As the ivory piano rumbled underneath my quickly moving hands, my mind wandered off. I imagined her next to me stroking the keys gently with her nimble fingers. I could imagine her light blonde curls cascading down her back as she moved with the music. The melody would carry her away. A serene smile would cross her face as she entered the song. Her passion would inspire me. I would watch her for hours as she struggled to keep up the fast paced sonatinas and the soft and slow pieces. Sometimes I would join her and play next to her, her small body squashed up against me. She would slightly sway, and grin when both of our feet moved for the pedal. The piano was barely ever empty. It became older and the keys began to yellow. The pedal would get stuck and the keys wouldn’t make a sound.
One day she decided she didn’t want to play anymore. I had been watching her curiously as I was sitting there enjoying the music. Then she stopped and closes the lid over the keys, getting up. She didn’t say a word and suddenly I realized she was tired.
The house grew silent and monotonous. A fine layer of dust gathered on the piano and the pieces lay unopened on the mantle. Sometimes when I passed by the room I would peek in and gaze longingly upon the piano.
Then one winter morning years later, when the coldness had swept over us and the world was coated in white, the song began. It was soft and sweet at first but grew louder and louder. I listened from my bed. I sat quietly not even sitting up. I never wanted to interrupt the song. Finally I crept down the stairs and watched her hit the keys. She was not the least bit rusty.
Then the winter months passed slowly. She played more and more often. But as she sat on the old bench and played the untuned keys she seemed to fade. When she began to fade, so did the music. And slowly she became the dust upon the piano.
I watched the rain fall down my windowsill. I wished with all my heart for the melody of a sonatina. I longed to see her and hear her. The piano was old. It was ready to be thrown away, for the ivory was yellowed and the wood was chipped and old. But I walked down the creaky stairs. I came to the door and pushed it open. There in the midst of the darkness and the sound of pouring rain sat the little old piano. What had once seemed so beautiful was solemn and lifeless. Without her, it was useless. But I sat down on the old unstable bench and reached out for the lid. It rolled back into the piano revealing the keys. The very keys were where her fingers used to play. So I opened a song and began to play. I was never as good as her, but as I was playing I imagined her. . I imagined her next to me stroking the keys gently with her nimble fingers. I could imagine her light blonde curls cascading down her back as she moved with the music. I played and the song began to take away the pain. When I was playing, she was right there beside me playing with me. Slowly the piano was alive and beautiful again. The skies began to clear as light poured in through the windows, glittering off the piano. And I realized that all the times I had been alone, she had been right here. Right here in the piano. And all I needed to do was play…