Chapter 1

A boy with dark brown hair groaned and he placed both his hands on his head hoping to lessen the pain. Tears escaped from his bright blue eyes whilst he stared ahead in confusion. Suddenly, he shouted, "Mark!"

Frank or Dean Richards now, recalled the life he had lived and the memories alongside it. A surreal feeling happened and Frank wondered if God or the Devil played with his soul, resulting in an integration of both Frank's and Dean's souls. It's like those sixty years were just a dream, Dean clenched his fists then got up from his bed to look at himself in the mirror.

To be honest, Dean couldn't help but smile while he observe his appearance — Sharp eyebrows, attractive blue eyes, a straight nose, and a smile that could charm even himself. It wasn't that he was being too narcissistic, it's just that the appearance of young Dean has the potential to be a homme fatale; a seductive and dangerous man.

"I guess this is what you were referring to," Dean said with a tinge of melancholy, he strode towards the windows and pulled aside the curtains. What welcomed him was the sight of houses composed of classic brownstone and high-rises, while the birds chirped and the sound of cars came along with it.

"Ah, Isn't this the neighborhood they call Upper East Side!?" he shouted with a mix of surprise and joy, though his expression turned melancholic once more. I wish I could share this scene with you, my friend.

"Well, that's life. You have to move forward, and let go, Frank," Dean comforted, and with that, he could feel the heavy feeling in his chest slowly lightens. He turned his gaze outside once more, and looking at the scenery in front made him have the urge to sing and so he sang, "Start spreading the news,

I'm leaving today,

I want to be a part of it,

New Yo-"

A fifteen years old boy's body is full of surprises during its transition to adulthood, and what happened made Dean embarrassed even if he was alone in his room and no one heard his voice cracking. "Goddammit," he complained and then walked towards the bathroom to tidy up.

During morning breakfast, much to his unease, Dean could hardly talk nor converse with his mother who strictly adheres to table etiquette. This thing was favorable to him for he has hardly adjusted yet and it was hard to speak and act in front of his parents since he was much older in his past life. Speaking of, his father wasn't around every breakfast due to his work, and by work; owning a law firm alongside his partner, Adrian.

According to his memory, his mother, Stephanie Kennedy Richards is a best-selling author and well-known philanthropist in the upper class. Of course, her surname, Kennedy, helped in her journey to success. While his father, John Richards is a top lawyer and son of a republican senator. "What a top-class family," Dean muttered, his thoughts ecstatic since the once poor man is now a golden boy of Manhattan but what made him more interested is the current year — 1985.

After the breakfast, Dean waited for his Piano instructor, and after she had arrived, they went to the room where the piano is. "You've amazed me, Dean," Mrs. Delilah, his piano instructor, gasped in amazement, "The way you play has improved by leaps, and this has really delighted me."

"I've learned from one of the best pianists." Dean winked at Mrs. Delilah and his flattering words made her smile. I guess you'd be losing your mind right now if Mark were the one to play instead of me, Dean smiled while he sat on the piano stool, his hands continued to fiddle with the piano keys accompanied by a romantic tune and his whistling.

"Remarkable," she commented, then asked, "My funny valentine?"

Dean stopped and pointed both his index finger at Mrs. Delilah. He said, "You've guessed it right, Mrs. Delilah." The once soft-spoken, and slightly strict in her teachings, Mrs. Delilah giggled. She quickly found Dean pleasing to the eyes. The boy seemed to have matured in just a week, she thought.

"Hmm, since you're proficient in the piano now, does this mean I'm not needed here anymore?" Mrs. Delilah jokingly asked, her mouth slightly curled upwards.

With an exaggerated expression of surprise, Dean said, "No, how could you even think of not being needed here, Mrs. Delilah? I have very much to learn from you."

Mrs. Delilah paused for a moment, and she pondered over his words. Moments later, she said, "Then this time, I want to hear you play based upon your imagination."

"As you wish." Dean nodded and started playing the piano. The cheery tune fully represented Dean's current mentality; he was looking forward to the future with a positive outlook, and a bit greedy due to what he knows could happen and slightly scared of what changes there are. The entire afternoon was filled with the sound of piano, sometimes accompanied by the whistles and hums of Dean.

The Piano class ended prior to sunset while Stephanie arrived before Mrs. Delilah left. "Dean has astounding talents in playing the Piano, Mrs. Richards does he practice during the weekdays?" Mrs. Delilah's question surprised Stephanie, and her remarks regarding Dean's talent in piano made her dubious. This meeting with Mrs. Delilah was far different from the previous ones, she remembered the perfunctory remarks from Mrs. Delilah, and compared to now, the tone that was plain and dull had been replaced with appreciation and anticipation.

"What can I say, Mrs. Delilah, I've never heard Dean play during the weekdays," Stephanie answered honestly. Then she looked at the smiling Dean, her eyes full inquiry. She raised her eyebrow, implying for Dean to speak up.

Dean shrugged and answered her, giving clearance to the mystery of how he could play perfectly. "I play the piano after school and while you guys haven't come home yet, mom."

"Is that so, Dean? Then I must hear you play now," Stephanie said with a tone of interest, she then gazed at Mrs. Delilah and offered, "How about you stay for a cup of tea while Dean plays for us, Mrs. Delilah?"

"I'm sorry but I have an appointment, Mrs. Richards," Mrs. Delilah politely rejected Stephanie, "Now I must say my goodbye." She performed a curtsy before turning around and walked right out of the French door.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Delilah, I look forward to our class next weekend." Dean kept waving his right hand until Mrs. Delilah was out of his sight. His sunny appearance felt unfamiliar in Stephanie's eyes, she remembers that he would hardly speak at home to which she sometimes sighs and blames herself for his estranged attitude to them. Though unfamiliar, the Dean right now in her eyes gave her a sense of warmth. She watched Dean who had a bright smile on his face walk towards her, stretching out his hands, and say, "A hundred dollars to hear me play exclusively for you, mom." He had a greedy and expectant look.

Stephanie giggled and reached out to her bag, then handed out a hundred-dollar bill to her son. "Isn't your fee a bit too expensive?" she asked to which Dean answered confidently, "Once you have heard me play, you might think otherwise."

For Stephanie, afternoon tea time became pleasant when she heard him play the piano, she couldn't help but exclaim from time to time, "Excellent, dear." Sometimes, she'd elegantly sway her head to the rhythm. In the end, she asked Dean to play for her next time, to which Dean said, "Sure, mom, but it'll be a hundred fifty next time."

At night, when John came back from work, he heard from Stephanie about what had happened earlier, greatly piquing his interest. He called Dean over and asked, "Can you play after Dinner?"

The greedy Dean couldn't wait to spread out his hands as he says, "a hundred fifty please." This took John in surprise and seconds later he laughed, reached for his pockets, and then handed the money to Dean. When Dean took the money and counted how much he got today, his face was full of ecstasy. Truly a rich family! He laughed in his thoughts. The dinner where no one even spoke due to Stephanie's pet peeve, passed and Dean led both his parents to the room where the Piano is and with a balcony outside.

"Please, sir and madam." He gestured after organizing the seats on the balcony. A bottle of Romanee-Conti was served to his parents by the Filipina maid, and he played amidst the romantic words exchanged between John and Stephanie. The soft breeze that touches his face and the tiredness in his fingers while playing the piano reminds Dean, that he is alive, and the future is in his hands.