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Gifted
by naughtybookworm
The Princeton Youth Conservatory of the Arts held its annual mid-year recital just before summer vacation. Each student either had something to present, or had to participate in playing someone else's composition. David House had been a student for six months, so it was time for his first composition to be performed.
The students were all quite gifted, but there were a few whose gifts were above and beyond the others. This year was supposed to have been Alec Kranston's year to shine. It was his last exhibition before he was to graduate. He had been accepted at Julliard. His entire family, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, had turned out to see him exit the little music school with a bang. Alec had composed three short dances; two waltzes and a tango. On top of that, there wasn't anyone else in the school who was presenting who had done anything better. Well, there was a little 9 year old who was doing his first composition. Alec didn't bother to slip into any of the practice sessions to see what THAT was all about. After all, the kid was nine. He probably didn't even have a quarter of the music theory under his belt that Alec himself knew. They'd tacked David House's little ditty on at the last minute when someone remembered that it was his turn to present.
They always made a big deal of these things. All the kids were in concert dress - tuxedos with tails and long black dresses or skirts. The parents were in informal evening clothes. Alec slouched backstage until his turn came, scoffing at the weaknesses he easily spotted in the various compositions that came before his. A couple of them weren't too bad, but then some other kid who was performing it messed up here and there. Lucky it was just parents.
The little House kid came into the wings to get ready for his turn, which was immediately after Alec's. He was a skinny little nine-year old with a knapsack.
"Good luck," David said to Alec.
"Thanks. Don't need it." The seventeen-year old veteran replied.
"Okay." The kid kind of looked down at his shoes. Black, patent leather dress shoes. Required. They were probably too tight.
"You should have broken them in." Alec told him.
"Yeah." They weren't too tight. David just didn't like them very much.
Alec shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It'll be over in a couple minutes."
Nodding, David said, "Okay."
Shrugging again, Alec said, "Nobody'll get bent. You're just a kid. Mommy and Daddy are just happy you're up on the stage."
David didn't respond. He just looked out into space, and started thinking about his composition.
Alec was announced. The lanky teenager rose from his slouch and strode confidently onto the stage.
House and Wilson had arrived early, at Wilson's insistence, to get good seats. The younger man was relieved that David was to go on last; he didn't think he could have prevented House from leaving after his son's turn. He didn't want the other parents to consider them rude. After all, David had another eight years to be in this school, and he didn't need House alienating people for him.
The senior, Alec, who conducted his 3 dances before David's turn looked as though he might have a hissy fit on stage. One of the violinists had screwed up. House could tell that he'd given the girl the wrong cue. Somehow they managed to avert a total train wreck, but anyone with a musical ear could tell that the final piece was a real mess. And anyone else could read Alec's red face to see that it had been a total screwup. Everyone applauded anyway. His family gave him a standing ovation.
Finally. It was David's turn. The orchestra members were shuffled around a bit, and some other students entered the stage. Then David was introduced.
"Our final conductor this evening, who is last, but by no means least, is a new student here at the Conservatory... When you hear his piece, you will realize that great things can come in very small packages. Ladies and gentlemen, David House."
House and Wilson eyed one another. Wilson grabbed and held House's hand for a moment. David had not played it for them, partially because it hadn't been practical, "It needs too many other instruments," David had told them. But also, this was supposed to be a surprise, "An early Father's Day present for Dad," he had told Wilson.
David didn't appear right away. Both men felt a catch in the pit of their stomachs. Stage fright, perhaps? David had never actually performed in front of anyone other than them and his classmates. Wilson closed his eyes and hoped for a trivial matter.
The pregnant pause ended, mercifully. David's instructor, who had announced him grinned broadly as she watched him enter the stage. Nine years old, skinny, short, in a tux with tails and bright red sneakers with lights in the heels. Adorable. A collective "Aww..." rippled through the audience.
Alec wished he could melt into the floor and never be heard from again. The kid stood in front of the audience as if he owned them - of course he owned them now; he took possession of them all just by being cute. "My composition is called 'Greg.'" Was all he said.
Turning around, he picked up the baton that Alec had left on the music stand, opened his folio, tapped the stand to get everyone's attention, and raised his arms. From that point on, Alec understood why the kid had been last. He, Alec, had not been the best of the group that was presenting this time, even if tonight's mistakes had not been someone else's fault. This little kid was the best in the school. And he'd hardly had any training yet, compared to Alec's eleven years there.
David had begun with an intense, relentless baseline, a simple repetition of a chord progression that never wavered throughout the composition. He embellished with lots of patterns of short notes. Then the main theme was exotic; it reminded Alec of Indian music. It was as if David were musically describing something huge and majestic as it progressed across a plain, commanding the attention of every being in its wake. All the while, the strings built to a demanding, intense climax. Finally, the listeners were left with a throbbing release, a fizzle. When the kid conducted, his entire body got into the act. There were parts where he only had one foot still in contact with the podium, as if the music somehow helped him defy the laws of gravity. He'd lift his right foot, and then be up on his left toes. It looked as if this little boy had caught hold of some wild, invisible thing and was hanging on for dear life, but controlling it at the same time. When he came back down again, those accursed little sneakers would flash, and people would just get all gooey about how cute that was. And he ended it all by pulling his harmonica out of his pocket and adding a single musical phrase, in key, in the proper timing, but totally unlike the rest of the music, like a signature.
The audience loved it. People leapt from their seats and applauded. Little David turned to take his bow, hands behind his back, smiling slightly, as if he was maybe a little embarrassed. He remembered to acknowledge and thank the orchestra (which Alec had forgotten to do), and spoke again to the audience. "Thanks," he said softly before walking off the stage, both sneakers flashing now.
Greg House couldn't speak. He lowered his head, stared into his lap. Wilson decided not to tease him, even though he thought it was hugely precious that Greg was near tears. "Now that," he said, pointing to the emptying stage, "beats a handmade clay ash tray ANY day."
House shook his head. "Wilson..." He grabbed Wilson's arm "Need you to fun interference for a minute." He rose and started to make his way out of the auditorium. "I've gotta pee."
"You lying dog." Wilson laughed as he followed. "You're gonna go cry your eyes out like a baby," he hissed into House's ear when he caught up with him.
Alec decided to feign illness, which would both get him off the hook for screwing up tonight, and get him out of having to say a word to or about David House to anyone. He felt sick enough, anyway. Outside the auditorium, in the reception area, people were already lining up for punch and cookies. Little David was just meeting up with a dark-haired guy, maybe his dad, who picked the kid up as he entered the room, and swung him around. Then another older guy with a silver-handled cane, joined them, looking kind of weird and uncomfortable. Alec heard the younger man tell the cane guy to "Get your can over here, Greg." Wow. The old guy was the "Greg."
Alec saw his parents gesturing wildly for him to join them, and decided to make a run for the men's room to begin his fake vomiting act.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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