The piano

I never really gave a thought to that piano that sat in a corner of my house. Only that it welled up guilty memories within me. As a child, I wanted to play the piano. As I watched the piano players on television, I yearned to be one of them. To be able to make music and the bask in the applause and admiration of my audience.

I heard Andrea's recording today, both her and Shirleen singing and playing the piano. The music I can't say, was perhaps one of the most treacherous pieces I've ever heard. Yet despite the horribly off tune notes that were sung to the accompaniment of a dog and the piano, a different tune was played. I heard the song of happiness. A song that leapt from note to note, that chuckled with each smothered giggle. That teased, with each burst of laughter.

Then I understood why that piano stood in my house.

I understood because I remember, that as a child, whenever I'm smiled or laughed, my Dad's face would light up. Very much like the faint glow of a kerosene lamp. His eyes would shrink to half their size and the wrinkles would gather, as if to watch a show. That was happiness. In love.
And that was how I understood it.

Perhaps my bouts of childish laughter or the sad little eyes that yearned for a piano had melted his heart. I remember him asking me if I was very sure I wanted to learn. I would nod and flash one of my biggest grins and he would smile and nod his head.

I never went past grade one.

Looking at the piano, that sits in the hallway. I wonder if I should take it up again. Yet, would I have time? I know right now that God had never given me the gift of music. It was never in me to compose or to play. I had a different gift.

The gift to make those around me happy.
Maybe that's why he bought it for me.

The piano sits.
Neglected in my hallway.
Perhaps.
One day,
someone will play.