NOVEMBER 14TH, 1980

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Her fingers barely touched the keys to produce a note. The room was silent except for the beautiful sound that rang in my ears. If the town could hear this, they would be waiting outside my house with a paper and pen.
My grandmother was focused on the sheet music in front of her. She knew where the keys were and which finger would hit it. I've always thought she was magical, but then one day she tells me,
"You'll be playing like this too when you're older."

She played the song over and over again. It was now a part of me. I would never get sick of Clair de Lune. Grandmother Cora beckoned me to sit on her lap and I joyfully bounce up. She places her hands over mine.
"Follow my fingers," she said into my ear. My tiny hands glide with hers, and I'm playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star . . .