I brushed my fingers against the wood of the instrument, hoping for some inspiration. As I stood there waiting for some kind of sign, music softly drifted into my ears. I strained to hear it more clearly and sighed when I realized it had nothing to do with me. A cold hand touched my bare shoulder and I let a few tears trail down my face.

“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” My best friend, Marley waited behind me, hoping I would answer.

“I hope so. I just can’t think of anything anymore. It like disappeared out of my head. So, I might as well put everything up,” I reply quietly touching the few papers stuffed into a drawer. Music notes stained the pages and I could make out a few words in my hand writing.

“Jennifer,” she started but I put a hand up to stop her. She ignored me. “How could something you want to do so much, make you hurt so badly inside?”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” I turn around to face my long-time friend. Her tall slender figure leaned against the door frame and she crossed her tanned arms. I looked up at her piercing blue eyes and forced a smile onto my face. With one swift motion she rubbed a tissue on my cheek.

“Your mascara is running,” she explained and I let a small giggle escape my lips. Marley groaned and pulled me out of the closet. She turned me to a floor length mirror on the door. “Jen, look at yourself. Are you doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” I stated without looking up. The silence grew longer as I pretended to study my freshly painted toenails. Finally, realizing that defeat was near, I swept my gaze upwards to the mirror. At first, I studied my wavy brown hair and dark blue (almost purple) eyes. I looked at my black tank-top and criticized the gray sweats I was wearing. “I don’t see anything.”

“Look closer Jen.”

I took a step forward and leaned in for a better look. Suddenly, I focused in on my face and was surprised at the changes. Dark circles curved underneath my eyes, and a zit was forming on my forehead. The colors in my cheeks were gone and so was my tan. I critiqued the dark black lines smearing my face and watched silently as a tear rolled once more down my cheek.

“What do you think?” Marley’s voice brought me out of my trance and I glanced at her reflection.

“I’m doing the right thing,” I answered once more in a clear voice. Uncertainty pained her features but she stepped back. I took one last look at the overcrowded closet before shutting the door. “Let’s go.”

I walked past the piano, not stopping to see where I once wrote my first song; past the racks of clothes that I used for recitals and sometimes just for fun; away from the mirrors that held many memories I couldn’t bear to see; and left the billboard which held every newspaper clipping and photo of me since I was 12. Marley followed just as silently and as she stood in the hallway I closed the door to my childhood for the very last time.