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“Take off your gloves,” the dalmatian said. It sat with its muzzle lifted with a certain aloof arrogance.
The human looked down at her hands. Yes, she was wearing black gloves. They hid the scars underneath.
The piano seat beckoned the human. If she sat down, she could play again. She could be free. She just needed to take off the black gloves.
“They’ll see my scars,” the human said out loud.
“Well, yes,” the dalmatian said. It lowered its head slightly. “Unless you can make them think of something else when you play.”
The human hesitated. There were a lot of her kind in the room. Most of them were milling about the bar. Drinking cocktails. Watching each other out of half lidded eyes. No one was paying attention to her.
It was comforting, but also a little irritating. Here she was, trying to see if she had the nerve to pull the gloves off. No one was acknowledging her dilemma.
No one, except for the dalmation who sat curled up on the sofa. It watched the human with liquid eyes. Expectantly.
The human got up and pulled her gloves off.
How ugly the reddened, puffy flesh looked! The human shuddered to see her own hands. She glanced over at the dalmatian.
The dog turned its muzzle towards the piano. It flapped its ears with the motion.
The human walked over to the piano.
Now, other humans were starting to watch her. However, her attention was drawn to black and white keys, awaiting her. Ebony and ivory, side by side. She shyly touched one of them.
The sound was perfectly in tune. It reverberated in the human’s ears, sending shivers down her spine.
She began to play.
Other humans turned their heads towards the one playing the piano. Not one of them looked at her hands.
The dalmatian nodded her head and allowed her tail to thump the cushions beneath her.
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