Never a Hero

Joy.” All three were kids. All fumbled, but not terribly, and I noticed that the audience clapped for them just the same. June reached out and took hold of my hand.
    As our turn drew near, the nerves that had taken root began to feel like something much bigger. Something so real and alive it might swallow me whole. What if we messed up? What if I forgot the notes? What if, when we finished the piece, nobody clapped at all?
    What if they laughed?
    “These next students have only been with me for two and half months now,” Amelia said, and I knew our turn was next. “Their progress has been remarkable, all the more so because of their unique special circumstances.” I winced, unsure how I felt about her introduction. I looked to gauge June’s reaction, but before I could, I felt Nick’s strong, warm hand on my shoulder.
    I turned to face him. I wanted to say so many things to him, but this wasn’t the time. He still looked guilty. He still looked sad. But he offered me a smile. “I’m proud of you, no matter what. You’re going to do great.”
    Twenty minutes ago, I’d wanted to strangle him. Now all I wanted was to hear him say those words again.
    I’d missed the next bit of Amelia’s introduction. I tuned in again in time to hear her say, “June Reynolds and Owen Meade.”
    I rose on unsteady legs, and June and I walked hand in hand toward the front of the auditorium. The crowd seemed to draw breath as one, and then a quiet wave of whispers washed over them.
    They’re talking about us. The two one-armed piano players.
    “Mommy,” some kid said, her theatrical whisper far too loud in the quiet room, “what happened to their arms?”
    I heard the sharp hiss of her mother trying to hush her. “We don’t ask questions like that, Annabelle!” I felt the discomfort of the crowd. Leave it to a child to point to the elephant in the room.
    I thought about stopping. I thought about turning to the audience, about searching for Annabelle, about telling her mom, “It’s okay.” But there was no time, and I wasn’t that brave.
    We took our seat at the piano, and we played.
    It was both horrifying and exhilarating. My fingers seemed to move on their own. My foot worked the pedal. Next to me, June watched her fingers with unwavering concentration. I fumbled once, and so did she, but both mistakes were quick, and we recovered easily.
    It felt good. “Ode to Joy,” I thought, and I found myself smiling. This was joy, creating music from nothing. Sitting next to June. Knowing Nathan was here for me and Nick was waiting for me, one way or another, as a lover or a friend. I had no idea what was going to happen between us. I only knew that I wanted more of this feeling—joy. I’d been missing it my whole life, and now, having lived with it for a moment or two, I never wanted to let it go.
    But almost as quickly as it had begun, the song ended.
    June and I sat in the sudden silence, staring at the mute keys.
    “We did it!” I said.
    June smiled at me, but whatever she was about to say was lost to the deafening sound of applause. We turned as one to face the crowd, and my jaw dropped.
    They’d clapped for everybody, but this time, they were on their feet. They were cheering and shouting. Did we deserve this extra attention, just because of our arms? Part of me wanted to say no, but then June pulled me to my feet. We faced the crowd, and she bowed, as if this was Carnegie Hall. As if we really were stars. Or heroes.
    And all I could do was laugh.

    The last half of the recital went by in a blur. I barely heard the advanced students as they played their pieces. I leaned close to Nick. He reached across my lap to hold my hand.
    Joy.
    When it was over, everybody gathered in the foyer, smiling and congratulating each other.
    “Absolutely brilliant!” Nathan raved, pounding me on the back.
    An obvious exaggeration, but I didn’t mind. My dad found me shortly afterward and pulled me into a tight hug. “You were amazing, son.”
    “I didn’t know you were here. Did you hear me play?”
    “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
    He let me go and I looked around for my mom, but I already knew what I’d find.
    “We need to talk,” my dad said, suddenly somber. “How about if I give you a lift? We can have a heart-to-heart at your place over some hot chocolate?”
    “Sure, Dad.”
    I couldn’t tell if Nick was disappointed or relieved when I told him I had a ride home. I had a feeling he wasn’t sure either. I