Stella Did Not Want Pity

Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, plays, short stories, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. @alainaheidelberger on Instagram.

Stella’s talent presented early, before they’d even given her a piano lesson. She wasn’t Mozart—she wasn’t a composer. But god she could play.

The middle of five children, Stella was perfectly well-behaved and didn’t want much attention. She wanted to be left alone, to practice.

It didn’t take long for the piano teachers to fully replace her regular ones. By 11, she was officially “home-schooled.” But she was more self-taught than anything.

She played. She improved.

No one cared that the piano prodigy didn’t have much formal education. No one expected her to go to college. She had more important things to do.

And no one noticed that she didn’t seem to have much of a vocabulary, or voice. Verbal communication was for plebeians: The notes were language enough.

She made the family money. She had fame and glory. So she was a little “boring.” So what? A perfect machine doesn’t need a personality! A personality, if anything, provides unnecessary distraction.

Her parents weren’t irresponsible; they’d had her tested before taking her out of school. The results were conclusive: No autism. No learning disabilities. There was no diagnosis other than “genius.”

There was nothing wrong with Stella, other than the fact that she was deprived, or deprived or charisma, or both.

Stella’s story didn’t have a tragic ending. Not a dramatic one, at least. She was somewhat traditionally attractive, and easily marriageable for other reasons as well. Wealth, talent and fame are aphrodisiac for many men. It’s fun to fuck a genius.

Even a near-silent one. Even a boring one.

Sometimes, when Stella saw her children playing (regular child play, rather than music), she’d notice how happy they appeared to be.

And in a rare moment of self-reflection, she’d wonder what that felt like. Happiness. Or any extreme emotion at all, really.

But then her mind would immediately turn to music. She was most comfortable when thinking in notes, not words or shapes.

Her estrangement from her own mind might have been the loneliest aspect of all. Might have been, had she dwelled on it.

The music was beautiful; Stella did not want pity.