The Piano

THE PIANO

The old man entered the antique shop, gingerly stepping down out of the brisk wind and swirling flakes. The ambiance was warm and nostalgic, the air sweet with the aroma of spices and old wood. He smiled. He would warm himself here, this hour his own. Yet this hour was no different than all his rest… he was alone. Casually, he browsed, studying the fragile beauty of a trinket and then the ornate excellence of an old chair. He was not shopping really… he had no use for nick-knacks, no need for furniture. Still, he could not help but admire the many pieces as he waited for time to pass.

When he saw the piano in a dark corner of the shop his heart quickened. Without taking his eyes from it he walked with deliberate steps through the shadows until he stood before it. It was old, and the brand had long since been worn away. Only faded lettering remained reading ‘Made in Germany’. Never before had the old man seen such beauty – a perfect piece! He ran a finger lightly across the polished oak grain – flawless! The legs were masterfully carved. He trembled as he gently pressed a smooth ivory key. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. It had been years since he last played. The single note was as a chorus in his head, reverberating with sweet resonance a thousand memories. He sighed, then called out to the shopkeeper, “May I?”

“If you wish.”

The old man pulled the beckoning bench away and carefully positioned himself. Closing his eyes again, he played a simple tune – a ‘merry little melody’. The shopkeeper drew near and the old man turned. “I must have this piano,” he said. “It’s beautiful… perfect! What are you asking?” The old man smiled as he waited for the shopkeeper’s answer, knowing he would pay any price.

“I’m sorry, sir. The piano is sold.”

Slowly, the old man rose and walked to the door. He thanked the shopkeeper and closed the door behind him, turning his collar up against the cold.
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I've had a copy of this piece of writing for a number of years, but only recently discovered it was . . . *blush* . . . written about me.