Musicless

“You’ve done us proud, kid.”

“If only your grandpa could see you now.”

“Forget the fridge, this is going in the living room!”

“All your hard work is finally paying off.”

…

Right?

My new pumps, a gift from Mom, pinch my feet. Hidden beneath the thin robes is the dress bequeathed from Grandma. Dad paid his hard-earned money for the hairdo now crushed under my cap.

I can’t take my eyes off the stage. Name after name brings me closer and closer to the end of the line. Where the culmination of all my hopes and dreams are finally made reality.

Finally, after years of hard work and dedication, my time has come. From this day forth, I will no longer be Anna Henderson, the farmer’s daughter. I will be Anna Henderson, doctor of clinical psychiatry.

…

Right?

I glance up where I know my family is waiting for me. I’m met with excited waves and grins nearly completely covered with cameras and phones. Waving back is easy. It’s the smiling that’s hard.

The first Henderson to earn a doctorate. I couldn’t go a month during my rotations and clinicals without hearing that uttered at least once.

Before I even realized it, the entire town knew. Everyone was looking at me like I was Einstein reincarnated. More times than I like to think about, I was given hard questions about this or that. More times than I’d like to admit, I pretended to know the answer.

I learned pretty quickly that it didn’t matter if I knew the answer or not. Spout a little jargon, and they lose interest almost instantly, shaking their heads and wondering aloud where I got my intelligence from.

Spout a little jargon, and I let them know I’m still smart. That their hopes for being put in a good retirement home are still valid.

Spout a little jargon, and I once again fade into the background.

The ascending steps bring me back to the present, and my thumping heart is drowned out by the cheers of the crowd, another family who couldn’t be more proud of my classmate walking across the stage, holding his diploma high above his head.

He’s been dreaming of this moment his whole life.

Just like me…

Right?

My fingers play piano on my thigh while I wait for my name, a song without a voice filling the space between my ears as the ghost of an embrace settles on my shoulders.

Grandpa always said I’d be the next Mozart.

His stubbly chin scratched my memory, and my fingers vibrated from the sound underneath them.

Lights burn me, just like my first recital. I missed only one note. You would’ve thought I brought down heaven itself when he wrapped me up in his arms and told me how proud he was of me.

What would he say if he could see me now?

Would he be proud?

Would he shake his head the same way he did when Mom kept talking over my “noise”?

Would he smile the same way he did when he lay in that hospital bed and gave me that folder of all of his music?

Now, my mind searches for his face amidst the dots and lines.

He poured out his soul for the world to hear. And only I knew it.

I didn’t want to keep his gift to myself.

I didn’t want his work to find its resting place in the bottom of my closet, buried beneath books and clothes.

I wanted the world to hear him. Know him the same way I did.

But I couldn’t hold up in the industry.

It was too hard, too risky.

Not everyone needed a musician.

But everyone needed a psychiatrist.

The stars I watched with him were revealed to be nothing more than pinpricks of light when Dad brought me back down to Earth.

Why shoot for the stars when you can build yourself a castle.

…

Right?

My legs don’t want to move, and yet I am pushed forward, the smiling faces of my past and my present urging me onward, toward a goal they have never been so excited to see me achieve.

I can hear a child screaming.

Each step is fueled by the hopeful faces and brightened eyes of my family. They have never been so proud.

Of my commitment.

Of my brilliance.

Of my passion.

Of my heart.

Of my–

The scream dies at the hand grasping my own, another smile congratulating me and handing me a piece of paper that proclaims the sleepless nights, the mental fights, and the no-end-in-sight wasn’t all for nothing.

Weeping from my sinking heart is drowned out by the cheers of my family, nearly louder than the rest, and I continue on. With every step, my vision becomes more and more blurry.

The screaming has turned to a quiet weeping.

I turn from the smiling faces and hands swiping at tears, unable to show my own.

The procession after me blurs, and my heart mourns.

The flood of tears fills me, but I do not let them escape. Instead, a tiny light within me is consumed, snuffed out by the very part of me I refuse to show.

Where is the me that cried out in agony at every passed test, each time the world seemed to open before me while my family cheered at the positive signs from the universe?

Would it have been different if I had know the way was clear because I didn’t have to cut down my own obstacles?

How do I take it all back?

My heart.

My passion.

My brilliance.

My commitment.

Cement fills my head, the chords ending on a sour note.

The love that burned in my blood–gone.

The beating heart that fueled my sweat–gone.

The sorrow that accompanied my quiet tears–gone.

Given up for a dream that wasn’t my own.

The drain breaks, and my soul is left in rushing, swirling darkness and emptiness.

I can’t help but find it ironic that I destroyed myself in the process. The very things I put myself through hell to learn how to help others through…is exactly what I did to me.

I accomplished what I had set out to do.

My family could not be more proud.

I am the first Doctor Henderson.

I am musicless.

…

Right?