In 2020 when the bar was empty, I would often come there to play piano by myself. I couldn't afford to have a nice one, only a keyboard. Even free pianos I'd found on online marketplaces had to be paid for to be restored, and I just didn't have that kind of money. So, suddenly, when I became employed by Cinderella Bar, I had a beautiful piano to play whenever I wanted.

I'd often find myself with an itch. Go to Cinderella Bar and play. My keyboard just wasn't doing it for me anymore. The full sound of that piano. It wasn't a typical one that could be found anywhere. It had been specially found for the sole purpose of what it sounded like. Tata had told me all about it that first day, so proud of it. I had to admit that inside, my jaw was dropped about it. What a dream he'd found.

The piano was from the early 1920's. To test it out, I played a classic song that really brought out this type of sound, making the piano absolutely shine, which was "The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin. Tata stood next to me as I began to play, his mouth open slightly as he smiled in delight. This first song I played on it. It was such magic. This ragtime sound, authentic and real. I played more, then another Scott Joplin song "Pineapple Rag". More magic. Then "In the Mood" by Glenn Miller, playing a certain series of notes over and over in the high register just for the satisfying sound of it. Moving my head in fascination with it. Searching with that sound as if I were going deeper into a very interesting series of tunnels with him following behind me as an enchanted partner in crime. 

I was addicted to that sound, and I wasn't ashamed to admit it. There was no possible way to emulate it on a keyboard. The piano had a unique voice, and I wanted it to sing all the time. 

In particular, the piano's sound seemed to be attracting Tata to me. Sometimes, I'd come in and didn't even know he was somewhere in the building. I'd start play, and he'd be upstairs in the storage room. Or he'd be in the back, taking inventory of the remaining bottles we had and wondering what to do with them now. Or he'd be cleaning somewhere. But, as soon as I'd start to play, he'd wander out of wherever he was. He might come out from any doorway. It was always a surprise to me, and I'd get jarred a little, but I wouldn't miss a note of my song. He'd stay a safe distance away, usually where the audience's chairs would be set up in the past, now an empty floor space. He'd stand there solitary, my sole audience member. Oh, but I'd rather play for him than for a hundred people.

There was just something about him. From that first day we met, he really seemed to understand the kind of music I love. His unique appreciation of it. He knew every song I played. Often, he'd start to sing and I'd switch to songs which had lyrics. Once, he sang such a stirring version of "I'll Be Seeing You" by Billie Holiday that I forgot to play the entire ending. He finished it for me, for well over a minute, singing to the silence around us as if in a drifting, slow and pleasant dream. 

Sometimes, I'd get such a deja vu when he sang, but I never told him. It was my mind telling me that this should have already happened. Such a perfect puzzle piece he was, fitting in so clearly and perfectly to myself. Such a complete feeling when we made music together, that it should have already been. This impossible feeling. 

When we started to make videos together for my YouTube channel, it was just meant to be. I had already been making them at home for over ten years. I didn't have much traction, but it was my passion project. Something I had to do. It seemed right to do it here. We set up my cellphone and I played "Parlez-Moi D'Amour" by Lucienne Boyer. It was a song that Darla liked to sing, so of course Tata knew it. 

What I hadn't expected was for him to close his eyes and clasp his hands to his chest. Tilting his head to the side, his face so beautiful. Feeling the song, swaying from side to side. I blended it into "Someday My Prince Will Come" from the movie Snow White and he turned to me, and his smile was so gentle and beautiful. Overwhelming me, this unworthy piano player. That smile. 

That smile was when I knew I'd fallen for him. We'd already been talking for a while, but now here he was. About to sing about a Prince that he wished for, but he was smiling at me as if his Prince were already here. The look in his gentle eyes. The feeling in my heart overtook my body, a complete warmth unlike any other I'd ever known.

That look was forever captured by my camera, the first video we put up. It spelled out our love story. Every video was a small confession of it. How well we went together, improving over time as our feelings intensified. Sometimes, his hands would be on top of my piano as he sang to me, pretending we were alone though these videos would have an audience in the thousands. He ignored everyone, singing to me. I'd stare at him, so close to me. Watching his lips, as every word flew to me. 

During piano interludes, he'd dance. These slow things, his elegant arms and waist. His love for the music, the subjects, the characters in the stories. It was sometimes hard to believe that he was the same person as at home, since I knew him at home by now. He could be clumsy and so innocent, relying on me for guidance when we were at home. But here, in these dresses fit for a royal, he was a completely different person, or was that person in there always? What a mystery he was, and with every movement he revealed a bit more about himself. Every note was a discovery as to the complex nature of the man I love. Every word he sang, the way he sang it, told me more about himself better than any story. 

I could play forever if he'd dance and sing for me. Make the days longer and never ending. Make the sunset never come. Make the tide never come in. Freeze time and space, only for us two in this place that we called our own. Our videos would be hours long, reflecting how much we didn't want to stop. He loved it just as much. Truly becoming alive, reaching up to the spotlights as if this were The Met in New York, or La Scala in Italy. It didn't matter where he was, this stage was everything. It was a feeling that has no description, a faceless awe, watching him perform as the spotlights shone. 

Often, I'd choose something different to focus on as we performed. Sometimes, I'd focus on his hands. Their expressions as he performed. How he danced with them. They were another form of words. Every part of him was part of his performance, no detail overlooked. 

I used to think that wanting to dress in women's clothes on stage was only natural. Thinking about my own feelings and being under the impression that it was completely normal, not considering others and how they might feel about it. But, seeing him perform was something different. The effort he made to appear as feminine as possible, even the details of his fingers moving elegantly. I didn't have to think of such things since I was always sitting at a piano, but I sometimes caught him at home in front of a mirror practicing different gestures. If we watched an old movie from Hollywood, for example, I might see his hands go up briefly and copy the starlet on screen if she did something particularly moving. Studying his craft constantly, picking up beautiful things. 

He taught me so very much in such a short period of time. How differently he feels about dressing up for the stage. He found my own explanations fascinating also, calling it a "feminine spectrum" after I'd told him, and how I must be more toward the middle if I found it so natural. I wasn't sure about that, but I definitely didn't have to make such an effort as he did to appear feminine. It was strange, because I felt more masculine when I was off stage. But, when I entered that atmosphere of the spotlights, I remembered my music. How it makes me feel, and it was so natural. Maybe, the way this feeling makes me move is more feminine to the eye. It was yet something else that he wanted to study, watching me as I played the piano in a dress. 

Sometimes, I'd come to Cinderella Bar and open the door and hear music. They were records from Darla's collection, the record player on stage spinning away, and there Tata would be in the middle of the floor. He'd be dancing by himself, reminding me of old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies. He'd be doing the backwards steps of the girl part, dancing with an invisible partner. All the elegance I'd seen him display, it was here. His back would be turned to me temporarily as I watched, until he turned around and saw me. But, in these precious few moments, there he'd be dancing alone. 

This sort of performer is only alive once every one-hundred years. That is what I believe. His dedication to his craft... Watching him dance. These movies he'd studied, these ballroom dances that he knew. Every step perfect, gliding and making the dress spin and twirl, his often long and auburn hair moving in the wind he created as he followed his invisible partner. 

What was he daydreaming about? To dance alone like this. How often did he do it? Was it study, or something more? 

When he'd catch me watching, he'd only extend those elegant arms. I'd be dirty from outside, sometimes wet as a rat from the spring rain. At first, I'd shuffle away in embarrassment. I can't dance to save my life. There is a reason I only perform when I'm sitting down. I have no other talents than the piano. I can't even sing a note to accompany myself. The music would play around us, now awkwardly warbling from that old record player, as I went behind the bar and into the back rooms. Leaving him alone with his still curious extended arms outstretched to no one. Soon, I'd hear him start to sing with the record player, further practicing by himself, but no more dancing. 

It was a long time until I joined him. How stupid I was not to. I didn't know how to dance, but that was the joy of it. He'd take the lead, and I was the one to dance backwards, even more impossible for me since I was a beginner. How he'd laugh above the music as any old record played at all. It could be anything, and we didn't care. Song after song. Even after the music stopped and it was time to put another record in, we couldn't stop. We kept on dancing, his laughter my music. 

"Yuki, Yuuuki, hahaha. No, what are you- hahaha! Nooo!" 

Admiring his smile as he laughed, so close to my face. His warm arms around me as he led me around the room. I was awkward as a child, shaky as a newborn deer, but we danced together. I'd be embarrassed a million times, but what heaven was this? What far off reaches to above the stars? 

Soon, we'd slow. His eyes would close and there that smile would be, the same one I fell in love with that day. So gentle and beautiful. His cheek would rest on my shoulder, and I'd hold him close. Knowing who he is, thinking about who he is at home. Seeing him here, in the moment, wearing any dress at all. This feeling in my heart, so full and wandering. So complete and correct. Finding more impossible ways to love him with each passing wonderful second, hearing the static from the record player as it kept spinning, the music long gone. But, somewhere inside of him was his heartbeat. Loving him so completely, that imagining his heartbeat was my music. Wanting to protect that sound with everything inside of myself. Holding him tighter because of it. Dancing with him, swaying in nothing, just the joy of him. Just the full love of him, as we danced in this empty bar.