You Have Your Daddy's Hands.
You Are Your Daddy's Son
I walked over to the piano and grazed my fingers across the keyboard. I played on key gently. I took the sound in like warm hot cocoa. I pulled myself up and started playing some dusty music left on the stand. I hit the same notes repeatedly, and figured out the first line.
The piano played soft. My little fingers glazed the white lightly as they moved, but no matter how hard I hit, it didn’t get louder. It played like a lullaby.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned on the bench, and there was my mother, blonde hair and all. My big brown eyes stared at her across the room as her eyes glazed over a bit and she walked into the other room, going right past me. I sighed.
Some things never changed.
As I continued to play, it was almost as if the piano was part of me. I knew I was meant for it somehow. Maybe it was because my father had played it. Of course, I could only listen when I heard him play. I was too small to actually get myself onto the bench and play with him.
We played together once. He had taught me how to play this beautiful song he’d been working on. God knew it was too hard for the average five year-old, but somehow, I managed to prove him wrong and get it on the head after twenty minutes.
And even after Dad disappeared that night, I kept playing.
And Mother was a wreck.
Every time I played, she’d get upset. It was to the point where it was hard to even stand playing anymore. Slowly, I went crazy with her. I played only when she wasn’t in the room. Then, only alone. And finally, I stopped all together.
And that didn’t change.
And when it finally did, I could only manage to play one note at a time.
I’d approached the piano with ease and melted away at every note. I looked at the music and remembered. I remembered everything. It all came back.
The fight. The door slams. Even Mom’s low cries at night.
And the piano was able to shut it all out before I drove myself into insanity.
I played the song he’d taught me. Slow, at first. It was all soft. And that’s why the piano was tuned that way. It was made almost to be this quiet mouse of a thing, emptying your mind and putting your soul into the state of a puddle. And maybe that was the secret to being so great at it.
Maybe the secret was hidden in the farthest depths of your mind.
Of my mind.
My mother’s.
Maybe even the whole world knew the secret, deep down.
Heck, I didn’t know. All I knew now was that I had to keep playing to pull this secret out of me. The pull everything out of everyone. Make their troubles just melt, almost like they were ice and the piano was heat. Slow, and steady, and everything would be gone soon.
Then, I heard it. Much like what it was so many years ago. I turned around, and there was my mother, hair to her waist and blue eyes reflecting my look shot towards her. She blinked away that glass, and walked, fast, into the kitchen.
“Forgive me.” she mumbled, just audible for me to hear in her soft voice.
And she left, music behind her.
I looked after her and sighed lightly, turning back to the piano to stare at the music.
And maybe that was the secret to it.
Humans were to heated already.
And heat and heat just make more fire.
The piano played soft. My little fingers glazed the white lightly as they moved, but no matter how hard I hit, it didn’t get louder. It played like a lullaby.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned on the bench, and there was my mother, blonde hair and all. My big brown eyes stared at her across the room as her eyes glazed over a bit and she walked into the other room, going right past me. I sighed.
Some things never changed.
As I continued to play, it was almost as if the piano was part of me. I knew I was meant for it somehow. Maybe it was because my father had played it. Of course, I could only listen when I heard him play. I was too small to actually get myself onto the bench and play with him.
We played together once. He had taught me how to play this beautiful song he’d been working on. God knew it was too hard for the average five year-old, but somehow, I managed to prove him wrong and get it on the head after twenty minutes.
And even after Dad disappeared that night, I kept playing.
And Mother was a wreck.
Every time I played, she’d get upset. It was to the point where it was hard to even stand playing anymore. Slowly, I went crazy with her. I played only when she wasn’t in the room. Then, only alone. And finally, I stopped all together.
And that didn’t change.
And when it finally did, I could only manage to play one note at a time.
I’d approached the piano with ease and melted away at every note. I looked at the music and remembered. I remembered everything. It all came back.
The fight. The door slams. Even Mom’s low cries at night.
And the piano was able to shut it all out before I drove myself into insanity.
I played the song he’d taught me. Slow, at first. It was all soft. And that’s why the piano was tuned that way. It was made almost to be this quiet mouse of a thing, emptying your mind and putting your soul into the state of a puddle. And maybe that was the secret to being so great at it.
Maybe the secret was hidden in the farthest depths of your mind.
Of my mind.
My mother’s.
Maybe even the whole world knew the secret, deep down.
Heck, I didn’t know. All I knew now was that I had to keep playing to pull this secret out of me. The pull everything out of everyone. Make their troubles just melt, almost like they were ice and the piano was heat. Slow, and steady, and everything would be gone soon.
Then, I heard it. Much like what it was so many years ago. I turned around, and there was my mother, hair to her waist and blue eyes reflecting my look shot towards her. She blinked away that glass, and walked, fast, into the kitchen.
“Forgive me.” she mumbled, just audible for me to hear in her soft voice.
And she left, music behind her.
I looked after her and sighed lightly, turning back to the piano to stare at the music.
And maybe that was the secret to it.
Humans were to heated already.
And heat and heat just make more fire.