Ageless Music

Victoria Faith Wellman

It’s been many weeks now since my master has played. During the night the silence sneaks in and does not leave. Trees rustle outside in the forest. The breeze blew through the elegant velvet drapes, bringing fresh air to the rest of the mansion. Rats and mice skitter across the floor. Their feet were the only sound that penetrated the void. I longed for a companion, someone to play the keys of my soul. Oh, how I long to let my song take flight. I called to one of the mice.

“Hello there, why don’t you hop up here and play a tune. What good is a piano if it is never played?”

“I cannot play you,” replied the mouse, “For my paws are too small.”

With that he skittered away into the hole in the wall. I sagged on my legs as the melancholy silence lagged on. My master should have been back by now with the piano tuner. The house felt cold and dismal without the warming light of music. What am I to do? A piano cannot play itself. If it could, the world would be filled with endless songs. As this thought left my mind a breeze blew by me and I heard the beating of wings. An owl perched on my cover. If a mouse cannot play me then maybe an owl can.

“Wise owl, could you lend a piano a helping wing?”

“I wish I could help you, poor piano. My wings are wonderful for flying, however I must confess that playing the piano requires a more stable extremity, for my wings are too flimsy,” replied the owl.

“Oh,” I responded, “I understand and thank you anyway.”

The owl nodded its condolences and flew out the window back the way it came. Soon I was left in the silence that enveloped me before. Oh, how I longed to let my soul sing. With no one to play me, my enchanting songs were caged inside me, only my master held the key. The light sound of paws came from outside. A low creaking noise came from the back door. The intruder cast a long shadow across the wall adjacent to me. Around the corner padded a fox, the scoundrel of the forest.

“My, my, my, isn’t this a lovely home. Oh yes, it is. I could get used to this,” the fox remarked.

“What are you doing in here?” I grumbled, “your place is in the forest.”

“Well, what have we here?” the fox turned and spotted me,

“A piano! oh, but who will play you in this dismal house?”

“My master will be home soon and you will be doomed.”

“Oh, I am cowering in fear,” the fox mockingly shrunk back.

“You will be sorry you ever stepped foot in this house.”

All of a sudden, I heard a light thumping coming towards the door. With that the fox scampered to the open window and hopped down and out into the woods. The door knob turned slowly as I waited in anticipation. With a creak, the door swung open revealing my master, he was home.

“It’s right inside here,” he said, gesturing for someone to follow.

In walked the piano tuner. If pianos could burst into spontaneous song, I would have been an orchestra of joy. What a relief, I thought, my voice will be put into song once again.

“How does it look?” asked my master.

“Oh, it should not take too long,” replied the tuner. “This is quite the beautiful piano you have here, how old is it?”

“It’s been in the family for generations. Even if the piano is aged the music never mellows.”

“Mmm, I can believe that,” declared the tuner, “this piece of wood is as trustworthy as an old ship.”

“She has been in the family for some time, I think of her more as a friend than a piano,” stated my master affectionately.

“Well, that wraps it up, it was only slightly out of tune; still good of you to get it checked out.”

“Perfect,” my master walked over and seated himself on my bench as the tuner backed away.

He gently places his hands on my keys, similar to the tender way a father first grasps his newborn child. Once again, my voice was put to song. The notes and cadences flowed through the air as if they had sprouted wings. The music transported me from place to place. Without moving legs, I could only feel through music. The titles of songs illuminated the music’s feel. At first my master played waltzes. The melodies as familiar as the keys in my body. Slow and sensational refrains brought images of rushing streams and grassfilled meadows to mind. Near the end the rhythm rose to a staccato frenzy. The fast-paced tempo imitating the rapid pace time takes. As my master played, time melted away like dew in the morning, into an endless tune, into ageless music.