I don’t remember much about her other than she having the most beautiful hands I’d ever seen. Listening to her play the piano made me believe in innocence again. She made me believe in unabused love and kindness. Every key stroke felt as if it was breathing life into my soul. No matter what was happening around me or to me, I knew I’d survive as long as I could hear the music.
By second semester, we no longer had a music class, but for a short period of time longer, I would still hear and see the music playing. Eventually the music ceased altogether. I now found myself grieving for something that once was my salvation. In time I came to learn that it wasn’t so much about the class or the teacher, even though she’d initially made the introduction, it was about the musical instrument itself. I thought if someday I could own a piano, I’d teach myself how to save myself through music. I’ve since owned various keyboards, but never came close to the beauty of a real piano. I still to this very day go to piano stores browsing a dream I refuse to let fade away. While the sound of her music has long eluded me, I can still see that little girl smiling with every key stroke her teacher once played.
