The Pianist
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Aria made her way to the small wooden piano, tentatively resting her fingers on the dusty, yellowing keys. It was a very old piano, it belonged to my grandmother. She got it when she was ten years old and taught my mother to play who also taught me, but I didn’t stick with it. I moved to guitars and string instruments instead.
Aria pressed down a key, then another and another, playing a quick scale. She looked over at me from where I sat next to her on the piano bench.
“It’s very well tuned for such an old piano,” she praised. “How old is she?”
“Around a hundred years.”
“Wow,” Aria whispered, returning to the instrument. Her fingers pressed random keys, as if to fill the silence. “The one at the theater is only six or seven. The owners bought one when I came to audition for my shows. I didn’t have the money to buy my own.”
“How long have you been playing?”
She blushed. “Twelve years. I played at my first recital when I was eight and I loved every second of it. Music is... everything to me.”
I nodded in agreement. “My mother and her mom play Piano. I was taught, but I prefer string instruments.”
“Your mother plays?” Aria asked excitedly, eyes sparkling.
Why was she so interested in my mom? “Yeah...,” I spoke tentatively. “You seem very... into my mother.”
Her excitement deflated, her eyes no longer sparkling because of joy. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but I don’t think she was aware of how sad she looked. “I... I don’t know my mom.”
All feelings of suspicion instantly left me, replaced with guilt and sadness for this girl. My mom is everything to me. I couldn't imagine what it would be like without her, let alone not knowing her at all.
“I’m so sorry.”
Aria sighed. “I don’t need the pity.” She made a move to stand, but I grasped her hands in mine, stopping her.
“It’s not pity. It’s empathy.” She waited. “If you want, you can meet her. Next weekend, she’s coming with me to your concert.”
Her eyes widened, her fingers tightening around mine in excitement. “Really?” She whispered.
I nodded. For a moment, she stood absolutely still, thinking.
“I need to prepare,” she whispered. “I need the perfect song! Oh, what does she like, Ethan?” She started to jump up and down. “Please tell me!”
I grinned. “ I know the perfect piece.”
Aria made her way to the small wooden piano, tentatively resting her fingers on the dusty, yellowing keys. It was a very old piano, it belonged to my grandmother. She got it when she was ten years old and taught my mother to play who also taught me, but I didn’t stick with it. I moved to guitars and string instruments instead.
Aria pressed down a key, then another and another, playing a quick scale. She looked over at me from where I sat next to her on the piano bench.
“It’s very well tuned for such an old piano,” she praised. “How old is she?”
“Around a hundred years.”
“Wow,” Aria whispered, returning to the instrument. Her fingers pressed random keys, as if to fill the silence. “The one at the theater is only six or seven. The owners bought one when I came to audition for my shows. I didn’t have the money to buy my own.”
“How long have you been playing?”
She blushed. “Twelve years. I played at my first recital when I was eight and I loved every second of it. Music is... everything to me.”
I nodded in agreement. “My mother and her mom play Piano. I was taught, but I prefer string instruments.”
“Your mother plays?” Aria asked excitedly, eyes sparkling.
Why was she so interested in my mom? “Yeah...,” I spoke tentatively. “You seem very... into my mother.”
Her excitement deflated, her eyes no longer sparkling because of joy. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but I don’t think she was aware of how sad she looked. “I... I don’t know my mom.”
All feelings of suspicion instantly left me, replaced with guilt and sadness for this girl. My mom is everything to me. I couldn't imagine what it would be like without her, let alone not knowing her at all.
“I’m so sorry.”
Aria sighed. “I don’t need the pity.” She made a move to stand, but I grasped her hands in mine, stopping her.
“It’s not pity. It’s empathy.” She waited. “If you want, you can meet her. Next weekend, she’s coming with me to your concert.”
Her eyes widened, her fingers tightening around mine in excitement. “Really?” She whispered.
I nodded. For a moment, she stood absolutely still, thinking.
“I need to prepare,” she whispered. “I need the perfect song! Oh, what does she like, Ethan?” She started to jump up and down. “Please tell me!”
I grinned. “ I know the perfect piece.”