Most of his time was spent at the piano. His music had always been his lifeline, but there was always something desperate and rushed in the way he played. After living with the Deckers and taking lessons with Nicholas Mark, Gabe discovered actual joy in learning. Every meeting with Mark put him one step closer to being a real pianist. He could move a little slower, listen a little more carefully, linger at the keyboard a little longer because for the first time, he was living with predictability. Everything was on time and without drama. Not that there was anything wrong with drama, but it was better handled in the arts than in real life. He had always had freedom, but now he had freedom without fear. The autonomy made him generous. He often came with Hannah to her choir practice to accompany the singers—just to be nice. As graduation approached, Mrs. Kent had begged him to play something special for the evening. After much cajoling from her and from Hannah, he relented.

Why the hell not?

Originally he decided to do something technically challenging like Rachmaninoff—something that would wow an audience. But thirty minutes before the actual ceremony was to begin, he changed his mind.

This wasn’t a piano concert: it was a celebration. People were happy. Some parents actually loved their children and took pride in their accomplishments.

At the last moment, he found a working computer and printer in the synagogue where the graduation ceremony was to take place and downloaded eighteen pages of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 in C-sharp minor. It was a familiar piece to him and to most people because it was used in all the old cartoons whenever there was a chase. He knew he could sight read it without problems. When he was due to play, he lined up the first five sheets of paper on the piano stand, and had Mrs. Kent feed him the next one as he brushed away each used sheet onto the floor. With the papers flying about, especially at the end with tempo going at lightning speed, it had an unintentional comical effect which he incorporated with great flair. Everyone was laughing. He had made a happy audience even happier. He learned another important lesson. Playing in public wasn’t just about skill, it was about entertainment.

He never stopped thinking about his parents. It was wrong to compare them to the Deckers, but he did it anyway. He used to rationalize that their crazy behavior stemmed from their deep profundity. That was total horseshit. The Deckers were stable people, and just as—if not more—complex than his mom and dad.