I Thought the White String in My Egg Was Something Dangerous—The Truth Completely Surprised Me

saying anything, he climbed up onto the bench and started to play.

One of the keys stuck halfway down.

My mother turned at the sound and froze.

The melody was slow and hesitant.

Chopin. The same piece she had drilled into me, hour after hour, until my hands went numb from repetition.

“Where did he learn that?” she asked. Her voice was quieter now, but not continue reading …