The Man in the Piano

Poem/story hybrid i sort of wrote because i wanted to

She never asked for me

 

She never wished for me to take up the space of the front room of her house. She never bought me, never really looked at me and probably would never have kept me.

 

I was a gift.

 

Her brother, now nothing but smattered remains on a mighty railway, placed me in her house one cold, unforgiving Christmas. He made sure she was away until later in the evening and somehow was able to get me through her poor, demolished windows. Somehow managed to get me comfortable in the large, circular front room. He fixed the windows and placed a holiday card on my head.

 

When she arrived, there was nothing but pure joy comprising her expression.

 

She thanked him, sat on my stool and began to play.

 

Her music was marvellous.

 

From that day forward, she gave me time and love and care and warmth.

 

And then one cold, unforgiving morning in late February, he was struck by train 196 at exactly 5 in the morning. Nobody knew why or how or for what.

 

She didn’t touch me for a week.

 

Eventually, she came back to me. It was painful, the hesitance in the way she sat on the stool, the scared tremors that took over her hands, the stained tracks on her face almost permanent from her tears.

 

She inhaled something small but in the stillness of her, the house, the grief-ridden air, it sounded like a building. A building seventeen stories high, it toppled over and I could hear ever single brick after wretched brick as she took to my keys and began to play.

 

It broke my heart to hear how hers was broken beyond repair.

 

It was three more days before she decided to upkeep her regiment of one hour a day. But a regiment didn’t seem to be enough. Eventually, the time she gave to me died out, the love and care replaced by disdain and the stubborn will of habit.

 

The fire stoking her warmth dwindled down to something bitter.

 

Like a cold, unforgiving Christmas. 

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

Good - an interesting idea exploring the relationship between brother and sister through the personification of the piano. It's a rather sad ending which I wasn't expecting. It makes me wonder if it was based on personal experience. A small point I noticed - regiment should be regime.
Well done,
Alan

[Cloudtreesium]

Thank you! It seems no matter how many times I edit a piece, there's always a mistake. You make an interesting perception, though no, it's not written based on previous experience.