hey guys. i was bored so i decided to upload this. its just a short story that i entered for a competition, but i didnt win :( oh well. so tell me if u like it :)
I was at the mall downtown, heading towards my favourite clothing shop, when I heard it. I stopped dead in my tracks as the beautiful sound floated towards me, the notes dancing around my head before relaxing into my brain. Piano notes. I sighed. It had been so, so long since I’d been near a piano, let actually played one.
I listened to the music carefully; the piece was complex, unfamiliar, and I longed to be able to play like that. But I didn’t play at all anymore. I’d given up long ago.
I suddenly felt this compelling urge to find the creator of this beautiful music, to find them and tell them how amazing and gifted they were.
After a minute of concentration I realised the music was following me the way I’d come. I walked back that way and turned the corner, and saw the magnificent black piano that I’d seen before but taken little notice of. In front of it sat the person that was making the wonderful music that filled my head.
He was wearing dark glasses and a brown jacket. As he played, he mostly looked out among the crowd of people, smiling at the ones that glanced his way. But every now and then he would look at the sheet music in front of him, or his fingers dancing on the piano keys, and laugh. He laughed heartily, as if he’d just thought of a very funny joke.
I watched from afar, for an immeasurable amount of time. The piano player kept playing piece after musical piece, and I just kept listening. After what seemed like an eternity the mall was nearly empty, and the pianist finished his last composition with a sigh.
I walked up to him and stood there as he reached out slowly to touch his pieces of sheet music, before gathering them in a pile and placing them carefully in a bag at his feet.
“Excuse me, sir,” I began politely. He jumped slightly and looked up at me, seeming quite startled. Now that I could see his face properly I realised that he was probably in his early 70s.
He smiled meekly. “Well hello, dear. What may I help you with?”
“I just wanted to say that your music is beautiful. It is the most amazing thing I have ever heard in my life,” I said. He smiled at this. “I take it you wrote them all yourself.” It was a statement, not a question.
“That I did,” he replied. Then he cocked his head to the side, as if to ask how I knew that. I looked down at my feet.
“I used to play piano myself, you see. I would’ve recognized it if it weren’t you own.”
“You used to?”
I looked back up at him; his forehead was crumpled in confusion.
“I can’t play anymore because of my hands. I lost a few of my fingers,” I whispered.
“Let me see.”
My eyes widened at his request; usually no one wanted to see my deformed hands. But I raised them shakily in front of me for him to see.
Then he did the unexpected – he reached his own hands out slowly to grasp mine. He traced his fingers over mine, along the bumps where my index finger and middle finger on my left hand should be, and across the space where my index finger on my right hand used to be.
As suddenly as he’d grabbed them, he dropped them again.
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t play anymore,” he said. “You can find a way to still play piano. There’s always a way.” I just stared at him. He glanced around. “Could you please hand me my walking stick? I can’t seem to…” He trailed off, still looking around.
I frowned. His walking stick was right next to him. But I reached over and grabbed it, handing it to him.
He smiled. “Thank you. That thing’s always getting away from me.”
“It was right next to you. Why didn’t you see it?” I asked him.
He frowned. “Well, you see dear. I’m blind.”
I gasped. “But you play so beautifully. How?”
“I don’t need to be able to see to play music. And you don’t need all your fingers to play either. Here, I’ll show you. Sit.” I did as he said, and he pulled a sheet of paper out of his bag. “Play this.”
I placed my fingers on the keys, playing a few notes. “Keep going,” the man said. I started playing the song he’d given me, but my missing fingers made it hard. But I kept trying, and soon music filled the room. I laughed in amazement; I couldn’t believe I could do this. I always thought I’d never be able to play again. But, like the man said, there’s always a way.
