The Concert--A Product of Imagination

8:45 For some, it was the culmination of a lifetime of adoration and fanhood; for others, a slightly superior alternative to sitting in front of the television all evening. Some came out of boredom, some out of curiosity. The children whined and asked to stay home; the teens were placated by bringing cell phones; the preppy students came so they could say they had. They sized up each others' clothing, chatted over $9 wine, and in general, expected to be mildly bored for the next hour or so.
8:58 The fans had already finished poring over the program, while the bored boyfriends finished up in the bathroom. The ushers, indifferent and nonchalant ("we see these things every day") corralled people into their seats with flashlights and chided tactless candy-eaters while the lights went down.
9:01 The lights stayed off--the silence turned into a hush, which turned into expectant throat-clearing. Just as the first pessimistic girlfriend turned to ask if the power had gone out, a spotlight pierced the darkness, lighting up the once-new Steinway and, more importantly, the man sitting hunched over at the keyboard. The man did not wait for the crowd to comprehend the spectacle, but began to play without lifting his head. The music, unlike most public performances, did not wait for its audience to get settled. It gently declared the beginning of the performance with four notes that sounded like thick tear-shaped drops of water falling into the still waters. The next hour was without words. One woman whispered "Oh my God" to her husband, but he didn't hear her.

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