The Pianist

 

That morning she had been to the library to pick up a book she really wanted to read, so now with the book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, she opened the patio door intending to spend a quiet afternoon reading in the summer sun. As she opened the door she heard, through an open window on the other side of the courtyard, someone playing the piano and instantly she was transported back to that weekend.

The weekend when her love was home from the hospital.  During the time he was home he spoke hardly at all, mostly he was just sitting and savouring the peace and tranquillity after spending several weeks in a busy regional hospital.

He sat enjoying the beauty of the house he had created and outside the house, the wonder that nature had created.

On the Sunday the house had been filled with family members but during the time they were there he said nothing although from time to time he would smile and  if somebody spoke directly to him he would nod his head.  Later, when most of the guests had gone and they were left with just his son’s family, the son hugged his father and asked when he had last played the piano.

Saying nothing, he got up and went to his beloved piano where his fingers found the keys and with his special smile, he started to play.  It was music that neither she nor his son recognised, but it was music nevertheless. After a while, he stopped playing, closed the lid and returned to his seat and his contemplation of the beauty and wonder that surrounded him.

And that was the last time he played the piano as the next morning he went back to the hospital never to return home.

The memory of that afternoon, the piano and his playing it with the joy on his face and the look in his eyes wold remain with her forever.

And as she settled down with her book and her wine, she contemplated how a small thing like the sound of a piano being played could evoke such a memory

“To live in lives we leave behind is not to die”
Judith Baxter, blogger, friend, mother, grandmother and sister

 

Note – this was prompted by Judy Reeves in her “A Creative Writer’s Kit”.
Her prompt was “Someone’s playing the piano”

Some fact, some fiction – isn’t that what all good stories are made of?