The Pianist

I always enjoyed the private shows she put. The ones where she sang in solitude. I would hide behind the taupe wall at the entrance so she couldn't see. Its not my fault. She never talked. To me or any other being. Maximum she'd do is smile and nod along in yes or no. But when she sang I swear the nightingales would burst open their hearts just to emulate her. I knew she was a cool person. I have a connection with people, they communicate with me with their eyes. Plus only the good ones can have such blessed voice. I wanted to butt in. But somehow, I gathered myself before I went pricking on.

"I have seen you staring at her. This is the third time. I will tell her if you don't stop. You are a lurker, aren't you?", I was flabbergasted by the vocabulary of a ten-year old. I had just been accused of something almost criminal. And, so I needed to snub it away before she shrieked. Guess I was lurking.

"No I wasn't. We have known each other for a long time. I just come by to hear her play while she teaches you. I don't have a kid and I don't want to disturb you all while you learn". I must have assuaged her, "We'd hang together but she doesn't talk much, does she?".

"Yea, she's pretty cool. And really really smart. She plays but also teaches us about animals and plants and sun and earth. Better than Miss Patterson at school", I was intrigued. Had I not heard her sing I'd have assumed she is speechless. But now I know she just doesn't talk to adults.

"So what did you guys talk about today", I felt like a sleuth on a mission. I must have realised it but it was time to put all the small-town gossips to rest. "Yesterday we talked about elephant. She has two elephants. One is grey and other is blue. Day before that we talked about frogs. You know the prince and the frog", I smiled at the tenderness of the age.

"So what about today?", children are so easy to talk to. And honest. "Today. We  talked about goats and helped her stack them up so nicely on the piano. She usually cleans them by herself".

"That’s a weird place for a goat" I thought I  murmured. Yet it made across to the brown-eyed Jas. Not Jazz, she had made it very clear.

"Why?", Jas had her eyebrows raised.

"You know putting stuff down everytime you play and up when you are done, seems like a waste to me, don't you agree?", I made a point.

"No silly. She plays cello and guitar. She says once I am done with my cello lessons she'll teach me to play guitar."

"No no I have heard her play piano all the time. She just plays cello for fun. For you guys.", I was confused. That was queer because I could tell her piano was way better than other instruments.

The theatre was almost wrapped up. It was time to leave. Jas also left with her mother.

The next day felt like the judgement day. I had to know the truth. I went up to her and introduced myself. She recalled who I was, thanks to the little confabulations of past where under bewitchment I would monopolize the conversation and she'd nod.

"Why don't you put up public shows? People deserve to hear you", I have been in awe of her for so long. She smiled, "Ah I am no good. I am a teacher not a performer."

"No I am talking about your piano. I have heard you. Please don't deny it", it was as if I needed to reveal her story. Today.

She staggered but confessed, "Oh that, no that's nothing."

I wouldn't want her to blush and thus I continued my interview questions. If only I had the power to broadcast it or had been popular enough to post it on Facebook or Twitter.

"Who taught you?"

"Oh I had a friend. He was a magician. I was pretty wild then. He introduced me to the world of music", her gaze followed everything that related to music.

She wanted to rest her eyes at each of them, the ukulele, the guitar, the piano, the tambourine. And a notebook. She disconnected with me for a moment but I could see she was back to some beautiful memories.

Once she was back, "Oh he was a godsend. He and his music brought me to the world and gave me voice. My voice. He would take my fingers and place them on these keys himself. Single tap, smooth cords, however did I learn them. I can't play it. This ukulele's more my style", she looked at the piano with lust. That was clear.

"What happened then?", I didn't realise it could be a privileged information. I was swayed along with her mystery.

She looked at me with snap judgement. A distinct shock. I woke up to reality since. My lips were sewed shut. I thought I was speaking to explain my faux pas but there were no words.

"He left for Nashville", her statement had fleeting words.

I tried to dampen the situation. I wouldn't want to be the one who hurt her. Yet with childlike petulance I demanded "Could you play something anything for me?" What if I get a private show solely for me. Yet I was totally mindful of getting her mind off any unease.

She slipped along and started dusting off the things that were standing up. I had caused the situation to deteriorate. Apologies weren't going to help especially when I had overstepped her hospitality. I was disappointed in me. All I could do was turn around and slip away to not sadden her anymore.

Two steps in, she called out "Wouldn't you stay?" I didn't know how to balance the loony excitement and redemption.

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Prompt 1: That’s a weird place for a goat.
Prompt 2: Tone - "Redemption"