Wednesday, June 24, 2015
The Echo of Piano Keys
I was aware of the piano's existence. I'd heard someone playing it awhile back when I was standing-waiting for the elevator to take me to the 2nd floor. But this day was different. There was no hustle or bustle. No one was sitting or sleeping on the benches. There were no clusters of people or attendants walking around. The double set of locked doors were quiet as were those in charge behind protected windows. .As I came flying down those narrow stairs I heard a few sporadic notes. Then, as I opened a door leading into that area, a few more notes struck on those ivory keys lead to even more beautiful notes and soon I was stopped cold. Turning around, I looked towards the piano and saw a young man with his back to me sitting on the piano bench. A bit hunched over-with his head down-his hair in place, his fingers were moving those keys as if they were free-weightless-dancing in a meadow on a warm summer day-feeling the wind-chasing butterflies and laughing without a care in the sunshine. But the young man was not free. Yet that didn't stop him. As I stood there I realized I was listening to a master of his craft. Every key struck-every chord played echoed through that facility with its drab walls and sterile presence-creating a sense of a great stage on which sat a most grand piano player.
When the young man finished he stood and walked away. I started clapping as tears filled my eyes. I'd never heard Rhapsody in Blue played so beautifully.