A Standing Ovation

Kristóf sat at the far left of the front row of red seats in the auditorium. He nervously shifted as his head teacher, standing on stage, proudly introduced the prodigious talent embodied in Kristóf Benedek, the eighteen year old hailing from Hatvan, able to play the most beautiful piano concertos ever composed, blinding the audience this evening with his rousing rendition of Claude Debussy's beautiful masterpiece 'Clair de Lune'.

Kris tried to ignore the pressure being piled onto him. The end of year school variety show was a formality, but he was still nervous nevertheless. He had asked his music teacher to record his performance: Kris knew that he needed to perform at his best if he was to be noticed by the music college he wanted to get into. He tried to calm himself down, thinking back to his past; to less nerve-racking times.

~

Kris sat on a field in the countryside between Hatvan and Salgotarjan. Nearby, a railway stretched on and on for miles. Rolling, green hills reflected the sunshine brilliantly, outlined by darker hedgerows and dark tarmac roads leading into the nearby town: Hatvan, his home.

He had never thought much of the place. It had a population of maybe 25,000. Probably less. It was an average, ordinary town. His house was alright. His school was OK. His mother cared. He had a few good things in his life, and a few bad, just like everyone else did.

But when he met her, everything became a little bit brighter. He now took pride in where he lived, what he did, and even in his home nation of Hungary. She convinced him to take up a musical instrument. He chose the piano. He had learned the national anthem within a week of starting.

There was something in his life now: something that he could hold onto, to love and protect.

Lana.

She lay next to him on the side of the hill now. They had a great view of the train rails leading into Hatvan, and the rows of houses stretching into the distance. An express train screamed through the air before them as it hurriedly made its way into town. All he could look at was her face. His face swept to the side, looking towards the town as Lana glanced at him, quietly figuring out he had been staring. He flushed as she laughed.

~

The crowd pleasantly applauded as the announcer finished, jolting Kris back to reality. He felt a thousand eyes bore into his back as he slowly stood up and made his way towards the stage, desperately trying to look calm as he strode up the stairs. He was painfully aware that the large shoes he was wearing threatened to throw him onto the floor, thanks to the thin stairs and his quivering legs, threatening to collapse underneath him. He thought of how that would look – a teenager in a new Armani suit falling over like a clown slipping on a banana. The thought did not help his nerves.

He took a deep breath, taking his time as he paced over to the grand piano in front of him. The influx of oxygen calmed him a little. The stage was surprisingly empty: the only things visible to the audience were the flowing red curtain behind him, the jet black piano, and himself. He calmly took his seat, shifting until he was as comfortable as he could be.

He exhaled again.

Suddenly, he was the only person in the room. The hundreds of people watching him strafed away from his mind as he admired the beauty of the instrument in front of him. The perfectly polished exterior ebony woodwork shone brilliantly in the stage spotlights. The open top of the piano revealed all of the intricate, fascinating workings of the piano. The black and white keys beckoned to him, willing him to play, just as they always did.

His mind jumped for a moment.

Lana.

~

She had always been into star-gazing. He had never understood how she could look into the night sky for so long without going crazy. She had always said the same of his piano playing. It was a joke they both shared. They laughed as it was repeated again now, she sitting at his bedroom window, gazing through her telescope, he at his piano, softly playing Einaudi's 'Le Onde'. His mother was stunned at how quickly he had become so proficient at the piano. He supposed she was happy she had bought him the thing now.

Lana had brought him back to the room by starting to talk about how amazing the North Star was. How it was such an incredible constant in the sky: eternally present, always there to help travellers get to where they were going. Kris looked at her as she spoke.

She was absolutely, undoubtedly, without a second thought, the most beautiful girl Kris had ever seen. Her long, flowing, blonde hair streamed around her shoulders like a river of gold. Her eyes were a vivid green, like the freshest meadows of summertime. She was very, very petit; she seemed so fragile that, if she fell down, she could have broken into a million pieces. As he watched her, Kris didn't care that her face was obscured by the eyepiece of the telescope. She was as heavenly as the stars she was looking at. She was his North Star.

He stopped playing.

She stopped looking through the telescope, and turned around, curious as to why Kris had ceased. Before she could react, he had got up, strode over to her, and embraced her.

The words 'I love you' could never be enough. She said she knew it all too well.

~

Smiling sadly, Kris glanced towards the ceiling of the auditorium, and then regained focus; stretching out towards the keyboard with his hands, ready to perform.

The first note resounded through the air. It alone was absolutely magnificent. Nothing he had ever heard could compare with the sound of a piano in the hands of a master. A master like Debussy. Kris let his heart take control of his hands as he played.

The air became taut – the atmosphere seemed to freeze time itself. Kris could have reached out and touched the music he was playing. He played on, closing his eyes.

The chords mingled with each other gently as he invested more of himself into his performance. The seconds flowed on as the music performed its beautiful, terrible dance. As he played, he thought of all the things he held onto so tightly in his life. He thought of all the things he had lost.

He thought of her.

The piece momentarily peaked, the crescendo holding, then calmed gently. He let the notes wash over him, immersing himself fully in the piece he so dearly loved.

~

Kris had loved practicing the piano ever since he first touched one. Every teacher he'd had was blown away that he was so talented and enthusiastic. In three years of playing, Kris had learned every scale he was taught to perfection; every piece a teacher showed him, he had picked up completely, learning it off by heart within two weeks. He learned to read music with such fervor, his mother didn't know what had come over him. Sheets of music littered his bedroom. Bass clefs, treble clefs, minims and rests stormed the kitchen fridge's magnetic door.

Lana had unwittingly unlocked Kris' passion, in more ways than one.

Every single day, he'd eagerly await coming home from school, and playing for hours on end. It didn't matter how he was feeling. It didn't matter whether or not he had got his school work done. He was able to completely escape into a world of his own making within the keys of a piano – his creativity sparked off the walls, all but visible as the melodies, bass lines, and trilling glissandos echoed around his bedroom.

And so it was today. He was looking forward to Lana coming around for dinner after school, but he had enough time to play for a while. He decided to practice his favourite piece. His mother was stunned when she had quietly listened through his bedroom door. He repeated it again, again and again, but it moved his heart so deeply every time he played it, he didn't care.

He was so transfixed with playing the main phrase, over and over and over again, that he didn't realise that Lana was two hours late. It took his mother coming into his bedroom, tears in her eyes and a phone in her hand, for him to stop playing.

There had been a car accident.

Lana wasn't going to be there that night.

~

Tears formed behind Kris' closed eyes as he played. They seeped through, flowing down his eyelashes, and dripping off onto the keys. He didn't notice. The piece went on. The audience stayed absolutely silent; the only sound was the beautiful melody of the piano as Kris played.

He had been practicing 'Clair de Lune' the night Lana had died. This was for her. He dedicated every last note to her as he entered the last phrase. The quiet arpeggios echoed around him, full of blissful, excruciating calm. Gently, the last chord sounded around the auditorium.

The silence was momentary, but could have been an eternity.

Then applause erupted around him. Every person watching on stood to their feet, clapping and cheering in wonder at the incredible talent Kris possessed.

It was a standing ovation Kristóf would remember for the rest of his life.

Somehow, Kris got to his feet and bowed to the audience. Before he knew it, the head teacher had come over to him, grinning fanatically as he shook his hand firmly.

It was all he could do to keep his composure until he was led backstage.

Insisting on a few minutes, he found a private room and sat down. As soon as he stopped moving, he burst into tears. He wept because he had performed so beautifully, and broke the hearts of every person listening. He wept because he knew that the music college would accept him unconditionally. He wept because he knew he had made his mother proud.

But he wept most intensely when he thought of her.

Lana.