The end, when it arrived, proved both timely and apt. Not only had I learned everything Mr. Martin had to offer, but I was sick of it all—the practice, the repertoire, the discipline, and the ennui of eighty-eight keys. By the time I turned sixteen, I began looking for an excuse to quit, a way out that would not break my mothers heart. The truth is that while I am a very good pianist, great even, I was never sublime. Yes, by far the best in our remote hamlet, no doubt our er of the state, maybe the best from border to border, but beyond that, no. I lacked the passion, the ing fire, to be a world-class pianist. Looking forward, the alternative was dreadful. To end up like old Mr. Martin himself, teag others after a sed-rate career? I would rather play in a bordello.
Over breakfast one m, I opened with this gambit: "Mom, I dont think Im going to get aer."
"Better than what?" she asked, whipping eggs.
"At the piano, at music. I think its as far as I go."
She poured the mess into a skillet, the eggs sizzling as they hit butter and hot iron, and said nothing while she stirred. She served me a plate of eggs and toast, and I ate them in silence. Coffee cup in hand, she sat across the table from me. "Henry," she said softly, wanting my attention. "Do you remember the day when you were a little boy and ran away from home?"
I did not, but I nodded in the affirmative between bites.
"It was a bright day and hot, hotter than Hades. I wanted a bath to cool off. The heats ohing I t get used to. And I asked you to mind Mary and Elizabeth, and you disappeared into the forest. Do you remember that?"
There was no way I could remember, but I nodded my head as I swallowed the last slug e juice.
"I put the girls to bed and came back down, but you were gone." Her eyes welled up as she reted the experience. "We looked over hill and yon but couldnt find you. As the day wore on, I called your father to e home, and theelephohe polid the firemen, and we were all looking for you for hours, calling out your o the night." She looked past me, as if reliving the experien her minds eye.
"Any mgs, Mom?"
She waved her spoon toward the stove, and I helped myself. "When it grew dark, I grew afraid for you. Who knows what lives out in that forest? I knew a woman on Donegal whose baby was stolen from her. Shed go to pick blackberries a her child sleeping on a bla on a bright summer day, and when she came back, the baby was gone, and they never did find it, poor thing, not a trace. All that remained was an impressio on the grass."
I peppered my eggs and dug in.
"I thought of you lost and wanting your mother, and I couldo you, and I prayed to God that youd e home. When they found you, it was like a sed ce. Quitting would be throwing away your sed ce, yod-given gift. Its a blessing and you should use your talent."
"Late for school." I mopped the plate with a heel of bread, kissed the top of her head, aed. Before I made it down the front steps, I regretted not being more forceful. Most of my life has been ruled by indecision, and I am grateful when fate intercedes, relieving me from choid responsibility for my as.
By the time of the winter recital that year, just the sight and sound of the piano made my stomach . I could not disappoint my parents by quitting Mr. Martin altogether, so I pretehat all was well. We arrived early, at the cert hall, and I left my family at the door to find their s