He could hear the vile snoring of his father above the loud gongs of the cathedral bells. Imagine him drooling, fallen over the dresser in a drunken stupor. He could steal an afternoon with his friend, away from the nightmare of the music lessons!
The eight year old ran through the streets of eighteenth century Bonn. Snaking through horse carriages and street vendors, on the cobblestone road, shinning a bright orange in the afternoon sun.
Franz was waiting behind the cathedral with his favorite freshly baked bread. They ate in silence and friendship.
“I wonder how much longer I can take my father’s brutality.” the young boy said sadly. Franz shot him a look of sympathy. “He makes me practice the piano eight hours a day now. Canes me when I get even a note wrong. Keeps me awake till I can’t see the music sheet clearly. I am tortured.” saying this the young boy began to weep.
His friend put an arm around him.
“All this because of that bastard Mozart! All I get to hear is if Mozart can do it why can’t I ? But I am not Mozart. I don’t want to be Mozart! Everyone is not a genius like Mozart!” the boy needed to vent and Franz allowed him.
After a brief silence Franz said, “I don’t know music but I like the compositions you make.”
The young boy smiled, “You are just being a friend.”
Franz did not smile back, “I am not. You may not be Mozart but the world will know you as you are, my friend, Ludwig van Beethoven!”