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Teaching Sam

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I sat at the majestic black Brambach piano and stared at the well-worn, well-polished ebony and ivory keys. They gleamed with a familiar shine that reminded me of friendship, hard work, and success. I loved this piano, but I loved the young man sitting next to me even more. He had changed so much, and yet so little since I last saw him. His tall figure had towered over me earlier when I had hugged him, my head resting on his chest. His journey from Eugene, Oregon had been a long and tiring one with little sleep, I could tell because his eyes were tired, even when they smiled to great me. My hair was now shorter and straighter than his long, curly auburn locks. He was still the same Sam though, his smile was still bright and goofy and his laugh was still a loud, boisterous chuckle that filled not just the room but the entire house. He, too, was studying the piano keys intently. Finally he hit one, “Darn!” he exclaimed. He had hit the wrong one. I played for him once again the simple melody of triads. After a few more moments of peaceful, thoughtful silence, he hit another key. This time, it was right. He continued to think before successfully completing the first triad. It took him most of his leave from college, but eventually he got it.




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