A new piano sits in our house. It’s shiny black, with beautiful, white keys. It sits there, inviting fingers to press those keys and hear the notes ringing out, one by one, making music. It is by far the most beautiful piano that has ever been in our house.
This is my new piano. Many people get presents. Soap. Body wash. Books. Me, I was given a piano. I’m still not able to believe that someone would be so kind as to give me a whole piano. But there it is, sitting in my house, and I have to start believing it.
I sit down to play the piano. My scruffy black music folder sits on the music stand. It doesn’t look good enough for this wonderful piano. There should be something smarter sitting there. I put my fingers to the keys, take a deep breath, and start to play.
Is that my music? Is that really me playing those notes that boom out and fill the whole house? I’ve never heard my pieces sound as amazing as this at home before. Can this be me playing, on my piano? Is that my music ringing out? It must be, but it doesn’t sound like me. It sounds way, way better.
My new piano sits in the corner, gleaming in the light. I run my hand over its smooth surface, thankful for the wonderful person who was so kind as to give it to me. Piano practice will never be the same again.