Resting off to the side of my family’s dinning room against the wall is an old upright piano. She is a shy one, you should know. Her keys are worn and strings are loose, but, like a wine’s taste, her voice has become deep and rich with the years. Though in any wine cellar there is always a bottle left and forgotten in the racks. So, too, has this piano been forgotten, left only to gather dust.

Perhaps you will spare a glance on your way by. You will no doubt notice all the family pictures sitting on the top of the piano. My brother, my sister, my mother, me; we are all sitting on that piano, frozen in wooden frames. She keeps us there, the piano. Reminding us of how we looked, how we acted in times long gone.

If you could spare another moment in your cramped life, you might find your eyes moving downward to where you see all 88 hammers and strings; her heart. Of course to see that, you’d have to spend enough time to look through the stained glass that covers her chest. Green, blue, red, orange and yellow, all melded together in a single pane of glass. Maybe you’ll notice that there is a small chip in the left side of the pane, if you have enough time that is. Though it is hardly an imperfection; like a song played out on her keys, mistakes only become part of the song, making it unique and special.

Ah… The songs she has sung. Such beautiful melodies and harmonies she has in her; a D minor chord, then a B-flat major chord, resolving to an A major chord. Though harmony is not everything, there is always the dissonance that creates tension; like an E and a D-sharp being played at the same time. Oh, but even those sound magnificent. Now her keys lay motionless, slightly yellow and chipped. The lower F note still doesn’t work; that hammer needs to be replaced. But she doesn’t complain, she’s lived a long life, and sang her songs. She filled the house with a slow ballad when I was sad, or a joyous fanfare when I was happy. I just pressed the keys; the music came to life within her workings and it was her that brought the emotions to life.

Now she watches the young ones pass by countless times a day; Sister going to the front door to meet some friends, or Brother rushing past to get to school on time. Life swirls around her at a pace she cannot understand. People pass by but they never take the time to plink a tune. Is everyone so busy that they can’t spare a moment to enjoy the music?
At least she can keep the pictures on her head from falling down. She can take some small pride in that task, because, after all, everyone looks at those as they pass by.