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Fully Feeling

The Piano in the Living Room

By Johanna RosePublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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The evening summer light slowly grew brighter on our living room walls. It was the most beautiful time of day. All the outside bird calls and cricket chirps seemed to slow down and follow the sunlight back to wherever they call home. I always wanted to be there during these moments.

In the corner of the living room, right beside the window, sat our brown, wooden piano. Who knows when the last time it was tuned or even considerably dusted. But it was one of my most treasured possessions in our house. No, I never played. Piano lessons at age seven do not count as learning to play. At least not for me. I liked looking at the pictures on my music sheets of sailboats and cows and children in puddles, only to be quickly brought back to lessons by the constant tap on my back from my teacher.

No, the piano was my favorite because of the things I understood because of it.

Let me help you understand.

I share our little house with one other person, the one whom I love. We are so compatible for many reasons, but I believe mostly because of how different we are. When our first dog, Rocket, died, we buried him in our backyard. After we had finished, we stood there for a few minutes. I felt myself drifting and paying more attention to the squirrel in the tree. Or the sound of a neighbor opening their garage door. 'I wonder if they are coming home from work...or do they work? They are most likely retired. Or are they old enough?' were the thoughts that I let cloud my mind. With those thoughts there, I didn't have to feel what I didn't want to. And that was how I was. The one whom I love stood there staring at the little rock we set where we had just buried Rocket. I know the thoughts between us were different in that moment. The one who loves was most likely thinking and feeling every single moment and memory we had had with that dog. This is how we were different.

A year later, we tragically lost a dear friend of ours. Unexpected and traumatic. After we had sat together on our couch in silence because of grief, I left for our room and began sorting the books on our bookshelf. "Alphabetically or by genre?" this was what had to be important right now, even though it was the least important thing of that moment.

As I'm dusting off old books that hadn't been touched in years and putting them in their new space, I hear the piano bench move back a few inches on the floor and squeak as it was sat upon. Then came the music. The keys moved so quickly and effortlessly. The song was soft and powerful at the same time. I stood there holding my mother's old crockpot cookbook and didn't move. I felt a sigh moving up in my chest and wanted to release it but knew what would come after. The piano music crept up the bedroom walls around me, I felt it at my feet, and then finally in my chest. I gave in and listened to the music. Felt the emotion in my heart, more than I wanted to. The one I love continued to play, exactly what was being felt in that time, exactly what I was trying to dismiss. But I slowly sat on the floor and listened to it all and emoted it all. The tears ran down my face and into my lap, across the dusty book, leaving a trail over the cover.

The dusty, out of tune, beloved old piano caused us to feel the same sort of emotions and think similar thoughts, though our natural reactions are the furthest from each other. It brought us closer together, taking away what caused sometimes bigger division than we wanted. It was needed.

The sun set and grew smaller across the walls and I left our bedroom to sit beside the one I love. This moment brought our hearts so close together that no words had to be spoken.

love
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