Dusted Ivory

Chapter 3

Apparently my English teacher is reading this so hi! Hope you enjoy! Also I know nothing about cleaning pianos so if there's a better way I could word this please let me know!

The boy came back again the next day. Or at least I think it was the next day. The clock on the walk had stopped working a long time ago, so I truely had no way of knowing how long it had been. But no matter how long it took, the boy came back. He came back with a smile and a bucket of cleaning products.

The boy hummed a soft tune as he gently wiped a soapy cloth over my surface. The song was slow and gentle, nothing that I'd heard, nor anything that had been played on me before. It was beautiful, as delicate as his fingers when he played, and as sweet as the bright smile on his face as he moved on to wiping the soap off me with a damp cloth.

The feeling of fabric running over me was heavenly. I hadn't been cared for in so long. It felt as though all the dirt was being wiped away and I was growing younger with every sweeping motion. I seemed to become more black, I was finally smooth and beautiful again. The best part was the polishing. The boy was careful, moving in slow, small motions starting from my legs until he had covered everything outside except my keys.

The last part of the day's adventure was cleaning my keys. The boy pulled out my bench again, attempting to ignore the accompanying screech. He sat, mutter something about his next priority being getting me a new bench, which I wouldn't have protested to even if I could. The boy dragged yet another cloth out of the massive stash he had brought along with him. He dipped it into the clear water and wrang it out as much as he could. He began, and jumped as he cleaned the first key. It had made a horrible noise that sounded like something akin to a dying cat. I wish I could have laughed, but settled on feeling joyous on the inside.

The boy continued wiping down my weathered, yellow keys and drying them until I was completely clean. I felt lighter than I had since my maestro left me. I was clean again. I was polished and shining and beautiful again. I wanted to thank the boy a million times over. But apparently it was late. The boy packed his things, promising again to be back to help more soon.

And then he left.

This time I knew he'd be back.