Music of a Lifetime

"Ready to go?" a distant voice asks as I peer into the living room. Sun is racing in through the crystal-dome skylights, forming dense beams of dust-filled sunlight converging onto my baby-grand piano. The rays of sun scatter off the D.H. Baldwin's propped hood, and the furniture's glazed, smooth black texture mirrors its surroundings. The key-cover is open, exposing each of the 88 black and ivory keys, and the gold plate with the engraved words "For Virginia Min With Love" on the cover's mid-section radiates fiercely under the daylight, reflecting sun into my eyes.

I remember the day eight years ago when the braille-like engraved letters first passed under my fingertips. I had raced up to the surprise, my heart pounding. The thin index finger of my slender left hand slowly lifted high above the row of glossy keys and dropped hard. A loud, piercing middle C resonated, and the boom echoed off the vast living room's walls. The first note played, filling both the broad, empty spaces in front of the black leather sofa and in my soul.

My piano shares my emotions. It gives life meaning and completion, the "something" that fills my heart. This union existed the first time my grandparents came to visit, when I was instantly rewarded with a wad of bills for playing "F�r Elise", for I was the first from their side of the family to possess a musical gift. It lived on my thirteenth birthday, when I joyfully listened to friends pound out "Heart and Soul" and taught the company "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." It grew during the first visit of my cousins, when I warmly watched the two infants smack the piano keys with delight, their feet dangling off of the high piano bench. And it shivered the day my dad left for China, when Liszt's "Un Sospiro" would be the last piece of music he would hear until his return six months later.

My piano and I faced both disappointment and triumph after meets and tournaments, when I would either pound out Beethoven's "The Tempest" Sonata or joyously play a Brahm's Intermezzo. We persisted through long, consecutive hours of studying for Biology exams at the University, when I would wearily play Beethoven's soothing "Moonlight Sonata" during brief breaks. It relaxed me after distressful and lengthy tutoring sessions with middle school students, when Debussy's "Jardins sous la Pluie" or Chopin's "Fantasie-Impromptu" restored my stability. And together we prevailed over the clamor, chaos, laughter, and amusement of my teaching a Chinese class of nine, when I would play peaceful Chopin Nocturnes or delightful self-compositions to bring myself back to reality.

We persisted through times of frustration and anxiety when, in response, I would freely pour out my spirit through my fingers, letting the emotions sound. When I am cheerful, it is cheerful; when I am furious, it is furious; when I am sad, it is sad. My piano is me.

I look into the reflective gold plate and see an image of myself. I run my fingers over the smooth keys and let my right foot touch the sleek pedals beneath. At this moment I close the propped hood and place the key-cover down. "Ready?" the voice says again. "Yes," we answered.