I was sitting in the doctor's waiting room. I was five years old. Some Godawful Muzak was playing in the background and I'd been whining to my mom about it for the longest five minutes of my life so far.

"Just let me leave the room until the doctor's ready!" I begged.

"No!"

"That's not fair!"

"Life's not fair Adelaide!" I knew it was serious when she used my full name instead of my nickname, Delia. Now I was determined to just to block out the music. I concentrated on the little techno beats playing something resembling "Come Fly With Me" and I hated it. My eyebrows are knit together in deep concentration and my ivy-colored eyes are covered almost completely by my squinted eyelids. Must not hear music, I think determined.

And it stopped. Everyone around me faltered in what they're doing, completely confused. The music was fairly loud and the silence was obvious.

"That's odd," I heard the nervous receptionist say.

"Adelaide Adams!" yelled the peppy doctor, completely unaware of the confusion in the room. My mother dragged me away.

--

Later that day, I wanted to experiment with this again. I turned on my radio and the 80s' music blared through the speakers. I concentrated on the upbeat song, I was eager to test what had happened earlier. I didn't think about anything else but the music and blocking it out. Suddenly, it came to an abrupt halt. A huge smile broke out across my face. I turned it on again, turned it off, turned it on, again and again until my mom called me for dinner. Even though I was five, I still knew that I had to keep this a secret, so I lowered my thousand watt smile to a smirk as I swallowed the macaroni.

--

The first time I manipulated music I was twelve. My mom was listening to her John Cougar Melancamp CD and "Jack and Diane" was blaring. It was catchy, but I wanted to change a little something. I wanted it to be slower, and for some reason the pace bugged me so much I was praying that it would be slower. Somehow, that little muscle I'd been building for years to stop music, slowed this down. Most odd of all, his voice didn't go deeper, it all blended perfectly. So perfectly it took my mom twenty seconds to notice a change.

"Delia, does the song sound different to you?"

"No," I answer as calmly as possible in the current situation.

"Oh," my mom bit her lip, possibly questioning her sanity.

I smiled.

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