Mommy doesn't know what to do with me anymore. Mommy always talks to Daddy about how quiet I am. Mommy thinks I need to pick up a h-o-b-b-y.
Hobby.
Mommy brought me to the big room in the big house. The room has white curtains that remind me of the clouds and a lot of windows that let me see the sky. In the center of the big room, is a big, black p-i-a-n-o.
Piano.
Mommy helps me onto the chair in front of the piano.
"This is yours, Christian. Mommy's really good friend is going to help you learn how to play it." Mommy presses one of the shiny, white buttons.
Beautiful.
I look at Mommy. Mommy is very pretty with her nice, blonde hair. She smells like flowers. She doesn't smell like my other mommy. She smells like summertime, and clean sheets, and shampoo; she does not smell like cigarettes, and bad drink, and dirt.
I close my eyes tight because Mommy and Daddy say it is not good for me to think of things like that. Mommy one time told Daddy she thought I have "PTSD", I do not know what that means but I know I do not have it.
The doorbell rings it's loud ring and Mommy leaves to go answer. She kisses my head and walks out of the big room. I hear Mommy's friend come through the front door.
"Evelyn! So happy to see you, and so happy to finally get the chance to spend some quality time with Christian!" Mommy's friend sounds excited to see me. I do not know why, I do not know her.
I look down at the piano and notice how some keys are white and some are black. Each one looks so perfect. They're beautiful, and clean, and shiny, and pearly. I lightly swipe my finger along one of the white keys. Smooth. I start to hear Mommy and her friend walk into the room so I put my hands right back under my bottom. I might break my new, perfect, beautiful toy if I touch it too much.
"Hello, Christian," smiles Mommy's friend. She's beautiful and looks like Mommy. Her hair is straight and silky and she smells like trees, "I'm your Mommy's friend and I'm going to teach you how to play piano."
I smile at her and nod my head. She reaches out her hand to me and I take it. Her hands are soft and squishy.
"My name is Elena. Elena Lincoln."
Mrs. Lincoln teaches me a lot and I like her. She shows me that it's okay to tap hard on the piano; she shows me that when I'm not afraid of breaking it how beautiful the music can be.
She's trying to teach me a song, He's Got the Whole World. I like it. It's very happy and not bad at all.
Ten years later.
"Christian. Get yourself together. I wasn't asking for your disrespect tonight, I was simply asking for you to perform the music you've spent months perfecting with Mrs. Lincoln," Mother says to me sharply. She's upset with many things today; my suspension from school for starting a fight with an asshole of a water polo player, my swollen and bruised face, and my objection to participating in our family's annual charity event.
"Mother. You've forced me from the beginning into play-," she cuts me off. I fucking hate when she does that.
"Christian you know as well as I do that I never forced this upon you. As a child, yes, I introduced you to the art. It has been your choice to continue your mastery of the instrument," she waves her pointer-finger at my face, pursing her lips together. I can tell I'm not going to get away with this one.
That's when I see Elena. She's beautiful, strong, my mother's best friend, my piano instructor, and my dominant.
"Ah! Evelyn, are you excited for tonight. I just know that Christian will do splendidly. He's perfected Beethoven's Midnight Sonata," Elena looks over at me and she smiles. She places her hand gently on my forearm and rubs it, comfortingly, up and down my right shoulder. She's the only one I allow to touch me; she'd lose it if I ever tried some of my emotionally damaged, fucked-up shit on her.
"Elena, Christian is acting out against performing tonight. Of course, he decided to go against playing as we are standing backstage and there are only two performers before his performance. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Elena. Clearly, his mother is not a motivating factor for him." Mother holds her head in the palm of her hands. I do not like seeing my mother act so weak, fragile, hurt.
"Christian, why did you not tell me? You cannot just pull out of this. You've worked so hard and practiced so much. You play beautifully," Elena is looking at me with her intense stare. Her voice sounds caring, sweet, pleading, even; but her glare tells me she is mad—I've seen that intensity before. I know it all too well.
"Evelyn, can I talk to Christian alone for a minute? You understand, don't you? A little piano instructor-student pep talk," Elena bats her eyelashes at my mother; she sounds genuinely concerned. She has my mother fooled. After she taught me how to play piano, I finally started to speak. My mother believes that Elena was the perfect therapist since she was such a good family friend that it must have been easier for me to open myself up to her.
Mother has no idea of the truth.
"Of course. I hope you can talk sense into him." Mother leaves the dressing room, lightly touching my shoulder as she exits. I flinch, the door shuts, and Elena and I are alone.
She throws me up against the wall, with every bit of force she has, "What the fuck are you thinking? Do you think you can actually get away with this shit? You don't get to act like a moody teenager, Christian. You don't get to act like a complete recluse. I have invested so much time into you. You will not make me a fool."
I stare at her stunned. She is the only woman who can talk to me like this. I feel myself become hard, hard for her, "I… I'm sorry Elena. I just wasn't in the best mood to-," she cuts me off and I react to being interrupted by her better than I did when my mother did the same. Again, Elena doesn't put up with it.
"There is no, 'I'm sorry, Elena,' bullshit. You will go out there and play the way I know you can. The way that I know you can play because I have practically raised you in this art. Do you understand me," she lowers her face closer to my lips. My legs have given out because I want her badly, "Excuse me, I said, do you understand, me?" She presses herself into my throbbing member.
"Yes, ma'am." And, that's it. I can't control myself anymore. I lean her up against the vanity across from us and take her right there…
I walk out onto the stage. It is just me, a piano, and a spotlight. The audience silences their murmurs. I know they see the bruises across my face from earlier today in the schoolyard. To them, this is my imperfection- my anger management issue and my tendency to cause trouble. But these fucking idiots don't know anything.
I make the mistake of looking into the spotlight in the distance. It blinds me and as I look away I see the colorful flakes spotting my vision; they disorient me and I have to take a minute to close my eyes before I sit down on the bench. I take a deep breath.
Slowly; solemnly; gracefully; Beethoven's Piano Sonata 14- the Midnight Sonata- carves its way into the cold air of the auditorium. I close my eyes and lose myself.
I am no longer Christian Grey when I play the piano. I am no longer Christian Grey because- now- I am peaceful. I am pure. I am perfect. I am not bad. I am not terrible. I am not troublesome. I am not reminded of my life. I am in a place of total solitude and serenity.
I am beautiful.