The Piano

When I first saw the color red, it was the big bow that the master put on me so that his wife would be surprised come christmas morning.  Ever since then, red is the only color I see, because it’s the color that started my story.  Black and white surround me, but I can see the red roses that the master bought his wife for their anniversary.  And I see more roses a few years later after she gives birth to a son.  The little boy, Jay, has curly hair and is always dressed in red.  He pounds on my keys, but I don’t mind.  I look after him, and he makes sure I stay in tune.  The mistress doesn't play me that much anymore now that she has the responsibilities of being a mother.

When Jay is seven years old, he begs his mother to learn to play me the way she does.  Finally giving in, a teacher arrives and Jay learns to play.  It has been so long since I was used properly.  It feels good to make real music again.  The child’s teacher always wears a red bow tie and he nervously clears his throat before beginning any song.

Jay is a master at playing me by the time he is fourteen.  No one takes better care of me than he does.  His mother and father ignore me now, and I’m used as a table half the time.  But if Jay walks in and sees that I’m covered in his mothers boxes and things, he removes them and dusts me off.  I wish more than anything that I could talk to him.  He talks to me all the time, but not with words.  The way he gently touches my keys and makes sure I’m in tune lets me know that he loves me.  If only I could somehow voice to him my appreciation for all that he does for me.

Jay is nineteen and has brought a girl home with him.  He introduced her to his parents as Maria.  She sits on my seat next to Jay and watches his fingers move up and down my keys as he makes beautiful music.  She sings along and even I can’t deny that her voice would make the birds proud.

Within a year and a half, Jay and Maria are planning their wedding.  They make a lovely couple and I wish them the best, but I will miss the boy who keeps me in tune.

After Jay and Maria are back from their honeymoon, Jay is arguing with his father.  Finally, the senior of the two gives up and walks away.  What they were arguing about I don’t know, but when Jay walks over to me joyfully and opens the lid of my seat, and pulls out all the music stored there, I then knew.  Jay was taking me with him.  I want to thank him, but I don’t have the voice.  I want him to play me, but there is no way to tell him so.

The next thing I know, I am moved out of the house I’ve been in for almost twenty three years and am hauled up the stairs of an apartment complex.  Jay is there waiting for me when I arrive.  He places me up against the wall and sits down to play me again.  He smiles with satisfaction and closes his eyes to listen to the beauty of the song that we make together.  Maria enters the room and puts her hands on his shoulders.  “It’s beautiful, my love.” I hear her say.  She kisses the top of Jay’s head, just the way his mother used to, and goes back outside.  When she returns, she is carrying a cardboard box.  Jay goes into the kitchen and comes back out with a dozen roses.  “A welcome-to-our -first-home-gift.” He tells her.  The red stands out and I am happy.  My new home is filled with life and joy.  The color red will still surround me to remind me of when my story began.

Six months after we’ve all settled into the new apartment, Jay and Maria invite their parents over for a dinner.  At the table, I hear them all laughing, and then I see Maria grasp Jay’s hand and give him a smile.  “We’re going to have a baby.” she announces.

The table erupts with cries of joy and a dozen questions.  I am happy for them, but a little sad at the same time.  For me, it feels like yesterday that Jay was pounding on my keys making nothing but noise.  Now he will have a child of his own to pound on me just as he did.  Time has gone by so fast, and yet so slow.  I want to share in the joy, but all I can do is keep it to myself.  Then finally, Jay runs over to me and plays a happy tune.  He’s smiling and laughing.   I’d never seen him so happy.  Everyone gathers around us and begins to sing the song that we play.

Jay played me often in the months that his wife was with child, he played me the night before he rushed Maria to the hospital and he played me the second they came home with their baby girl.

Then the songs Jay played became sadder, and less frequent.  Troubles hit my family and the next thing I knew, I was being moved again.  I was afraid I would never see my Jay, Maria, or little Hope again.  To my relief, I was moved back to the old house that Jay grew up in.  Then I understood why.  His parents, had died suddenly in some kind of accident and Jay and Maria had inherited their home.  Never had I been played by such a solemn soul.  Jay was gentle and his laugh was gone.  The sparkle that had once existed in his eyes had faded and his welcoming laugh was replaced by silent tears of grief.  Maria tried to comfort him, and even Hope, but the loss that Jay had suffered was too great.

Hope started learning how to play me when she was five years old.  She excelled and Jay applauded.  Maria was often gone, and returned home late at night.  I overheard she and Jay arguing in the kitchen with the door closed, but it was obvious that something was wrong and they didn't want to worry Hope.  One day, Maria left the house with all of her belongings and never returned.  Hope remained with Jay, and she was the only thing that kept him going.

The years in between Maria leaving and Hope’s marriage were quite droll.  Jay played me and Hope listened, sometimes joining her father in song.  As time continued, Jay aged.  The lines in his face turned to wrinkles, and his old knees worked as horses for his grandchildren.  Hope visited more often than usual and her husband with her.  Still, Maria hasn’t been seen or heard of.  Hope grew up without a mother, her father without a wife, and her children without a grandmother.  The hurt and pain in Jay’s eyes as he gently touched my keys made me, an instrument, want to weep.

Finally one day, Jay was sitting on my bench and he carefully laid his gray head on my keys and slept.  I felt the breath leave him and when Hope entered the house and saw her father lying over his beloved piano, I knew then, as I know now, that the little boy who once pounded on my keys, had found peace at last.

At his funeral, Hope played me.  She played her father’s favorite song and she wept as she did.  Her hands glided over my keys just as gently as his had.  When she finished she wiped the tears from her eyes, and stood, forcing a smile.

I was then moved to live with Hope and her husband and children.  I was blessed with many years of being played by loving hands and being taken care of by passionate people.  But no matter how many generations I was in the family, and how many oldest descendants I was gifted to, I still to this day will never forget the little boy named Jay who cared for me, or his parents who started my story.