And shortly after school ended for that summer, Mrs.Weiler died. I do not know why or how, only that i never saw her again. And i cried, harder than i cried when my grandparents died, more biterly than ever. I cannot imagine shedding tears more meaningful in my life than those I shed for Mrs. Weiler.
One day when i was 18. I went to the house where she had lived, which remains today as something of a monument. On that day remembering so well the effect she has on my life, I wandered around the place, taken by a feeling of melancholy. I stepped up to the front door, not expecting it to be unlocked.
But it was. As if I were expected.
So I went inside and as soon as I stepped on the ground, the scent of her rushed into my nostrils, undiluted after nearly nine years. Dusty furniture remained to place, as if nothing had been touched since she died. A grand piano was placed in the corner of the large living room, and stepping up to it, I touched a key. A clear note rang out and so I played a few chords, to my surprise finding each key in perfect tune. I had learned how to play a piano over the course of several years. though never as well as I would have, had Mrs. Weiler been there to guide my hand and attune my senses to the music.
