My First Memory of the Piano

I recall that one Sunday night when I sat at my porch, looking at the snow, covered in my blue coat, pondering about when I had first laid my hands on a keyboard, age twelve. It was cold, I was shivering, it was dark, and I was Sixteen. It was around nine in the evening, my parents would not arrive until nine-thirty, my sister was out with her friends. I remember those nights, when I was young and insecure, when I felt that the worst is yet to come, when I couldn't even talk to people my own age. I had a hairstyle that had a slight quiff to the left, like a 1950s office-man. The snow falling off the ground was the only thing happening in my surroundings, everything else was pitch-dark, the streetlights weren't working, the neighbors are asleep, and the light bulb up above my head was turned off. I recall touching those piano notes for the very first time, from the very first F to the very last. As I played those consistent notes I wondered when I had first seen a keyboard.

"We're leaving", was the first thing I had heard when I woke up. It came from the mouth of my mother, who at that time wore a black dress, touching the ground. She said that she had left money at the table, that I should order food later. "Mom", I began to ask, "why did we never buy a piano". "Why do you ask such a question my dear", she responded. "I'm just wondering why", I told her. She then told me, "We never knew you wanted one".

Back when I was fourteen, I often had dreams, dreams of me as a baby and an elderly person. It showed me a crying baby me being comforted by a weak elderly me. There were no other people around except for me and me.

It was during that year when I decided that I wanted to work-out, talk to kids my age, and study the piano. Eight grade was nearing it's end and I was eager for summer vacation to commence. But first I had to present a report of Shakespeare in front of the class. I prepared by taking down a couple of information that was not found in my textbooks. I also made a printed down a couple of pictures that I hanged in the board. My last name starts with the letter A so I was the first to present. My heart kept pounding when I was in the center, everyone was looking at me. One boy said to make my report long, it was boy number two. For a large part of my presentation I kept making mistakes. Instead of saying King Lear, I accidentally said King Pear, though I did know an awful lot about literature. When my report was done my teacher went in front the class and guided them about what-not-to-do on their reports.

When summertime came I was faced by the heavy burden of my thoughts. I ran for about thirty minutes when I had read an article saying it was bad for your health. Instead I did pushups and pullups, but after that I read articles saying that one should lift weights first. I did not have any weights but my father did. When he was at work I snuck into his room. There were two dumbbells and other things I don't know about. I lifted the dumbbells for about thirty times and lifted the other things too. I looked at my body and saw how it's very disjointed, I looked fat in the mirror but many say I was skinny. Then I heard the sound of my parent's car arriving, I walked out of that room and I never lifted any weights again. In fact I never did do any more 'work-outs' at that age except that one time when I had to carry a big box to our garage.

I decided to instead pursue my second goal which was socializing. I read countless articles regarding the subject. In my free time I would walk to the park and observe the people talk. They often talked about useless things like marriage or exercise, but the younger ones talked mostly about events and such. So I had practiced in my room by looking at myself in the mirror and stretching my mouth in order to create a smile. But when I walked to the park again and tried talking to a group of boys all they said to me was, "Aren't you that creepy guy who stares at people".

The rest of the summer I just did what I had did in my previous ones, watch movies, read books, and listen to music. It was only towards the end of the summer that I had remembered that I wanted to learn how to play the piano. When I told my parents about it they said they couldn't afford it.

When I was twenty-one I had a date with a girl I had met at class. Her hair was curly and dyed in the color orange. She also had a mole on her face that was color orange.

"What's your name again", she asked me.

"I never told you", I said.

"Well, then tell me"

I told her my name.

The time progressed and we continued to converse. I had thought it was going well and was very shocked when she didn't answer any of my six calls that I had made to her. What I did in order to cope was went outside, where the first few snows started to rain, and walked endlessly in a circle down main street, where the lights often didn't work. I suddenly stopped when I recognized her face. She was playing the piano at the same bar we had went in.

I remember being forty years old, what it feels like to feel useless. But I remember when my child was to be born. My wife was making my breakfast when all of a sudden her water broke. I immediately started the car and raced to the hospital, forgetting to turn off the stove. My wife sat in the back seat, breathing fast. I told her to calm down. I loved my wife and she loved me, something I thought that would be impossible when I was younger. It was beautiful being in love. She was the only woman I ever loved in my life. So it was a big deal to have a child, to start a family. I drove her to the hospital.

"I'm nervous", she said to me as she was being taken to the operation room. My only response was to kiss her on the cheek, then soon after she was taken away from me.

I waited in the lobby for a very long time. I remember when I had first met my wife, five years earlier, one afternoon when I was walking in the town, with nowhere to go, and an orange-haired girl who broke my heart. I remember the first time our eyes locked, her bluish eyes locking into mine. She too was walking, though I'm not sure if she had somewhere to go. We first spoke to each other, a week later, when we met at a grocery store.

"Aren't you that man I saw last week", she said.

"Yes, I am", I told her.

"What's your name", she asked. I proceeded to tell her my name.

"Nice to meet you, I am Sarah"

It was taking too long, she was at the operation room for a very long time. I walked to a nurse and asked her if I could come inside with my wife. She told me I was not allowed. I then went back to my seat and continued to wait for her. I closed my eyes and dreamt of one of our days together. It was a normal Saturday night, back then she was still only a girlfriend. We were watching Saturday Night Live.

"This is awful", she said, "I mean, this used to be good".

"Want to change the channel", I replied.

"If you want to"

I began browsing the channels, her head was deep into my shoulders. We began to watch a movie, it was about a dying old man who begins to forget his memories. Halfway through it, when the old man was asleep and a nurse was taking care of him, my wife began to ask me;

"If you became old, would you still remember me"

"We'll grow old together, you'll be by my side"

"But what if I wasn't", she asked, "What if something terrible happened to me"

"Don't think about stuff like that"

"If you were to die first, I'll be sure to remember you"

"I hope so"

Then came the next scene. The old man was playing the piano. He played Chopin as he tears slowly fell from his left eye. I remember all those times that I wanted to play the piano, from when I was six until now.

"We have to get a piano', I told my wife.

A doctor came out of the emergency room. He had on a facemask, which he began to remove.

"How is the baby", I asked him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Abrams, we did everything we could. She had a miscarriage and died afterwards. I offer my deepest condolences to you and your family", was what he replied to me.

I remember when me and my wife were at the music store, browsing for a piano.

"How much is this", she asked the salesman.

"That one is Six Thousand Eight Hundred Twenty Five Dollars"

She looked me in the eye. I looked at the piano. It was a majestic figure, painted in brown.

"It's beautiful", I told them.

"It's the only one in our store", the salesman told me.

"Are you sure you want this", my wife told me.

"Yes, I have been wanting to play the piano ever since I was six years old and I never got to"

I began to sit at the stool, cracked my neck, and took a deep breath. I looked at those notes, the same notes that played on and on the piano. I then touched a single note, which was note F Major, using my right hand. I then began playing all the notes from start to finish.

"We also offer piano lessons here", said the salesman, "It's only 200 dollars".

"I think I'll take just this one".

I remember playing all those notes when I first got it. It stood near the couch. In my spare time, which was not very much, I played singular notes in the piano. My wife would often watch me and ask me about why I don't take piano lessons. As time passed by I would often use it less and less. I was often at work and when I would arrive at home I would often see my wife playing a song and singing along with it. When she died I had to sell the piano to pay my bills. I had never encountered a piano again until many years later.

I recall last week, Sunday morning, I attended my cousin's funeral. I wore a black tuxedo that I never used before. She was to be buried at the Saint Augustine Cemetery, right next to the Saint Augustine Chapel. There stood a piano at the chapel room next to her black casket. The choir sang in an acapella since there was no Pianist to do his job. Just as my uncle was saying a eulogy, the chapel doors opened and revealed a stout young man. He ran through the side hall, into the area with the choir, sat next to the piano and took a deep breath. The first note that he played was F major, what followed then was a series of notes that formed an intense tune for about four minutes, afterwards the Pianist started playing another one.

I was awoken in my deep slumber by a young man and a young woman, it was night but I wondered why is the sun up. The young man greeted me a Good Morning. The young woman told me that she bought me my lunch. It was roasted chicken, mashed potato, and orange juice. There were also two blue pills sitting next to the plate.

Jazz music was constantly played throughout the next few hours. I had only realized now that I was sitting in a white bed, covered in white blanket, wearing a white shirt, in a room painted with white paint. The two young people that had come earlier did not close the door. An orange-haired woman with a mole was dancing, she is old yet she is dancing. Then two young men arrived and held her hands, led her to a room. I looked around me once again and realized that my daughter wasn't with me. I shouted her name, 'Nora'. Another young woman arrived.

"Yes", she asked.

"Who are you"

"I'm Nora Mr. Abrams"

"You are not Nora, I'm looking for my daughter, she is also named Nora"

"But Mr. Abrams, you have no children"

I was in the lobby, remembered what I was; a sad, lonely, wrinkled, old man. I was in disbelief as I remembered all those things. A piano-man started playing, he wore a black suit and was not late, there was also no choir. I remembered the first time I had seen a piano. It was when I was six years old. My parents took me and my sister to a high-end shopping mall. My mother was with my sister, shopping for brand new clothes. While my father and I went to a 'hobby shop', it sold guns. I was outside the shop while my father was inside, in awe of all those guns that he saw. Then I heard what was the most beautiful tune I heard. I tried to track it down, where it was, like smelling a chocolate after eating a meal. I kept walking towards it's origin, not minding the people also walking towards their own destinations. Then I saw a man dressed in a tuxedo playing those wonderful tunes, it came from an odd looking thing like a table that produces music, a piano it was. He continued to play music until he saw me. He asked me if I wanted to try. Before I could, I already heard my father calling out my name.

I walked to the piano-man in the black suit. I stopped and looked at him play for a while. Then I asked him, "Can I try playing that thing", like my six year old self would have asked if the man didn't already.

"Sure", the man in the black suit replied. He stood up and left the seat open. I sat in it. I started to play all the F notes.

"Do you want me to teach you", the piano-man asked.

"That would be very nice", I replied.