The Piano Man

Well aren’t you lucky, getting two posts in a day!

Hi again. I decided that all of you out there should have a chance to get to know me a little before I start posting in earnest. So here goes:

My name is Blanca. I’m 18 years old. I currently live in Spain but have lived in Phildelphia, PA, for almost five years. I’m usually either extremely happy or downright melancholy. It generally depends on which book I’m reading. And you can be sure that I’m always reading. Except when I’m writing, of course. These next lines are one of my latest short stories, that I decided to share with you guys so you could get to know me better. It’s called Piano Man after -you guessed it- Billy Joel’s song. Enjoy!


It was already nighttime when the lights flickered on and the studio door clicked shut. He gently set the keys down on the small round table and sat down in front of the piano. His feet found their place at the instrument’s pedals and his fingers were soon gliding across the keyboard. Soft notes came from the instrument at first. His right hand coaxed the melody from the black and ivory keys, quicker, then slower, then quicker again. His left hand added chords and his soft voice bought meaning to the song. The music rose and fell, slowly growing in intensity, until the whole room vibrated with sound. As his hands played on, his mind wandered. He usually enjoyed the music, of course. He always felt in his element when playing the piano. But he enjoyed it even more when, like today, the pieces he played were his own. Then, he would slowly fill with pride, over the uniqueness of that which he was playing. He always made his compositions the best he could, trying to give future listeners something they would enjoy. That was, if anyone ever listened, of course. Little did he know that someone already had.

He hadn’t seen her so, sitting with her legs crossed in the small, worn couch in the studio entrance, she listened. Her musical knowledge was scarce, but that didn’t mean she did not enjoy his playing. She knew he came to the studio almost daily and had his own set of keys, as well as tons and tons of sheet music, each page more complicated that the last. She slowly crept towards the small window that connected the two studios and peeked in. The movement of his hands was almost hypnotic. Eyes closed, she let herself sink into the melody. On and on the piano went, and she found herself getting more and more lost among the soft cadences, which bought long gone memories back to the surface.  Memories that were happy, with just a hint of melancholy. Memories that had been buried for a long, long time.

As the song slowly came to an end, she blinked once, then twice, finally opening her eyes. He smiled, seemingly happy and relaxed. She, still dizzy from the intensity of the music, quickly regained her usual position on the couch. He exited the studio, turning off the light. She waited a few minutes and then left as well, locking the door after her. The piano remained in the darkness, waiting for someone else to come and play it. Someone who would, once again, bring out the music within.


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