The Dumb Keyboard

He saw it in one of those chintzy antique shops, recalled that it was made for travelling musicians that wanted to work out scores while not being overheard. It was old and all wood. When he tapped the keys they clacked, but each key seemed to clack in a slightly different tone, as if the former pianist’s thoughts and intentions had somehow imprinted a musical counterpart into the inarticulate wood. When he got it home he took it up and placed it on a table, stretched stiff fingers and played. He played like he had never played before! This was real, not an air-guitar thing. Chopin and Mozart melodies flowed through his hands as he sped through deft keyboard exercises, annotating quarter and eighth notes, executing perfect tonality and phrase. Tomorrow he intends to jazz-duet with Oscar Peterson. 'Man, it feels good to be dumb', he thought.