Piano Lesson by Elizabeth Moss

Black mountains. White valleys. Wood and plastic at my fingertips. I press a key. A tone rings out, clear and sharp. I look up at Wendell, my teacher. He nods. I turn to my sheet music. A deep breath. Fingers on the keys. Feet on the pedals. I’m ready to play.

My fingers dance. So does the music. A sad, sweet voice takes shape. The instrument becomes a singer, using the melodies to express her emotions. Indistinct currents ripple beneath the voice of the piano. My left hand creates the ripples; my right hand plays her song.

I give the instrument her melancholy tune. Ripples rise into a tempest, sink back down. Her song changes from sad to peaceful to sad again. Loud, then soft.

My hands go through rehearsed motions, pressing this key and that. My finger slips, hits a wrong note. I keep playing as if nothing happened.

Her song reaches its climax. Chords crash on black and white plastic. Notes become louder, louder, LOUDER! Placid no longer, the current swells and rolls. The whole room vibrates. Then, at just the right place, I soften the tones, calm the furious melody. My fingers slow as the piece reaches its end. A soft chord silences the voice.

I release keys and petals. My instrument is silent. I rise from the bench. Wendell smiles and shakes my hand. My lesson is over.