Page 184 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
“Who’s gonna break it to him that he’s not a rapper?” Sean muttered when Auden stepped onto the stage at Concert Hall with all the swagger of a fourteen-year-old virtuoso.
My mom smiled. “He can be anything he wants to be.”
All the students in the orchestra wore sharp suits or dresses and there was my son looking like a vagabond.
Auden always wore the baggiest hoodies and the widest, baggiest jeans, and this evening was no exception. He’d painted Studio Ghibli anime characters on his jeans with fabric markers.
He was wearing his Timberlands, too. Laces undone, of course. And a smile.
My genes must have been taking a nap. Auden looked so much like Gabriel it was ridiculous.
He slid onto the piano bench behind the glossy black Steinway and closed his eyes. When the LaGuardiaPhilharmonic Orchestra started playing, Auden put his fingers on the keys and created magic.
What a gift.
When Auden was three years old, he sat down at the piano and started playing. Not just plunking the keys. He played the song Gabriel wrote for him, the one he sang to him every night before he was even born.
By six, our child prodigy was playing Chopin.
Now he was playing Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in the spring concert at LaGuardia where he was currently a freshman.
Auden played with so much intensity and passion that he threw his entire body into it. He looked like he was having a religious experience.
The music was emotional, intense, a perfect storm, and so technically demanding that Auden’s fingers flew across the keys at lightning speed without a pause.
I had no idea how he did it.
Gabriel reached for my hand and squeezed it. We shared a smile that said,Isn’t our son a wonder? Funny and loving and goofy, and he can play likethis?
Gabriel didn’t let go of my hand until the dramatic finale when the concerto hurtled to a heart-thudding climax, and then he was on his feet, wolf whistling and clapping louder than anyone else in the audience.
Auden took a bow and raised his arms, clapping for the orchestra and the conductor. So confident. So cool. With an incredible talent.
Our son was a musical genius. But he was still a kid.
He rode his skateboard in the house, left his wet towels on the floor, played too many video games, and was always hungry. Always.
After the concert, Auden met us out front.
“Hey, Grandma, hey, Grandpa.” He gave them big hugs. “Love you. Thanks for coming.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” my mom said. “You were extraordinary.”
Sean beamed with pride and nodded in agreement.
Auden shrugged one thin shoulder. “Wasn’t my best performance but I was okay. The orchestra blew me away though.”
Sean and Gabriel exchanged a look, a shake of the head, a raise of the brows.Can you believe this kid calling himselfokaywhen he’s clearly exceptional?
I doubt that Auden missed a single note, but even if he had, he wouldn’t beat himself up over it.
We weren’t the kind of parents who pressured him. We didn’t want him to miss out on his childhood or get burned out at such a young age. If Auden wanted to play the piano, it was entirely his choice.
His dreams were all his own. Gabriel and I were already living ours.
We were more focused on raising him to be kind and caring so that one day he would be a good man, and we always endeavored to give him a well-rounded, normal life.
Or as normal as it could be when you were Gabriel Francis’ son.
