There is a machine in my house unlike any other in the world. The marvelous creation moves only when your fingers tell it to. The great invention sings its songs only to people who know them. Its black sheen looks slightly sinister in the dark folds of shadow. The machine in my house is none other than the lovely instrument, the piano.
An E minor chord juts strangely out of the piano, followed by an A flat and a G sharp. Discord is my specialty as articulate fingers pluck idly at the keys. The party has just begun. The cacophony of noises will only pacify its crude harmonies when my mother cuts through the tempest with her own tornado, shrill and shrieking, as though she was hailing a reluctant cab driver. “Start practicing!” echoes through the halls like a poltergeist’s eerie laugh.
As the music flows, a sensational feeling erupts from within my body. Sound waves arc through the house, dancing brilliantly in my ears. A cockapoo lifts his head a few steps from the piano sighing contentedly before rolling belly up on the ancient rug obscuring the floor from view. Soldiers of sound break through the lines of cement protecting the house next door and reach the ears of an old couple. Their eyes are glazed as they reminisce on times gone by.
Suddenly a timer releases its earsplitting call. My fingers let go of the keys and release everyone from the other world their minds have lingered in. The dog affectionately waggles his tail as he barks at the roaring timer. The old couple gets up to peck at their supper. My parents, listening from afar, resume talking to relatives and co-workers.
All the people go back to their daily chores, mechanically sifting through their duties, slowly forgetting the piano in all its beauty. Tomorrow, they will be reminded of the majestic music, but there will be a slight change. All the people will remember the piano for a little bit longer. Music shapes the world. Music creates hope. Music changes everyone. The piano just proves it.
Harrison Siegel, piano student