52 Samantha Manlove – The Keys 

Samantha Manlove is a junior at IU East, majoring in Psychology and minoring in Creative Writing.  This is a short story she wrote for her writing fiction class in the Spring 2023 semester.  Professor Tanya Perkins notes, “Samantha fully embraced the process of deep revision in this piece, pushing herself to take creative risks in shaping a character who is quite different from those she has worked with before. I applaud her for going out of her comfort zone, applying the ideas we talked about in class and producing a short story is both complex and moving.”

The Keys 

In a world of moving boxes and switching schools each year, the piano keys had become my saving grace, my true companion. It didn’t leave or grow tired of my quietness. In fact, it embraced my ideas and turned them into music that expressed the feelings I couldn’t begin to articulate. It was the only thing that was completely mine. And tonight, I had a chance to make it my entire world. I wouldn’t let anyone ruin it for me, especially not my impatient mother.

“Elena! Get down here mi hija!” she yelled from the family restaurant below our apartment. Breaking out of my concentration, I slammed my hands against the keys, frustrated she wouldn’t let me finish practicing. Yet I wouldn’t challenge her too much. Last time I made her wait, she stomped up the stairs and pulled me down to the kitchen by my ear.

“I’m coming!”

Grabbing my music sheet off the stand, I turned from my keyboard and stubbed my toe on my wooden bedpost. Vulgar words that would’ve shocked my parents flew from my mouth. The sheet music fell onto the grey carpet as I moved to clutch my foot. I sighed and glanced at the red and white calendar pinned to my wall, focusing on the bolded words: Manhattan School of Music. In my head, those words were synonymous with the word ‘freedom.’

A recruiter was coming to town to scout talent for the upcoming school year. The music teacher at my high school, Miss Walker, had been bold enough to invite him to our annual recital on my behalf. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to play on a stage in front of people. Up until freshman year, nobody ever heard my music except my parents. But Miss Walker had stumbled upon one of my secret sessions during lunch.

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to play on the grand piano as it sat all alone in that dark classroom. The glossy keys caught the sunlight from the windows, beckoning me forward, begging me to hear the acoustics. Somehow, it all felt right once I’d sat on that bench and lost myself in a way where I never wanted to be found.

“Elena, that was beautiful!” Miss Walker had said from the doorway. “Your song really touched my heart. Did you compose it yourself?”

It was the first compliment I’d ever received for my talents. And what did I do? I ran out of the classroom red-faced, hoping she would forget about it. But Miss Walker carefully approached me the next day and offered to give me private lessons if I wanted.

She’d thrown me a raft amid a sea of restaurant responsibilities and parental expectations. At first, my parents were hesitant.

“You waste enough time on your keyboard,” Mom said.

“It’s a hobby mi hija,” Dad added. “Not your future.”

But after promising to keep my grades up and skipping every school dance to help at the restaurant, they obliged. We were granted two sessions a week. Two great big gulps of fresh air.

A year of hard work sharpened my skills, but the encouraging words from Miss Walker are what turned me into a different person. Gone was the girl who almost failed speech class because she got sick in the bathroom each day she needed to present. I’d become someone who wanted to be recognized for her talents; whatever opportunity I could grasp to escape my cramped bedroom and create a new life for myself halfway across the country.

I carefully placed the sheet music in a folder and packed my floral backpack before hurrying out the door. The scent of roasted beef overwhelmed me. I curiously walked down the stairs and through one of the storage rooms to find my mom and Johnny, one of the restaurant employees, hard at work in the kitchen.

“Menudo for breakfast again?” I asked, eyeing the spread of ingredients on the counter— potatoes, rosemary, onions, Guajillo sauce.

Johnny waved before moving to check on the beef in the oven. Mom stood at the counter, chopping onions and wiping away tears on her sleeve. “It’s not for us,” she said. “Your dad needs to get this order to the other side of town in two hours. Now grab a knife and cut the potatoes please.”

Although I wore a white buttoned up shirt, I set down my things and did as she asked. Getting an order prepared and driven through the Chicago traffic within two hours would be a miracle, so she needed all the help she could get. I diced the potatoes while she started tossing things into a pot. Johnny left to meet the delivery guy at the door, leaving us alone.

“Will you and Dad be at my recital tonight?” I asked, eyes glued to the potatoes.

She measured some water before pouring it into the pot. “We have too many orders to prepare, mi hija. I’m sorry, but we’ll go to the next one.”

Except there wouldn’t be a next one. Not unless they wanted to buy a plane ticket.

My parents inherited the restaurant after my grandpa passed away two years ago. It was their saving grace after years of financial problems, and they expected it to be mine too. But the thought of chopping cilantro and onions for the rest of my life made me want to scream.

I breathed deeply before continuing, “The piece I’m playing isn’t more than a few minutes. I could text you the exact time I’m going on so you wouldn’t have to sit through all the performers.”

“Not today.”

Her words stung badly, yet I didn’t allow any tears to fall until I was walking to the bus stop. It felt safest to cry amongst the streets of Chicago where nobody would bother me or ask if I was okay. People minded their business, and I could be just another fish swimming down a stream.

My mood didn’t improve during the bus ride to school or at any of my morning classes. Only when I sat in front of the grand piano in the music room at lunch did my spirits rise again. It was the most beautiful instrument I’d ever seen, and each tuned key made angels sound when played. I practiced my original piece ardently, losing myself in the song, the rich emotions and powerful melody. It told the story of a young girl who never had a place to call home, who couldn’t make friends at school because she knew she wouldn’t be around for very long.

Ten minutes after I’d started, the door swung open and Skylar, the closest friend I’d ever made, bounced into the room with a pink gift bag. Dark red curls hung around her smiling face as she held it out for me. “There you are! I got you a little good luck charm for tonight.”

I dropped my hands from the piano, shocked to see her away from her friends. We started talking shortly before Miss Walker took me under her wing because we were paired together to work on a science project. Usually, this scenario ended with me doing all the work and the other person putting their name on it. But Skylar wanted to help, wanted to talk to me. We even worked together after school a few times, and continued getting together after the assignment was turned in. Our friendship became something personal between us.

I gazed into her blue eyes, my heart swelling from the gesture. She was the only other person excited for the opportunity I had laid in front of me. Her encouragement meant the world to me. “Thank you.”

I took the bag, pulling out a homemade card and beaded bracelet. The card had music notes all over it and a message that read: If you get nervous, I hope you can look toward the audience and see my smiling face. The bracelet displayed all the colors of the rainbow, and her name was spelled out. She held out her arm to show a similar one on her wrist that had my name.

“Isn’t it adorable? I saw someone make bracelets like this on Instagram and thought it could be our way of feeling like we’re still together, even when we’re at different schools.” She poked my nose playfully and began walking around the room, glancing curiously at the other instruments.

Skylar was a tennis player, so she didn’t ever spend time in this room. We usually spent lunch away from each other since I wanted to practice, and she had other jock friends she wanted to hang out with. She’d tried to pull me into their friend group once, but it didn’t end well. I was too quiet, and everyone assumed I hated them because of it, while I formed my own assumptions that they were making fun of me all the time. I didn’t mind being alone, but Skylar sometimes thought I was too lonely and could use another face to talk to.

She didn’t realize how content I was with her company.

“Which school is it that you’re trying to get into?” she asked as she picked up a trumpet and stared into the bell. “Is it Merit? I heard they have a great program, and it’s not too far away from DePaul where I’ll be. We could probably ride the train together for part of the way.”

I slipped the bracelet around my wrist and stared at the colors—red, purple, blue, green— anything to get myself to calm down. I hadn’t wanted to tell her where the school was yet, not until I was sure to get in. Manhattan School of Music only had a 42% acceptance rate, which meant it was unlikely for me to get in. I wouldn’t believe it unless it were true, and there hadn’t been reason to create a fuss.

But I couldn’t lie to Skylar. She would know it right away.
“The school’s in New York,” I mumbled, turning the bracelet around my wrist.

“What did you say?”

“It’s the Manhattan School of Music.”

Skylar chuckled. “Manhattan? But that’s in New York. That’s ridiculous.”

“But it’s true. I want to go there more than anything.”

The trumpet thudded as Skylar set it back on the shelf. “Oh” was all she said, turning to face me again. Her eyes spoke for her, giving away the hurt she felt, the betrayal that I hadn’t mentioned this sooner. “That’s great,” she said, voice cracking. She exhaled loudly and crossed her arms. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to your plans. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

And before I could say anything, she was out the door.

We didn’t speak or text for the rest of the day. Skylar hung out with her tennis friends while I hid away in the music room any chance I could get to practice. My fingers began to move beneath my desk during lectures, trying to grab hold of that muscle memory. Tonight was my only chance to make something of myself, and I wouldn’t let Miss Walker’s efforts go to waste.

At the end of the school day, my phone began to buzz in my pocket as I was packing my backpack. I answered quickly after reading the caller ID. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

“We’re slammed at the restaurant,” my mom’s voice said on the other side of the line. “And it’s not even dinner time yet. We need you to come back and help us.”

My body tensed. “But the recital is tonight.”

“I know,” she said, voice agitated. “You might be a little late, but we’ll get you back before it’s over.”

“I can’t be late. This is huge for me—”

“We can’t afford to lose customers. This is your future we’re trying to ensure, sweetie. When you’re older, you’ll understand that sometimes we must set aside our hobbies to do what’s responsible. I promise it’s for the best.”

My heart pounding, palms sweating, I shook my head. “No. Just because you gave up your dreams doesn’t mean I need to give up mine.” Then I hung up.

Disbelief took over me at what I’d just done, yet I’d never felt more empowered. I wanted to text Skylar and tell her all about it—she would’ve been proud—but remembered our earlier conversation.

With nowhere to go, I went to the dressing room and listened to my piece repeatedly until it was almost time to perform. All the other music club students chattered away in the waiting room where they could watch the performance on TV. I kept to myself, earbuds in so I could focus, ignoring the fact that I was alone.

A soft knock sounded at the door. I turned off my music and looked up to see Skylar come in. She’d changed into a blouse and skirt, the same outfit she’d worn on the first day of school. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said, standing.

She remained by the door, her head hung low. “Sorry about the way I reacted earlier today. I should’ve been more supportive.”

“I should’ve told you it was in New York sooner.”

Skylar smiled shyly and drew closer to me. “I guess my reaction explains why you were so afraid to tell me.” Her eyes fell to my wrist where the bracelet she gave me was. She began to fiddle with the one she was wearing. “Do your parents know?”

I shook my head. “They wouldn’t want me to leave, so I’m going to wait until I’m eighteen next month to tell them. Then they can’t stop me from going if I get accepted.”

“They aren’t the only ones who want to stop you.” At the sight of my hurt expression, she shrugged. “It’s New York City, Elena. Did you have to pick the farthest place you could find? Aren’t you scared to be far away from everyone?”

“This is my dream. Anything is worth it.” For the first time, I stared at Skylar straight on. “And I don’t like the way you’re underestimating me. I might not seem capable of surviving on my own, but I know I can do this.”

“I thought piano was just a hobby. I guess I didn’t realize how serious you are.”

Tears welled in the back of my eyes, causing me to blink quickly. “Of course you would say that. Sorry I didn’t pick a sport like you and everyone else at this school.”

“Elena—”

“No, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk like my parents do. I’m not giving this up.”

Alarm flashed across her features, but she quickly turned it into concern. “I’m not saying that. I’m only worrying about you being alone.”

“Don’t pretend to care about that now. I would be fine by myself. I’ve spent most of my life feeling that way. At least I’d be doing it on my own terms.”

She raised her brows, taken aback. “Do you still feel that way? Lonely?”

“Yes,” I forced out. “I’m the person you hang out with when you’re tired of your tennis friends.” It was only partly true—I knew our friendship had meaning. But I also knew it to be somewhat true, and it hurt to admit it. “I’m okay with that, really. We’ve had some good times that I will always remember.”

“You’re speaking like our friendship is over.”

“I—just—” Words escaped me for a moment. I ripped out my earbuds, put them in my backpack, and grabbed my sheet music. “Tonight, I need do my best or else I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life. You need to understand what this means to me.” Her face softened, but I didn’t back down. “Now I need to go out there because I’m probably on soon.”

I moved to walked past her to the door, but stopped when she said, “Can I ask one more question?”

A voice in the back of my head told me to keep walking, that whatever it was, I didn’t need to hear it. Yet I was curious. “What?”

“Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t my intention to make you question our friendship?” There was a sheen in her blue eyes. She released a nervous laugh before continuing, voice shaking. “Does it change anything to say that I haven’t been completely honest about the way I feel towards you?”

For reasons I couldn’t explain, it suddenly felt like I’d been the one who was betrayed. My heart was heavy in my chest, and I had to take a deep breath to calm myself down. “That’s not fair, Skylar,” I said, yet I couldn’t walk away—not yet. I took a few silent moments to gather my thoughts, but nothing made enough sense to say out loud. “Can we talk later? Please? I need to know you have my back tonight.”

“I could never leave you, Elena. Not really,” she said, defeated. “I’ll meet you in the hall by the cafeteria after you’re done.”

“Thank you,” I said before continuing out the door, leaving all that fell between us behind.

A stage director ushered me toward the right side of the stage, and I walked out in front of the bright lights to a roar of applause. I had to focus on my steps to ensure I didn’t fall in my heels in front of everyone. I placed my sheet music on the stand and settled myself on the bench in front of the piano. The white keys had never looked so shiny before. I ran my hand across them, easing the nerves that were shooting up and down my limbs.

When all had quieted throughout the auditorium, I began to play, allowing the music to whisk me somewhere far away from here. Nothing existed except the song. I didn’t care that my friends and family didn’t support me, or that a recruiter was out in the audience judging every single note. Tonight, I played for myself, for the kids who dreamt of endless possibilities and weren’t afraid to tackle them alone, who wouldn’t let anyone get in their way.

Tonight, I played for the freedom I sought for myself.

My performance ended in a standing ovation, and I couldn’t contain the tears that flowed down my cheeks. Finally, I found people who didn’t know me, yet understood me for who I was. I felt proud of myself for the first time in my life.

Once I’d exited the stage, I practically ran to the cafeteria doors to tell the first person I thought of. Skylar stood with her back towards me but turned at the sound of my heels. Ribbons of mascara streamed down her skin, and she flashed a smile that felt like it was made just for me. We embraced each other tightly and she kept mumbling apologies in my ear.

“What are you sorry for?” I asked once we separated.

“Everything. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how talented you are sooner. I’m sorry I haven’t been supportive or a very good friend. But when I saw you up there,” she wiped her runny nose on her sleeve, “I could feel everything you were feeling. I knew there was nothing more important to you than your music.”

I grabbed her hand, pulling it close to me. “I wouldn’t say nothing.”

We locked our eyes and words passed that didn’t need to be said. It became clear that even if I got into the Manhattan School of Music, we wouldn’t let it tear us apart. We would make it work. We would make anything work. The keys would always be there for me, and now, I found somebody else that would be too.