I sit on the piano bench, eyes closed and listening to the music pouring out of the computer screen. Nervous about my turn, whether the microphone will work, whether I’ll mess up, whether my beautiful dress makes me look good. When the previous performer’s song fades away and fizzles out, I set up the microphone and sit on the bench, rigid and nervous. My first piece is a duet, played with the computer instead of my teacher, who would normally play with me. I play it well, catching all the jubilant, excited notes springing from my fingertips and wrist. I roll through the dreamy parts and stop my wrist bouncing until the music regains its jubilant tone. I end my duet on a low chord, bellowing into the microphone that I’m done with my first piece. That was my warmup. I wait for the other kids to finish as I take my turn, second to last performance in the recital. I turn on the metronome, silently flashing back and forth, back and forth, to use as my guide while I play. The music starts flowing from my fingers and wrists, just as I practiced. The notes are synchronized, steady triplets, like a clock ticking three times instead of two. I get louder, intensify, soften, hide the sound, following my left hand’s guidance. I end with four bold chords, sounding like fireworks, making the piece go out with a bang. The audience remains quiet (being muted) as I switch to the next piece, turn off the metronome, and play through the beginning in my head. I lift my wrists a little and drop, creating the mysterious, suspenseful first chord, described by my teacher as being like the first step into a mystical enchanted forest. It continues into a bright flower field, with the soft brush of grass being the left hand, and the birds trilling into the chirpy animal sounds of the right hand. The piece continues, suspenseful, bouncy, suspenseful, bouncy, suspenseful, bouncy. Suddenly, the tempo changes, faster and louder into a jubilant dance. Continuing, the dance tires back into the bright meadow, with the animals and birds, and calming grass. Falling from the sky start gentle flurries of snow, running up and down gently and smoothly. Finally, the snow fades away, dissolving the picture into a final, almost silent, note. The audience begins silently applauding, muted while I silently mute myself and the teacher introduces the next performer. After the recital, everyone who was there for me called, gushing about how amazing I was. Flowers were given, and compliments and congratulations. Afterward, I can honestly say that this virtual recital may very well have been the best one I’ve ever had.