“Benjamin started playing when he was five, we don’t know where he gets it from.” Benjie had heard these words countless times. His mother loved talking about how talented he was; she never missed an opportunity to let everyone know her son was a musical prodigy.
It all started, as his mother said, when he was five. His father had bought a piano; it was very old but sounded like new.
Benjie stood in front of it and just stared. There was something about the piano that beckoned to him, told him to play. He took a seat and lifted up the lid, his eyes rapidly moved up and down the keys, they were breathtaking.
His fingers trembled, as they got closer to the piano keys. The moment they made contact, he lost all control; playing a melody he had heard on the television, he didn’t know what it was but always liked it.
His father came running into the living room, his jaw dropped; he didn’t expect to see his Benjie seated at the piano. “Martha, come quick.”
“What is it George,” she said. She had been washing the dishes and came in the room holding a wet plate. The plate landed on the floor in five pieces, Benjamin’s mother stood in awe.
Next he played ‘Twinkle Twinkle’, then ‘Hot Crossed Buns’, he couldn’t stop. He kept playing all night long, his parents called all the neighbours to see their son. They shouted requests and Benji played them effortlessly.
He was an overnight star; nothing was the same again. Everyone wanted to hear him play; tonight it was the turn of the president. Benjie was to play the closing number at the National Orchestral Charity Gala. An annual classical music festival held to raise money to keep the arts alive.
Benji’s time had come, there was a round of applause as he appeared on stage, cameras flashed, the president nodded his approval and his parents beamed in the front row.
A piano stood in the middle of the stage, but Benji walked right passed it, there was a murmur from the stalls, his mother and father looked at each and shrugged.
At the end of the stage, stood a microphone, Benji lowered the stand and cleared his throat. A hush swept across the auditorium, Benji smiled at his parents who were now as pale as the whitest sheets.
He licked his lips then said, “For over 10 years I’ve played for numerous people all over the world. The piano has become my life; I eat, sleep and breathe playing it. I’ve played songs after only hearing them once and till this day I am unable to actually read music.” There were a few oohs and aahs from the audience, Benji lifted up his hand to silence them.
“From the day my father brought a piano home I’ve had this unexplainable urge to play, but alas that urge has gone. I don’t want to play anymore.” Benji stepped back from the microphone bowed to the president, then to his parents and walked off the stage.
His mother was hysterical, his father called out to him, but Benji kept walking and didn’t stop, even when he got outside. Benji didn’t know where he was going; he just let his feet take him wherever they wanted to go.
