That night I had a terrible dream. I was with my grandpa, and I was showing him what I could do on the old piano. Then, he was teaching me a new song when he stopped moving. My family called an ambulance, but by the time we got to the doctor, they reported it was too late, for he was dead. I woke up, shaking and sweating, but then those last words I heard from Grandpa filled me up with the feeling you get when you heat up your feet after ice skating. “I love you,” I heard again. “I love you.”

I woke up that morning, hungry and tired, hair crazy, and crust on my eyes. I looked down in the kitchen for the leftovers of the Trix. It looked like my parents had had some of it last night too. As I poured the leftovers into a bowl the cereal barely filled to the top of the bowl. I ate the cereal, grateful I had it, but I knew I was still craving food.

I ignored the empty feeling in my stomach as I set off up the stairs, passing my parents with their computers in their hands.

“When are you going to be ready to clean the house Rose?” my mom sneered.

I responded with a glare, wishing my eyes could freeze her in place from bossing me around. I do love my parents as most kids do, I wish they weren’t who they are. I went to the piano determined to finish “Castle In My Dreams.” I was a little uneasy at first about playing the piano again, especially because of the dream I had had last night. However, the comforting feeling brought me to sit down on the stool again. I played the notes to “Castle In My Dreams” until I finished the song flawlessly. I figured out that all the notes light up that gold color at the same time only when you play the song right. I smiled when I finished when my reward was presented to me. The whole page of notes was lit up beautifully at the same time, but my stomach interrupted my celebration, rumbling like thunder in the South.

“Ugh,” I groaned.

I was starving. Wishing I had food to eat, I watched the satisfying fading of the glimmering notes. Then, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I jumped. Whom could it be? Not Mom or Dad, why would they care? Plus aren’t they on their computers? I opened my mouth wide in surprise. Through the door frame stood Mom, holding a platter of the biggest breakfast imaginable. She came over and sat the platter of fabulous bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, pancakes, waffles, fruits, truffles, pastries and orange juice on my lap. A liberal amount of each breakfast food on the platter, I laughed with joy, but why was she giving me this?

“Mom!” I screamed while she started to walk out the door. “What’s this for?” I asked; no reply. “Mom?” She kept walking down the stairs, but I followed her, yelling and asking questions; no reply. Finally, I nudged her in the back, no reply. So, happy but confused, I ran upstairs back to the piano and ate my breakfast.

After eating, I went downstairs to put my platter away to find my mom and my dad, pooling their Facebook money together to go to the supermarket.

“I need a twenty,” my mom said, already putting her hand out for the money.

“Yep,” I heard my father sighed, “anything else,....” he lost his thought, staring at the empty egg yolk, maple syrup, and jelly smeared plate that I was holding.

“Where did you get that food?” my mom asked.

I tried to make an impression to furrow my brow to say something like are you crazy?

“And, why didn’t you share with us?” I heard my father ask, a little irritated.

“Mom gave it to me,” I answered, still furrowing my brow.

“What are you talking about?” my mom asked in shock of being accused.

“Around thirty minutes ago you walked up to the attic when I was practicing on Grandpa’s piano I inherited, and you handed me this plate full of breakfast,” I answered calmly.

“I did see you walk upstairs,” my dad said shyly.

“Robert!” my mom glared.

“Sorry hon,” my dad said.

“The reason I didn’t share with you,” I said, bothered I had to explain, “was because I tried to get Mom’s attention, but she wouldn’t answer.”

“Okay, we were planning to go to the supermarket anyway,” Mom triumphed. Then, she walked out the door with twenty dollars in her hands and pulled open the door to the van. The door creaked as it was pulled open, and she drove off to the supermarket.

For a little bit, my Dad and I awkwardly stared at each other, trying to find something to say, until Dad retreated to his computer again, with a couple of old teacups near him. I parted away back to the piano. I had some testing to do.

“You’re magical?” I asked. I smiled as a golden, script “yes” flew across the piano's keys. I smiled wisely. Is this why Grandpa wanted this piano to be mine I wondered?