Howe’s medium was not the piano, the harpsichord, the violin, or the flute. His was the guitar. He composed his first song at four, gave his first c...ncert at eight, and by 10, was touring worldwide. He loved music, it was his only friend. But his parents, two people that used his talent to their benefit, poisoned him. Whenever he had moments of doubt, they would berate him, telling him that Mozart was self-assure, he never second thought his own talents. They stole his childhood, robbed him. The rest of me muttered ‘Yeah, right’ under my breath, then asked, ‘Isn’t he doing better?’ ‘Yeah, he’s great. We’re just getting him a refill so he can continue monthly treatment to prevent him from being re-infested.’ I grabbed his refill and discharge papers and headed up front, trying not to grin like an idiot. I knocked lightly and entered the room. He flashed me a bright smile and stood up to greet me. Reggie did too, so I laughed and scratched his head. ‘How are you, Emma? Did the. More

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