Page 54 of Bad Teammate
“You’re really good, Katerina,” I said, smiling. “And I’m an idiot. Sorry I laughed at you. That was rude.”
“Stop it.” She turned away from my gaze. “I told you, that piece is very easy to play.”
“You said you haven’t played in years. Why’d you quit?”
She frowned, staring at the keys. “Because it hurts too much.”
“Playing? Playing hurts?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“Growing up, we weren’t exactlypoor.” She paused to reflect, running her fingertips over the fallboard. “But we weren’t exactly comfortable, either. Our dad was a drunk who couldn’t keep a job and drank away the family’s money. Our mom, stressed beyond belief trying to hold everything together, was always sick. Things at home weren’t exactly reliable or stable.” She paused. “They’re both dead now.”
“Jesus.” I was stunned. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“What’s done is done, Derek. It’s all in the past.” She let out an exhale. “Anyway. Ever since I was two years old, I knew I wanted to be a piano player. When other boys and girls my age wanted to play outside, I wantedto be inside playing. Ifinallygot my mom to enroll me in lessons at five. I had my first recital at six and won my first competition when I was seven. Once I’d learned a piece, I became obsessed withmasteringit. And once I’d done that, I had to move on and throw myself into the next piece I wanted to learn.”
I smiled. I could just picture her as a bookish, piano-obsessed girl. I knew she had to have been cute as hell.
“But little Sasha started to grow up. Like me, my baby brother wanted to spend all his free time on a single hobby—hockey, of course. He always had a stick in his hand.” She smiled. “But hockey isn’t like music—it’s much more expensive, and requires a lot more travel, especially to play at Sasha’s level.”
I bit my lip. I was afraid I could see where this was going.
“Sasha stood out from an early age, just like I did. He started getting attention from the Russian hockey scouts when he was eight, nine years old. They pleaded with my parents to get him enrolled in camps, and compete in tournaments all over Russia, all year round, before it was too late. Of course, I had myownlessons, camps, and competitions. Our family was being pulled in two directions: piano and hockey. For a time, my parents tried to manage both. But my dad’s alcoholism was getting worse—he couldn’t quit drinking, even when the doctors told him he had cirrhosis and was going to die a long and miserable death. My mom didn’t have the time, the money,northe health, to support Sasha and me both. Really, it’s a miracle Sasha has made it as far as he has, considering our story.”
A knot swelled in my throat. “Katerina …”
“When I was fourteen, my parents sat me down and told me they couldn’t afford my lessons anymore.”
“Fuck that,” I snarled, my fists balled.
“I don’t blame them, Derek. They had all these famous coaches and former players coming to the house to tell them that Sasha had a bright hockey career, that he was going to be a star in America and make the family lots of money if we dedicated all of our resources to him. And look—they were exactly right. On the other hand, what was myfuture as a pianist? I could become a concert pianist, sure. But I wouldn’t make anywhere near the money Sasha makes. It was an easy decision for them to make.”
“But it was your passion,” I said. “Your parents didn’t have to make youstop playing entirely.”
“They didn’t do that.”
“Then why haven’t you played in years …?”
“It’s hard to explain.” She took a deep breath. “At first, I told myself it didn’t matter if I took lessons or not—I was determined to continue practicing every day, as if nothing had changed. I told myself that, as long as I kept applying myself, I didn’t need a teacher—I could teach myself. Of course, since we were on the road more and more often for Sasha’s hockey, that became harder to do. Missing a day of practice used tokillme inside. But it started becoming much more frequent. Soon, skipping a day or two of practice didn’t feel like a dagger in my heart—actually, it started to feel normal. But whenever I came back to the piano, I could feel my skills eroding. I wasn’t as sharp. Every time I sat down to play, I wasn’t advancing; I was playing catch-up. That made it harder to be motivated; I grew frustrated. The days of not practicing began to pile up. Frustration turned to apathy. What was the point of mastering a song that no one would hear, anyway? I started looking to spend my time elsewhere. I was sixteen years old when I finally tried being a normal girl. I made friends, I hung out with them. I tried dating boys. None of it clicked in my head like music did. I felt like a stranger in everything I did.”
I felt so rotten for her. I couldn’t imagine how fucked I’d be if someone had taken hockey away from me at that age. I don’t even know what I would’ve done.
“You lost your purpose, Katerina. You had it taken away from you.”
“Maybe.” She gave me a somber smile. “That’s why, sometimes, I get a little bitter about Sasha’s success.” She shook her head. “I hate myself for it, because I love my brother so, so much. We’ve been through so much together. And I’m so happy for him—but it’s just so hard to see. I can’t help but wonder how my life could’ve gone if things were different.”
“You’re a better person than I am, Katerina. If I were in your shoes, I don’t know if I’d be able to talk to him again.”
“You would. Because he’s family. And that’s what is most important.” She smiled at me. “Thank you for listening, Derek. Believe it or not, I’ve never told anyone that story.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Holy shit.” I didn’t know what to say. “I’m honored, then. Thank you for sharing.” I looked at the piano and shook my head. “Your playing was lovely. I’m sorry I doubted you. I feel like such an ass.”
