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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required She was a grand piano: grand in structure, grand in beauty, grand in quality of sound. She had captured the heart of every pianist who had come to play in the great hall. Once they touched her keys…they fell in love with the celestial sounds that resonated from her core. He was a grand musician, adept at playing several instruments. Music was what made him come to life…his passion seen in the swaying of his body as he became enraptured in the sounds. He came looking for her, having heard of her perfection, and once he touched her, he was captivated. Night after night the hall was packed with music lovers who came to hear him play, but they also came to feast their eyes for when he sat there at the piano…it was almost as if he were in the throes of passion. She made him pour and release his inner soul in notes that vibrated and pulsated within every listener’s heart. Passion redefined. His fame spread. He spent hours every day…sitting there on the stage, caressing her keys, making her do his bidding…moving her to a forte crescendo…and then another, soothing her with pianissimo after the storm of passion was spent. When did it happen? When had the restlessness taken hold? He couldn’t remember a specific moment, but at night…after the concerts were over, and he was there in his room, he would dream of traveling again, and he’d think of the Stradivarius he had seen for sale in the most renowned music store in Europe, a store right beside the grand hall. She was a beauty…sleek, streamlined, shapely, and after he had touched and fondled her, heard the noise he could bring to life with his flexible fingers, he knew…the time had come to say goodbye. All his savings and more went into purchasing that Stradivarius that fit snuggly under his chin. He could travel with her. She was…lightweight, easy to carry. She was not stationary.....heavy. It was the last concert, and he gave that piano his all. The audience sensed a difference in the man. The room was electrified with the notes of a passion in bursting from the fusion of man and instrument. The piano had never sounded so angelic, sweet, replete with every nuance of a lover’s dream. Something seemed to be tugging at the pianist's heart for before he took his bow, they saw his eyes wet with tears. Years passed, his fame grew. He was now known as the master violinist....the shining star among his contemporaries...one of a kind. He was happy and famous. He was traveling….light. His Stradivarius was his to finger and play with every night, a perfect mistress, a perfect muse, yet why…why did he find himself back in the hall after all this time? He stood there aghast, for all he could see on the stage was the old janitor, sweeping the floor. “Where is she?” he demanded. The janitor squinted at him, trying to remember, and then he gave a sad smile. “Why…didn’t you hear? It was in all the papers. After you left, something went terribly wrong with that grand piano. All the notes kept coming out wrong. It didn’t matter who sat down to play, and to tell you the truth, some of those pianists were even better than you, or so I heard said. Nothing sounded right. They brought professional tuners. Everything seemed alright, but…the music, the music lacked….life. She couldn’t get fixed and so, in the end….she was sold for scrap pieces to a carpenter who hacked her into pieces to use for firewood.” The musician stood there, tears streaming down his face. She had been heavy, her maintenance difficult, her stationary heart, unmovable. He had longed to travel light…to relish minimum maintenance demands, to travel far and wide, like a feather on the breeze…airy and light…oh, so light, but could someone be found who could explain to him the extreme leaded heaviness in his heart that rooted him, immovable, to the spot where once a beautiful grand piano had stood. Eileen Manassian
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