Alvarez recognized the pattern before he could name it. One Saturday at St. Matthew’s, she placed a simple Bach minuet in front of him and told him to play it as if no one would ever hear it. Eli frowned.
“What does that mean?” “It means no competition, no video, no scholarship panel, no imaginary people impressed or unimpressed. Just make the phrase honest.” He tried.
The first attempt was too loud. The second was cautious. On the third, something loosened. The room became only the room.
The phrase became only the phrase. When he finished, Mrs. Alvarez nodded once. “There,” she said.
“That boy can actually become a musician.” Spring brought the fellowship’s first studio recital. Each student would perform one piece in Hartwell’s small black-box hall for families, faculty, and other students. Eli was assigned Bach’s Invention No.
1 in C major after months of preparation. It was not flashy. Grant, who happened to study with another teacher in the same department, was playing a more dramatic Beethoven piece in a separate recital and made sure Eli knew it. For two days Eli considered asking Daniel for something harder.
Then he remembered the station. Not the adults. The second before his first note, when he had wanted only to know whether his hands still remembered. He decided to keep the Bach.
Sarah borrowed a dark blazer from Marcy’s son for the recital. It was slightly too wide in the shoulders, but Eli looked handsome enough that Sarah took six photos in the apartment before he complained. Mrs. Alvarez wore the same purple scarf from the audition.