Mama pulled into the driveway, and in ten minutes I was in my room. I was exhausted. My bed called my name, but I found myself sitting at my electric piano. The sheet of music Cromwell had amended was on the stand. I plugged in my headphones and placed my hands on the keys. And just as I’d been doing all week, I followed the messily drawn notes. And just as with every time, my chest filled with the most amazing feeling of beauty. My hands danced over the keys as if they had no other choice but to put sound to the pen marks Cromwell had so easily jotted down.
