Souls Remember What Matters — Corey Gibson 30
Chapter 30 – Real Talent
SERA
“That piece you were playing,” Cathy said again, her voice getting louder. “It’s Vivienne’s composition. Everyone who knows anything about music would recognize it.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak, Cathy turned to Vivienne.
“Tell her, Vivienne. That’s your piece.”
Vivienne stood there in silence, her eyes fixed on me. She didn’t nod, didn’t confirm Cathy’s words out loud, but she didn’t deny them either. She just stared with a look that said everything it needed to without words.
That silence felt like confirmation enough.
“I didn’t steal anything,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “That piece is mine. I wrote it.”
“Oh please,” Cathy laughed. “You expect anyone to believe that? You, who’s never shown an ounce of musical talent, suddenly composed something that sophisticated?”
The other customers in the shop had stopped browsing. I could feel their eyes on me, watching the drama unfold like I was some kind of entertainment.
“It’s true,” I insisted, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “I wrote that piece. It’s mine.”
“Liar,” Cathy hissed, stepping closer. “You’re nothing but a fraud. You saw an opportunity to steal from someone more talented than you, and you took it. Just like you took everything else from Vivienne.”
A man near the guitars spoke up then, his voice carrying authority. “Wait, I know you. You’re Vivienne, the pianist. I saw you perform at the Kennedy Center last year.”
Vivienne gave him a small, gracious smile. “You’re very kind to remember.”
“I’d recognize your face anywhere. You were incredible.” The man turned to look at me with obvious disgust.” And you’re trying to pass off her work as your own? That’s plagiarism. That’s theft.”
“No, I-” My throat felt tight, making it hard to get the words out.
“This is despicable,” the man continued, shaking his head. “Taking advantage of someone who’s sick, stealing their art. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
More customers were murmuring now, their voices blending together into a wave of judgment. I could feel my face burning, my heart racing so fast I thought I might faint.
“She does this all the time,” Cathy said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Tries to copy Vivienne, to steal little pieces of her life. It’s pathetic.”
My body was shaking, but I had to calm down. Cathy would never believe me, and there was no need for me to argue with her. But I had to be smart and find a way to prove myself. I couldn’t be accused of plagiarism.
I could still hear my voice was unsteady, and I hated it. “I wrote it years ago, I can prove it-”
Cathy scoffed.
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The man interrupted. “How can you prove it?”
I was about to answer when Noah stepped forward from behind the counter. He’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“I have a solution,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “If the piece belongs to Miss Vivienne, then surely she can play it for us now.”
Everyone went quiet.
“After all,” Noah continued, looking directly at Vivienne, “an artist would remember their own composition, wouldn’t they? Especially such a beautiful one.”
Vivienne’s face went very still.
“Yes!” I said immediately, seizing onto the idea like a lifeline. “Yes, I’ll play it again right now. And I can write down the full score too. Every note, every measure. I know it by heart because I’m the one who wrote it.”
I moved toward the piano, my hands already reaching for the keys, ready to prove myself. 1
“I wrote this piece when I was youger,” I said, my voice steadier now. “When I felt so alone back at the orphanage. It’s about the about loving someone you can’t be close to. No one else in the world knows the complete melody because I never published it. I never showed it to anyone,” I added that last sentence with a shaky, vulnerable tone.
Here I was, exposing part of myself I didn’t want to just so I wouldn’t be viewed as a thief. My fists clenched and unclenched by my sides, almost trembling.
Cathy’s eyes flashed with triumph, she crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. “Then Vivienne can play it too. Play it, Vivienne. Show this liar what real talent looks like.”
I looked at Vivienne, waiting. She was staring at the piano like it was a foreign object.
“Play it,” Cathy urged again, her voice full of confidence. “Prove that it’s yours.”
Vivienne’s hand went to her throat, then to her chest. “I… the piece is quite complex. After my illness, my memory isn’t what it used to be-”
“But you wrote it,” Noah said simply. “Surely you’d remember your own work, even if you’re not feeling well.”
This time, Vivienne’s face truly paled under Noah’s and my gaze.
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