The accordion— its chords and rhythms, the hypnotic movement of pushing in the air and drawing it back out again— had come back to him like a recurrent nightmare: spring-loaded and terrifying. Something about learning before puberty, Artie explained. Jonny was hard-wired to it. A frightening concept.
He had left the accordion behind, gladly. As a baby he crawled on stage while his grandfather played. From the time he cut teeth he listened in on sessions with his father’s friends. Maybe something you learn so early, something you did so much as a child, never leaves you. You can push it down, learn new music, look the other way. But maybe you’re stuck with it. Like your family.
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