One day in the gymnasium after dodge ball, the grade three class noticed the upright piano had not yet been wheeled back to the locked closet, so small Ari Muchnik pushed away the other kids, hopped the bench and pounced his left hand into the thing he knew how to do with his eyes closed, the sequence he did at home each night until bedtime. Right on cue following the loping left hand figure he sang you’re mama don’t dance and you’re daddy don’t rock n’ roll. Nobody among them knew the deeper meaning of these mystical words but intuitively sensed it a factual directive understood by grown ups, probably. The second kid, Rachelle, had a frizzy black ponytail and penetrating blue eyes which made it difficult to remember your thoughts if you looked straight into hers while talking. Even her dad, when explaining how to balance on a bike without training wheels or staying away from a hot element, would lower his gaze to her knees or the ground because one lost their line of thought over the intensity of each blue iris peering back at you declaring the fact that everything in life is unbelievable and never forget it. She replayed the sequence in her mind’s ear but just as she tried to touch the below middle C, Ari side-checked her off the bench and did his pop-boogie again but this time faster. The bell rang and everyone made a bee line for the exit. Rachelle remained. Once alone with the piano she tried it out and quickly she got it. Then did it with her eyes closed and then, even though Ari played in C she transposed it to C# then D. She would keep these cards up her sleeve and wait for her moment.