Charlie (Sky) Winchester<br/>Location: The Library<br/>Tags: None<br/>There is no “perfect’ in music. If I were ever to come off the stage feeling that the performance could not have been better, it would then be time to quit.<br/><br/>She read the quote in the book and wrinkled her now. “Yeah dad. You always did have a way with words.”<br/><br/>Leonard Winchester is an American conductor, author, and composer. He was born in Georgia. No one in his family had displayed musical talent. At a young age, he presented talents far beyond his years.  He would go on to attend Julliard, graduating with high honors. It was there he also met his wife, Beth Cohen. A famed pianist, the two were instantly inseparable. Leonard was offered an esteemed position with the Atlanta  Symphony Orchestra, where he remained until two years ago. Tragically he passed, leaving behind his loving wife and estranged daughter Charlie Winchester.<br/><br/>She looked up from the book, her nose wrinkled once more. ‘Estranged daughter. I’m surprised they even put my name in there. Wonder what people would think if they knew dear old dad wanted a boy so bad that he had the name picked out before I was born, and even after I was born he kept it. Wonder what they would say if they dad was so happy when I started to play as young as he did, and then he pushed me to practice every day, for hours on end. ‘ She looked back down at the book, at the picture of him standing there, dressed in black, baton waving as he worked. He looked so focused, so serious. She never understood that. To her, music was fun. He carried to a place she didn’t want to go. ‘You’re the reason I ran away you know? If you had just backed off and let me have a life, I would have stayed. I loved you. I just….didn’t love….how you wanted me to see music. ‘<br/><br/>Her mind drifted to the day she went home for his funeral. All those people dressed to the nines looking at her as she walked through the house, looking much like she did right now. Her mother stopping her, looking at her with no words, as if she were a stranger. “Where is it,” she asked her. “In his collection room, but Charlie you can’t,” she began as her daughter walked past her. His collection room was a place she was never allowed in. He wasn’t there to stop her now. “She opened the heavy, once locked door and stepped inside. The smell of him was heavy. It brought a tears to her eyes. There, on a shelf, she saw it. He had it in the case, opened, with a picture of her in a frame next to it. ‘He really did care,’ she thought as her fingertips traced the frame. “Charlie you can’t take it.” Quickly she turned to face her mother, now standing in the doorway. “Watch me. He made me practice on this thing most of my life. It’s mine. It’s all I left of him. The memories, the know how, and this. You won’t keep me from it.” Charlie turned around, closed the case softly, and picked it up. “Strings is mine.” She slowly approached her mother. “I don’t wanna fight with you. I love you. I really do.” Her mother’s cold eyes wouldn’t even meet hers’. Charlie shook her head, wanting to scream at her mother, but instead she pushed past her once more, for the last time. ‘She didn’t even ask me to stay,’ she thought as she allowed the book to fall open on the floor in front of her. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Charlie rested her arms and head on them.