My hands glide across the keyboard of my old oak piano, emitting a sound so beautiful that I wish I could hold onto it forever. My mind can hardly process the music, this sweet serenade that my nimble fingers are creating. I can feel the crowd watching me, but I am not nervous. I am never nervous sitting on this bench. This bench is where I belong; it is my home. This bench and what sits in front of it, begging to be played, is my release. My way of portraying emotion. I feel weightless- free, even- whenever I am playing. It is the one thing that makes me feel as if no one is around. It is just me, the piano, and the chorus of angels sitting around me, dumbfounded and speechless. That is how it feels- more than heavenly. But despite what all of the piano teachers in the world say, I believe what is hard about playing the piano is not learning music, time signatures and the like, but playing it off so nonchalantly that it seems normal- that a haunting refrain played so brilliantly is not something out of the ordinary, but something that normally fixes itself on Earth's surface, shimmering like diamonds on the atmospheric line from space. As the piece I am playing comes to an end, I can sense the tears on the audience's cheeks. I love that feeling. That feeling that you have sparked something in someone, enlightening them of the beauty that can rest beyond those ivory-white keys, if only you could find the right player to interpret the emotion behind them. My hands now rest on my lap, and no sound is coming from the people behind me. They are like the chorus of angels I imagine- without words. I feel someone coming up behind me, resting their hand on my shoulder, and whispering, "Thank you." I smile, eyes closed, crinkles forming at the corners, and reply, "Anytime... anytime." I wish this day would never end, that I would never have to stop playing, and that, just for a moment, the whole world would stop and just listen. People of all languages, races, nationalities, disabilities alike, would just stop, and allow these keys to free their mind, their soul, their heart. That is my one wish. I turn my head once the stranger has left my side and my mother appears. She is smiling, on the verge of tears. She takes my hand and helps me into my wheelchair, kissing the top of my head and whispering,

"Never stop playing, Elena."

I smile again, overcome with emotion, and say,

"I won't, Mama."