The music flowed off the stage with the full force of an entire orchestra, but there was only a soloist on stage. His hands manipulated the bow with such ease that it was just as magnificent to watch his motions as to hear the sound they produced.

The final note rang out echoing through the grand concert hall, and the elegant women in their formal dresses with their tuxedoed men at their sides stood and clapped with both a poise and full appreciation of the night’s entertainment. However, the young boy, no older than fifteen, did not allow the slightest smile to creep its way across his youthful face; there was no glimmer in his deep hazel eyes, and he walked offstage with no confidence in his step.

The boy was greeted backstage by his middle-aged parents, his mother a beautiful woman of average stature and a perfect physique, and his father a tall man with peppered hair at his crown. They embraced their son, not allowing him to continue with the storing of his violin properly- instead he just dropped it in his case, which did not bother him the least bit.

“You did wonderfully. I just wish you would show some appreciation for all the kind gentle men who came out to see your performance.” said his mother. Her voice was calm and cool, but the look in her piercing eyes was even cooler.

“Many of them would like to meet you, Arthur. They’re all waiting in the reception hall to meet such a talented young man.”

Arthur made his way through the throngs of overdressed men and their dates. He held a cordial presence for the sake of his mother, but did not linger any longer than he had to at each circle he passed.

After an hour or two of wandering through the tabled of hors’doeuvers and finger foods, Arthur wandered off on his own back to his dressing area. He ensured that his violin was properly packed away, and then sat in the quiet room. He had had enough of these snobbish people- had had enough of their examining eyes and testing questions.

He eventually dozed off to sleep sitting in a chair that was much too large for his childish body, and around midnight was awakened by his mother.

“Arthur! There you are, yet again disappointing all the people who wanted to meet the next musical prodigy. You’re lucky you have parents who understand.” His father was standing in the door way with the violin case in his hands.

“You ready to go? I suppose we will take you home now. But you have to go to bed. Dr. Ried is coming tomorrow on time despite your late night.”

Obeying, Arthur followed his parents through the winding hallways to the back lot where the town car had been parked for the evening. He sat in the back seat, in the middle of the bench seat to ‘ensure maximum safety’. The forty minute drive home was filled with the passing of gossip from one parent to the other which had been collected throughout the evening.

Finally, they reached home, and Arthur dragged his violin straight to his room on the second floor. At the end of the long corridor, he dropped it at the foot of his bed on the floor, and collapsed in a chair in front of his large mahogany desk- a desk that clearly was meant to belong in some official business office, perhaps that of a lawyer or a specialist doctor. He often could slouch down in his chair and not be noticed when his parents came into the room to look for him.

He sat with his head resting against the back of the cushioned chair, his eyes closed, for a short while. Then he sat forward, and reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk, which was also the largest. He rummaged through piles of notes, sheets of music, and thin paperback books which he could read inside an hour. He continued the shuffle of paper until his hands grasped something solid, what he had been searching for all along. His frail fingers laced around the object, and pulled out an old wooden picture frame.

He examined the frame- the varnish had begun to peel away from the wood, and he could see the sheen of the wax left behind from when he was a child and tried to color it red with a Crayola crayon- his favorite color. In the frame was a faded picture- the only child he could still remember was himself; a third grader on the local YMCA team for his age level.  He had been captain of the team that year, earning the privilege of holding the basket ball at the center of the portrait. 

Staring at the photograph, Arthur began to relive what it had been like to be a child- to be happy with his friends from school, and to enjoy playing with them in the driveway of the small elementary school which he had attended. He remembered the times when he had gone out of his way to walk through the park on his way home where the basketball courts were located. Nina had always allowed him to, even going with him on occasion for a one on one game, despite the fact that she was not even up to his third grade level when she was feet taller than he was.

That of course was all before he had been put in the ‘gifted students’ class; before he had been dubbed the talented boy who should be watched. On almost a daily basis he regretted his decision to push himself when he was younger. He daydreamed of what life could have been like if he had never taken that test, never gone to visit the professors at ranking universities.

Sure, he had been smart, he had always made the high honor roll, whatever that was when you were in primary school. But so had other children, he wasn’t the only one. And where were they now? Were they still in school with the rest of his class? Or had they too been pulled out by their parents and been homeschooled instead. He didn’t think so. He never heard about his friend Thomas being pulled out. Or what about the girl? He couldn’t remember her name, but she had always done a little better than he had if it was possible to do better. She never had to go to any special classes after school.

Maybe it was because they didn’t play the violin too. That must have been the only difference. Maybe he wasn’t a genius child, maybe he was just really good at playing the violin. Arthur sat at his desk and contemplated why he had turned out this way for a long while.

“Why aren’t you in bed? Dr. Ried will be here tomorrow, your father already told you that.” Arthur’s mother walked over to his bureau and removed a set of pajamas, placing them on his bed.

“Yes mother, I was just thinking about the performance is all.”  He attempted to shove the picture back in to his lower drawer, but the motion caught his mother’s tired eye.

“Again with the pictures? Perhaps we’ve got an aspiring artist on our hands? Why don’t we buy you a camera? You’ll produce a whole collection. I’m sure there are galleries who would love to host you for weeks at a time.” She walked over to Arthur, and took the frame away from him, holding it in her own frail hands- obviously the genes had come from her.

“Yes, of course. That would be quite exciting. A real camera, though.” Arthur got up from his chair and took off his shirt.

“Yes, of course. Your father must know someone who can find you the best one available. You’re going to need the best available, one for a real artist.”

He knew that if he disagreed with anything she was saying, in the morning shed go running to the professors, concerned about what they had him thinking now; that something was wrong. Instead, he used what she was offering to his advantage. Of course. I’ll accept another thing to play with instead of writing equations throughout the day.

“That would be wonderful Mother. The light and the speed- the whole process of photography fascinates me, especially when the target is in motion. I’d love a chance to try and discover the process on my own- you know, just to keep my mind sharp. Sort of like cross training.”

A smile crept its way across his face for the first time that night; he could tell by the immediate fire growing in her eye that his ruse had been accepted.

“I’ll tell your father. I’m sure he knows enough men that they can find you the best camera available for our son. You know you deserve the very best. It’s the only way your talents will ever be embraced. Now finished getting changed and get in bed. Nina will be up later to read you a story.”

The next few days were spent like the previous few years had been: a leisurely wake up, then breakfast downstairs alone. Then the tutors would arrive around nine thirty, just the right time to ‘embrace the day’. Then practice after noon, after I had eaten lunch, and then left alone to ‘work’.

Now at the beginning of this new schedule, he was challenging himself to impress the tutors and his parents, but that too had grown old after a few short months. Frustrated with mind-numbing work, he had secretly reverted to his childhood passion: basketball.

Mid week, he woke up to a wonderfully scented breakfast of apple cinnamon pancakes wafting through the giant house. He walked down to the kitchen slowly as usual to greet Nina. Nina had been his young Spanish nanny when he was younger, but now her job title had been altered to ‘personal chef’. She did of course know exactly what he liked, just like a mother normally would know everything intimate detail about their child.

“Your father left you a gift next to your place setting this morning.”

“Oh, thank you Nina.” he walked into the dining room, and sure enough as he had expected, it was a camera. The note only said “Be careful.”  He tossed it aside, and began to examine all the knobs and settings. He wasn’t really sure why there we so many, he thought you only needed one: to take the picture. Discouraged, he then returned to the kitchen where Nina was still making breakfast.

“Nina, can I ask you something?” She smiled and rolled her eyes at him.

“Oy Arthur, you and all your questions. Okay what’s the test this time?” Her eyes smiled at him like she always did, and he relaxed as always when he was with her.

“No, no tests today. I was just wondering if you remembered when we used to walk home through the park,” he said, but then continued on in a softer voice. “Where we used to stop and play basketball for a while.”

Nina cocked her head to the side as she did when contemplating the boy’s intentions, then finally answered, “What is it nino? I can tell there is something more than a memory in that question.”

She stopped flipping the perfectly golden pancakes and circled the breakfast island in the kitchen, joining him on the far side where he sat atop a stool.

“Well. I just miss basketball is it really, I suppose. Sometimes I wish I could still play.”

The boy sat with his eyes gazing at his feet, kicking at the panels of the breakfast island in front of him.

“I’m sure if you asked your parents would take you to the rec center like they used to. All boys need their exercise. I doubt they would keep you from that.”

That night at dinner, Arthur decided that he would indeed ask his parents about playing again.

“Of course you can Arthur. We’ll hire you own coach! Won’t that be exciting? He can keep you in shape; ensure you’re getting some exercise. I’ll even tell him to go through the physics of it all. I bet you’d be able to come up with some new plays.” His father was very jovial in his reply, but it was not the answer Arthur had been hoping for.

Later that night he overheard part of a conversation his parents were having in the living room which was open below the flight of stairs which lead to his room:

“I just don’t see why we need to be doing all this for him.” His father’s voice was stern and flat like it always was in the past few years.

“You know he needs this! WE need to do everything we can. All the books say we should give him all the opportunities possible to foster any interest he could have.” His mother was always pushing for more classes. “And his hands! You know our son is gifted, but instead of consulting me first you just let him go and begin throwing balls around again! What would er ever do if he got hurt. You really don’t think sometimes.”

“Yes yes. Your books. And your doctors. And your professors. I guess I should just let you decide everything for him. He’s twelve years old. He’s not going to follow exactly what we set up for him. He’s old enough to begin making his own choices.”

Arthur could hear his father’s steps receding down the hallway, and he ran back to his room, abandoning his hiding place behind the white railing.

 

For weeks Arthur would meet with Coach LaDuke at the rec center after his tutoring lessons. Nina would walk him the half a mile to the center after lunch, and then sit in the bleachers to wait for their lesson of the day to finish- whether it was measuring the arc needed to sink a three pointer or the force needed to get the correct bounce off of a free throw from the foul line.

One day on the walk home, Arthur told Nina that maybe basketball had changed since he was little.  “I just don’t understand why I’m not having any fun anymore. I didn’t remember having to use all the math that Coach LaDuke wants me to use now. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know how to write formulas like that in the third grade.”

Nina was caught between what to say- was she to side with his parents Mr. and Mrs. Berkley, or what she knew the young boy should hear. Finally, after walking half way back to the Berkley’s mansion of a home, she decided to take a detour.

“Arthur, I think this time I am going to ask you one question, and I want you to think very hard about what you want the answer to be. And I know it’s a lot to ask of a young boy like you, but you can handle it I think. You are a boy genius after all, eh?” She nudged him in the side with her strong hip and got him to smile at her.

In the strong sunshine, he raised his head up so he could look her in the eye, squinting at the bright afternoon sun which was shining down upon their heads from behind the tall woman.
“Okay Nina. Let’s see if you can stump me.”

“Okay little nino. Now. This is between me and you.” She turned down the street they were approaching instead of crossing it, and Arthur immediately knew that they were not heading home, but were heading towards the park. “Do you think you should try to impress your parents with everything you do, and accept every single challenge they confront you with, or are you going to be a stronger boy and decide on things for your own self?”

Arthur remained silent until they had reached the park a few blocks west of the road which would lead them home. When the basketball courts came into view, he simply asked, “Want to play?”

They ran around the court, laughing and throwing the ball. Nina was not any better than she had been as a younger woman, but Arthur just wanted to have fun, and so he forgot about everything Coach LaDuke had taught him about arcs and forces and positioning. For hours they ran from the basket to the half court line, until both were exhausted from laughing just as much as they were from running.

They came to a mutual agreement to go home, since it was closing in on four in the afternoon and Nina would have to have dinner on the table for six thirty that evening. Arthur started the walk home dribbling his basketball, but entered the home in Nina’s arms fast asleep.

While Nina prepared the Chicken Parmesan and the side salads and baked fresh bread from the dough she had prepared earlier in the morning, Arthur took a shower in his upstairs bathroom and got dressed for dinner: his nice pair of slacks, and a button up shirt with a crisp white tee shirt underneath.

Nina could hear his size six loafers treading down the hallway towards the kitchen, and so she started talking before he had reached her. “So have you given any thought to my question little man?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about it on the walk home. And I think. I have a question for my parents when they get home now.”

“Okay little nino. Then I’ll let you to it! They should be home soon. Your mother called to explain that they would be held up a few minutes, but they should be on their way by now. Why don’t you go set up your violin?”

“Okay Nina.” He skipped down the hallway, and even though his happiness made Nina fill with joy herself, she still wondered if what she had instigated was the right thing to be doing. She continued to slice the cucumbers into thin pieces, just as Mrs. Berkley insisted the be cut, and diced the ripe tomatoes.

When she heard the parents’ cars roll into the garage bay outside the kitchen, Nina began to place the salad dishes on the dining room table, so when they came in the door and had put down the jackets in the foyer, Nina was pulling the chicken out of the oven preparing to dress the pasta when their salads had been finished.

“Ah good evening Nina! The dinner smells divine as your cooking always does! Chicken is it?” asked Mr. Berkley.

“Ay yes, chicken parmesan, Mr. Berkley. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure we will,” replied the wife.  Then, turning around and walking to the entrance of the kitchen from which she had come, she called out, “Arthur. We’re home, sweet child. Are you all cleaned up and ready to eat dinner with your parents?”

Arthur came running down the stairs, then once he reached the bottom strolled into the kitchen with ease. “Of course I am!” He excitedly walked into the adjacent dining room, and took his seat, waiting for his parents to join him.

“Arthur! You know there is no running in this house! Nina. Did you feed him anything different today? And sugars? You know he needs to maintain his diet if we want to keep him in his prime.”

“Of course not Mrs. Berkley. He’s just been excited since, well since he came back from his meeting with Coach LaDuke this afternoon.”  She could not stop the slight lie from rolling off of her tongue, but didn’t know what else she could have said.

With a slight glaring look in her eye, the wife walked into the dining room, her stiletto heels clicking against the tiled floor in the kitchen, then switching to the solid hardwood floors of the dining room.

Once the salads were taken away, and each had started their plates of pasta topped with gooey cheese and perfectly golden pieces of breaded chicken, Arthur cleared his throat.

“I have a proposition.” he stated confidently.

Both parents put their forks down gently beside their plates, and passed each other a questioning and entertained look.

“Okay, son, we’re listening.” said the father’s deep yet cool voice.

“I don’t want Coach LaDuke. I don’t need you to shut off the courts at the rec center so I can have them all. I just want to play with kids- without formulas and thinking of science.”

“Now Arthur. I’m going to stop you right there. You’re not like other boys, sweet child.” said the mothers with an innocent tine which was failing at covering the edge in her voice.

“I’ll agree with your mother, we want to test your abilities with the best things we can, and that includes athletics. You don’t need anything holding you back.”

The father’s rich voice rang evenly through the room, and after the last line had passed through his lips, a smile took their place. He picked up his glass of merlot and sipped it gently before placing it back on the table.

He continued, “Perhaps all the activities you have been picking up are not good for your mind. Your next concert is approaching fast. Perhaps we should take a break from playing games for a while? Get you back on schedule. Even gifted boys need structure in their young lives.”

Once again frustrated by his parents’ misunderstandings, Arthur stood up, and walked away from the table, leaving his parents in silence. He passed through the kitchen, ignoring Nina’s question of whether his parents too had finished their dinner so soon.

He scaled the stairs, and didn’t break his pace until he had reached his room. Below him, he could hear the murmur of voices- he mostly heard the angry voice obviously of his mother, but could also hear the sweet textured voice of Nina, his true guardian:

“Nina, you know we will do what is best for his future. He is a talented boy and we will not let him waste away the years in which his mind is at its prime.”

When Nina came up an hour or so later, Arthur had moved to his desk, and was sitting with the worn picture frame in his lap.

“I shouldn’t have said anything to you. I’m sorry nino. I was out of place. You should always listen to your parents before your nanny.” She places a glass plate of chocolate chip cookies on the corner of his desk, along with a tall glass of white milk.

“It’s okay Nina. I know that they’re just doing what they want to. You should fight them right? You always tell me not to. Thank you for the cookies. I think I may go to bed early tonight.” His voice was weak like a defeated bird, but Nina knew there was nothing she could do, or should do that wasn’t out of place. She kissed his forehead after brushing his light brown hair away, and closed the door behind her.

 The following morning, Arthur was late for breakfast. Nina was tempted to go wake him, but thought that perhaps he had stayed up late and needed the extra rest. She continued with her daily routine of preparing the young boy’s breakfast, deciding to wait for the first tutor of the day to get there. When the boy had still refused to appear, she mounted the stairs and gently rapped on the door. When there was no rely through the solid wood, she pushed the door open, only to reveal an empty room. The glass plate with etchings of vines which had been full of freshly baked cookies the night before only held a few spare crumbs, and Nina could not find the boy or his basketball anywhere.

Now fully alarmed, Nina ran down the steps in her while flat sneakers, into the kitchen where the cordless phone was sitting in its cradle mounted on the butter yellow walls.

“Mr. Berkley. Yes yes. I am fine… Your son. Well sir, I do not know. We cannot find him.”

Within twenty minutes both parents were home, searching the house and the great green yard for their prized son, but could not find a trace of him. They all regrouped in the kitchen.

“You can’t say you didn’t see this coming. We pushed him too hard.” The father collapsed into a chair at the breakfast bar. “I guess, we call the police.”

Arthur walked up to a basketball court. He has never seen one like this before, with a metal fence around the outer limits, and children flocking to it even in the middle of the weekday. He maneuvered his way through the chain link gates, and stood with his own basketball in his hands in front of the metal, spray painted bleachers and watched all the young boys, presumably his own age, pick for teams to start a new game.  

One of the smaller boys on the court pointed to Arthur, getting the tallest boy with the basketball in his hands to turn and look in the direction of the bleachers.

“You new  ‘round here?” The boy shouted across the court.

“Uh, yes. Yes I’ve never been here before.” Replied Arthur in a very quiet and sheepish voice.

“You gotta speak up boy. What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Alright Arthur. Where you from?”

“It doesn’t matter, I just want to play.” The boy holding the ball, obviously the leader of this small pack of young boys, looked at the others with a questioning glance, and after receiving nods of approval, passed the ball hard to the newcomer.

“Okay then, stop standing around in your fancy clothes and let’s play.” Arthur put down his bag and took off his sweater, walking out onto the court.