The Piano

by Elizabeth Arlen

Chapter 2...

A week went by and every night, the dream came to me again. The smooth ivory keys played at will. The black keys entered my vision slowly, a pair of hands soon joined them, hovering over the keys, playing them gently and with care. I could just barely hear something. It was like playing telephone when I was a kid. A message whispered from ear to ear to ear as faint as possible while still trying to convey what they last heard. The music was spoken to me so softly that by the time I had strained enough to hear it, I woke up and had only heard part of the message. What I could hear was beautiful; the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. The only thing I could compare it to was the sound I heard that night in the attic. I can say that nothing has been written more beautiful and pure than that melody. Nothing. I can say that with conviction.

Sitting on the front porch one day, I found myself wishing I knew how to play the piano that I might be able to one day replicate the sound I heard in my head. I couldn't decide whether the composer was the happiest man ever or the saddest. He could be completely and entirely filled with joy for creating the most beautiful sound on Earth. I'm sure that everyone who's ever heard it is entranced and enchanted by it. He would either feel those things with joy and excitement, or he would hate his melody and hate himself. He would hate the melody for being so beautiful. For how could one surpass it? His life would be downhill from that moment on. If I were he, I would probably be selfish and afraid to share it with the world for fear it would lose its charm to me. I would relish in its beauty undisturbed.

I suddenly wanted to see the piano again. Slowly I stood, but I was unable to contain my desperate desire and I ran inside the house, up the two stair cases and to the attic door. With my hand on the knob, I felt calm again. I entered and closed the door behind me. Groping around, I pulled the cork cord, letting the yellow light dimly illumine the room before going to the piano. I pulled out the bench and sat down before the keys I dreamed of. I touched them without playing them; feeling their soft touch and clean feel.

Something glimmered out of the corner of my eye. It was hung on a chain, a key of a different kind that I dreamed of so often. I took it in my hand to look at it. It was a silver color, but in places there were copper colored smudges where someone had rubbed the silver off with their fingers, perhaps absently. Had it been here the first time I'd come? It must have been here; the only person who had come to the attic since my father and I moved here was me. Yet, I feel sure that I would have noticed it if it had been.

I knew where it would fit. I stood and walked to the door and sure enough, the key slid into the attic's doorknob and turned smoothly. Again and again, I locked and unlocked the door, enjoying the soft clicking sound that came each time I turned it. It was a satisfying sound and I liked the feel of the smooth metal in my hand. I just couldn't decide what felt safer, the door locked or unlocked.

Finally, I abandoned the door and returned to the piano, sitting on the bench and looking the keys up and down. I knew nothing of music in a technical sense. Careful not to actually play the keys, I mimicked my hands over the keys as I believed professionals would. I closed my eyes and pretended the hands in my dream were my own, creating that beautiful sound. Of course, I became careless in my fantasy and my left thumb hit a note that rang out just like the first time. I stood quickly, knocking over the piano bench as that feeling returned. A feeling that I was intruding, disturbing some in-ostensible peace. My father began calling me from downstairs in the living room. I ran to the door, took the key and started down the stairs.

"What is it, Dad?" I asked trying to catch my breath and return it to normalcy. He looked up from his book and pointed to the window.

"There's a boy out front. He's been standing there for awhile. Is he a friend of yours?" He asked. I looked out the window and saw the boy from the other night, standing in almost the exact same spot, staring at my house. Once again, he saw me and took off running. I ran out of the house, determined to talk to him.

End Chapter 2...

AN: So that's the second chapter. Once again, I'd like to say that this is for a school project and any critique you have would be really helpful. Its due May 22nd, 2008. But even if its after that date, I'd really appreciate reviews telling me what I should improve on. Thanks a lot!