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Music was the family business.
For as long as Cole could remember, the house was filled with song and dance and the notes of joy.
Dad was a show-stopping performer. He could play and sing and dance and write and dazzle any audience he stepped in front of. He lived for the stage.
Mom was less extravagant. A concert pianist with a beautiful, albeit untrained, voice. She was an expert musician in her field and loved getting to play alongside others. Her unique touches, together with a chorus of others, made up the masterpieces and memories she loved so much.
And Cole?
He loved to observe. To listen and feel it all with his whole body.
Tagging along to rehearsals, getting into shows for free and all the late nights spent backstage filled his earliest memories.
Of course, being the only child of such renowned performers, there was no question of whether or not he would follow in their footsteps.
By age six, he could play better than most people twice his age, and had mastered the basics of performance.
But Cole never liked performing. Not nearly as much as he liked watching.
Dance class was fun because he could see how the routines came together and he thought learning the steps was fun.
But actually doing it? Not for him.
Playing and singing during practice was fun because it was something the family could do together. He could do things his own way and watch as memories were crafted alongside the music.
But performing for an audience, dressed in a stuffy suit and uncomfortable shoes? He couldn’t imagine a worse way to spend the time.
But no one seemed to notice. Cole was a child protégé after all. Who would notice if he wasn’t as skilled as a master performer?
Almost no one. But Dad did.
The incident with the Triple Tiger Sashay? It didn’t matter that the press called it a miracle that he could even attempt such a move at the age of seven. Dad saw only weakness and a lack of motivation.
It didn’t matter that Cole could charm any audience no matter what he played. Dad saw only a lack of emotion with zero individuality.
And Mom?
Mom didn’t see anything anymore.
She was sick and had only gotten sicker. She wasn’t aware that her son was unhappy and he wasn’t aware that her husband was spiraling. She wasn’t aware that they kept going for her.
Sometimes, Cole wasn’t even sure if she was aware that she was dying.
When she died, the world mourned alongside them. No one pushed for answers or interviews and there were no more performances. There was no more music.
Of course the family of two still practiced, but there was no joy in it. Every note played was correct, every harmony beautiful, and every step graceful, but it wasn’t music. Not anymore.
And then a performing quartet approached Dad. One of the members was an old friend, and the offer was genuine.
Dad reluctantly took it, but once he was onstage again, he never looked back. He got better. He moved on.
But Cole was stuck.
Dad tried to help in the only way he knew how: pushing Cole back onto the stage.
He tried to quit, but Dad wouldn’t have it.
Dad said he had to keep busy. Keep practicing and performing and then he’d find himself again.
So Cole kept dancing. And playing. And singing. He picked up new styles and skills, and built strength and flexibility. And slowly added bricks to the wall around his heart.
Father and son grew more and more distant s time went on.
And music began to be something Cole hated.
He played only to finish the song and go home. Sang only what was written, enough to maintain the image.
And he danced only for the thrill of moving his body and overcoming physical challenges.
He would play his father’s game and keep on performing, but he refused to carry on the legacy.
Tension continued to build in their house that could never again be called a home.
Cole reached his breaking point when Dad dropped him off.
Marty-Opeinheimer School of Performing Arts. It was the next logical step in his career as a musician, and what Mom had always wanted for him.
So he went quietly, even if he was reluctant.
Cole didn’t care for his classes. Or his teachers, or his fellow students, or himself.
He cared only about the challenge.
Every piece he wrote, every note he sang, and every leap he took was an effort to find his limit. His point of no return.
It was no longer art that Cole made, but a showcase of raw emotion and soulless pain.
The day that he discovered it wasn’t enough was the day that Cole left.
He walked out the doors with nothing but the clothes on his back and went in search of what could test.. What could break him.
What could end him.
Life in the woods was hard at first, but he simply adapted. He got stronger.
And that was infuriating.
How would he ever reach his limit if every challenge he faced made him stronger?
He kept trying.
Eventually, he came to the mountain.
Something inside him told him that this would be it. The last challenge.
So he shook his now-long hair from his face, cracked his knuckles, and smiled.
And then he began to climb. It was a long way to the top and by no means easy.
But he was doing it.
A young teen with no equipment, no training, and no knowledge of climbing was scaling a mountain. An impossible feat.
But he did it.
He hadn’t thought he’d be able to do it. So, when Cole made it to the summit, he had no plan. He simply stood, panting, and admiring the view.
And now he was out of ideas.
So, what if he just leaned out over the edge and dropped? Or jumped.
Would he be able to catch himself?
Could he survive the fall?
He figured there was only one way to find out.
So, he wiped the sweat from his face and turned back, preparing to make a running start.
But when he turned around, he saw something he never could have imagined.
An old man with a long white beard was sitting cross-legged on the ground.
He looked up at Cole from underneath the brim of his hat and smiled.
And then he made Cole an offer.