter who was the best piano prodigy San Francisco had ever seen. Soon enough we were living in a new house, surrounded by new friends, and my parents started new jobs that made them almost disappear from my life.
So Dasha became one of the people I knew best. Every time I was alone, or when no one came to pick me up, she would show up with strawberry ice cream and stay with me until someone eventually remembered, always a moment too late, that they had forgotten.
I open my eyes, and I’m back in the hospital. Dasha is sitting in front of me, holding my hand. I sniff, wiping my tears that keep running by themselves.
She swallows a lump in her throat and says, “This will be hard to hear.”
I turn my face toward her.
What can be harder than losing my whole family?
“Some of the nerves in your right hand were damaged in the accident. You may still be able to play, but it won’t be the same. It will hurt.”
I press a hand on my chest. My breathing becomes shallow, and my mouth opens, but no air comes into my lungs. I look at Dasha. Her lips are moving, but I hear nothing.
I know playing won’t be possible anymore, not like before.
“I...” I try to say.
It all comes to me at once. And as Dasha pulls me into her arms to hug me, I scream into her shoulder, my mouth opening as the sound tears out of me. I lost my mom. I lost my dad. I lost Daniel. My chest shakes. My heart doesn’t beat faster. It slows as tears pour out of me.
One of the nurses comes to the door, and when she sees us, she simply turns around and leaves.
I look at my hand. It doesn’t make sense. My fingers move. Everything feels normal, but when I lift my hand and curve my fingers, pain shoots through it.
For the first time since I was six years old, I didn’t know who I was without a piano in front of me. My parents had a dream, and with them gone this is all I had left. But even that now feels like it’s gone with them.
“It will be okay,5malyshka.”
But it won’t be.
My whole life I saw everything through rose coloured glasses, thinking everything would work itself out. But now, for the first time, I see the world as it is. Black and white.
1. Girl
2. You’re an empty space.
3. Little one
4. Little one
