March 3, 1992
Manhattan - Upper East Side
"Sara!" A woman's voice called from another room. "I don't hear any practicing going on in there!"
Sara frowned at the sound of her mother's voice, pencil moving quickly over the sheet of paper that lay beneath her hand. She knew that if her mother didn't hear her plunking away at the piano keys soon, she'd confiscate her paper and pencils until she felt her daughter had spent a sufficient amount of time on her lessons.
Maureen Bailey had plans for her daughter -- big plans. Ever since Sara had been born, ten years ago to the day, the woman had been carefully planning her daughter's life for her, but Sara had ideas of her own.
Sara set her pencil aside with a sigh and studied the sketch that lay before her -- a whimsical drawing of a garden in full bloom, fairies flitting from flower to flower, instead of birds, bees, or butterflies. She'd paid careful attention to the wings, painstakingly trying to get them just right. Fairy wings had a particular look to them, she thought -- delicate, diaphanous, graceful -- almost, but not quite, like butterfly wings.
Even at the tender age of ten, it was obvious the girl possessed talent beyond that of her peers. Her teachers had said as much, encouraging her to draw and develop that talent, despite her mother's misgivings.
Sara carefully gathered up her art supplies and put them away before her mother could do it for her. She then settled herself on the piano bench, small, slender fingers poised over the black and white keys, eyes moving over the sheet music as she gathered the nerve to once again attempt to conquer "Moonlight Sonata". Her mother had insisted on Beethoven, claiming he was the world's greatest composer, though secretly Sara preferred Lennon and McCartney.
"Sara!" her mother called again, startling the girl out of her thoughts and rattling her nerves. "There will be no party until you've finished your lessons."
Sara frowned again, nervously gnawing at her mouth. She made no reply except to take a deep breath and finally let her fingers glide over the keys. She played the first part of the piece perfectly, having committed the notes to memory, but it wasn't long before her fingers faltered, struggling over unfamiliar territory. Her piano teacher would be unhappy with her, as would her mother. She was supposed to have learned this part of the piece by now, but music did not come as easily to her as drawing.
Manhattan - Upper East Side
"Sara!" A woman's voice called from another room. "I don't hear any practicing going on in there!"
Sara frowned at the sound of her mother's voice, pencil moving quickly over the sheet of paper that lay beneath her hand. She knew that if her mother didn't hear her plunking away at the piano keys soon, she'd confiscate her paper and pencils until she felt her daughter had spent a sufficient amount of time on her lessons.
Maureen Bailey had plans for her daughter -- big plans. Ever since Sara had been born, ten years ago to the day, the woman had been carefully planning her daughter's life for her, but Sara had ideas of her own.
Sara set her pencil aside with a sigh and studied the sketch that lay before her -- a whimsical drawing of a garden in full bloom, fairies flitting from flower to flower, instead of birds, bees, or butterflies. She'd paid careful attention to the wings, painstakingly trying to get them just right. Fairy wings had a particular look to them, she thought -- delicate, diaphanous, graceful -- almost, but not quite, like butterfly wings.
Even at the tender age of ten, it was obvious the girl possessed talent beyond that of her peers. Her teachers had said as much, encouraging her to draw and develop that talent, despite her mother's misgivings.
Sara carefully gathered up her art supplies and put them away before her mother could do it for her. She then settled herself on the piano bench, small, slender fingers poised over the black and white keys, eyes moving over the sheet music as she gathered the nerve to once again attempt to conquer "Moonlight Sonata". Her mother had insisted on Beethoven, claiming he was the world's greatest composer, though secretly Sara preferred Lennon and McCartney.
"Sara!" her mother called again, startling the girl out of her thoughts and rattling her nerves. "There will be no party until you've finished your lessons."
Sara frowned again, nervously gnawing at her mouth. She made no reply except to take a deep breath and finally let her fingers glide over the keys. She played the first part of the piece perfectly, having committed the notes to memory, but it wasn't long before her fingers faltered, struggling over unfamiliar territory. Her piano teacher would be unhappy with her, as would her mother. She was supposed to have learned this part of the piece by now, but music did not come as easily to her as drawing.