Chapter 4 - MY COUSIN CELINA
Celina had grown up three houses away from me.
Our fathers were brothers.
Our mothers were friends until inheritance disputes made them less friendly.
We attended the same Catholic school.
The same weddings.
The same funerals.
The same old Ardelli summer parties where children were told not to enter the library because men were “talking business.”
She was seven years younger.
Smart.
Competitive.
Good at piano.
Never exceptional enough for our grandmother.
That was the problem.
Grandmother Lucia Ardelli believed talent mattered only after it became visible.
She adored performances.
Recitals.
Awards.
Photographs.
If a child won something, Lucia displayed the certificate.
If a child merely practiced, Lucia asked what the practice was producing.
I hated that culture enough to avoid music entirely.
Celina absorbed it.
She became the family’s musical child.
Piano competitions.
Voice lessons.
Conservatory summers.
Then at sixteen she injured her wrist in a car accident.
Not permanent disability.
Enough to end serious competition.
The family moved on too quickly.
That wound stayed.
Years later, Audrey was born.
Celina saw continuation.
Not consciously at first.
Piano at four.
Violin at five.
Private teacher.
Competitions.
By seven, Audrey’s calendar looked like a professional musician’s.
Was she talented?
Yes.
Did she love violin?
Sometimes.
That answer should have mattered more.
Then Eastbridge.
Celina had attended a summer course there as a teenager before the accident.
No fellowship.
No diploma.
Still, Eastbridge became a symbol of the career she imagined.
Audrey’s admission would complete something.
Again.
Adults using children to negotiate with time.
Then Maisy.
My daughter began violin because she saw a street musician outside a restaurant and asked why “the box cries.”
I bought her a cheap student violin.
She loved it.
No dynastic plan.
No family expectation.
Then Ms. Brooks said she had unusual musical memory.
Good.
We let her continue.
Celina began comparing.
Audrey at nine.
Maisy at seven.
Different developmental stages.
Different strengths.
Yet every family dinner produced:
Who practices more?
Who plays harder music?
Who has better intonation?
I stopped participating.
Celina did not.
Then Eastbridge application season arrived.
Maisy was too young.
Not eligible until eight.
So technically they were not competing.
Which made Celina’s theft even stranger.
She did not steal Maisy’s performance because Maisy would take Audrey’s Eastbridge seat.
May you like
She stole it because Audrey could not produce the recording Celina wanted.
Maisy had become raw material.
