The Piano Man

The room was filled with the laughter and warmth that comes when old friends reunite. It was a great room, with rows of chairs and tables and a common fireplace. Festive decorations dangled from the ceiling beams, streamers were draped across the mantle. The highlight of the room, though, was the piano. It was run-down, key-tops peeling, some broken, some stained, but there was something lavish and alluring about it. Around the room, women, skin worn with time, shared with each other what their children and grandchildren were up to. Men, hands weathered from years of tinkering, recounted days of war. The adults sipped their drinks and joked around about the memories they had when they had less years behind them. And then there was me, alongside the other grandchildren, back at it with another game of hide and seek. I was hiding behind the front door of the room. My thoughts began to drift. What if they stop looking for me? I have no friends back at school, why would these random kids care? I am so insignificant, always quiet, I often go unnoticed. I peeked out from behind the door to survey the room. My eyes stumbled upon someone making their way through the crowd. I watched as a lively man with a spring in his step and a grin on his face approached the ancient piano. He pulled out the bench and rested upon it as if he were a king atop his throne, so natural, so dominant. He positioned his slender fingers atop the keys, took a deep breath in, and began to play.

There was a sudden stir in the room. People quickly broke off their conversations and instinctively turned their heads to the new sound. There were some kids who came bounding through the doorway, abruptly halting and curiously searching for the joyous noise. The room began to take on a vivacious, spirited atmosphere. The notes seemed to flow through the crowd, and many started to hum to the now familiar tune. A clap began to echo through the scene. I timidly crept out of my hiding place, drawn out by the music. I noticed old women and men standing up from their chairs and exchanging childlike smiles. I saw adults, with their arms draped across the shoulders of their friends, sway back and forth in unison. I watched the grandchildren, whispering and giggling to each other, and I knew they were thinking, should we dance too? And it was at that moment when the piano man opened his mouth and started to sing. The whole room joined in, like a choir, with raspy voices, clear voices, high voices, low voices, voices with hints of laughter. The old women and men, who have lived through the drastic changing of the world, the adults, who have been through marriage, divorce, and child-raising, and the grandchildren, who in their impressionable way picked up the tune, all knew the words to the same song. And it was now that I started singing with the room that I realized that people, even after all the hardships they’ve gone through, young and old, can all be together in some way, and that they all care about each other and love each other. We continued in song for what seemed an eternity.

~*~*~*~

At the end of the night, as the younger kids staggered sleepily to the couches, and the older men and women and adults brought their clamorous conversation to a low murmur, I found myself at an empty table in the corner. I was lost in deep rumination of my persistent loneliness. A single moment is only a moment, nonetheless. And I still haven’t been found by the seeker. My morose thoughts were interrupted by a new compelling presence at the table. I looked up and met the eyes of the piano man. I felt a knot form in my stomach. This man, who could bring together a whole room with just his two hands, wants to talk to me? But he smiled softly at me and introduced himself.

“You know, I have been playing piano for a very long time. That,” he motioned towards the regal piano, “is pure magic.” He looked up and signalled around the room with his hand. “There is no greater force that brings people together than music. Music is power. When you sing the words together, you are part of a group of people who accept you and remember you, people you know you are important to.” He looked back down at me and pointed his finger at my chest. “Music can help you see that.” He furrowed his brows. “You felt it tonight?”

I smiled and nodded my head.

“Use it to your advantage. When you are at rock bottom, it will help you remember that you belong.”

I scrambled around with my words. I felt as though I just heard a god speak. “Thank you,” was all I could get out. He nodded his head at me, and with a serious look, got up from the table. Just before leaving, though, he turned back around and said in a low voice, “You should try sitting on that bench sometime. It is the best feeling, providing that for other people.” He turned around and vanished back into the crowd.

I sighed. The table was vacant yet again. But I no longer thought of solitude, but of warmth and love. Now, I want to learn to play a song. Then, I heard rapid footsteps behind me.

“There you are! We were all looking for you!” I whipped my head around and saw a concerned look on a young girl’s face. “We couldn’t find you during hide and seek, then we started singing songs! After that my parents made me talk to some random people. Anyways, we’re all playing mafia now in another room. Come on!” She grabbed my hand and I followed, smiling to myself as she led me down the hall.