It was very quiet when I first walked into the music room. Nobody was sitting at that piano, resting on that bench, taking a deep pause, before gracing their fingers along that keyboard. Nobody was waiting on the nearby stool, or in many of the simple black chairs that line the room either. The obligatory black music stand, though standing proud and tall center stage, did not corral any sheet music on this particular day. The music had all been packed away, categorically stored, in green labeled cabinets along one side of the room. It looked like nobody had been here for years. Yes, it was very quiet when I first walked into that music room.
The thing about music rooms like this one is that it doesn’t take much of an imagination to appreciate what it sounds like when people are there. You could almost close your eyes and picture it clearly-somebody sits down at the keyboard, lifts the cover of the piano, shuffles the sheets of paper in front of them a bit, maybe looks up and gives one final knowing nod of their head before gracing those keys. Then, almost without ceremony, the music starts.
It might be classical music. It’s not hard to imagine Chopin being played in that room. It might be Thelonious Monk, Billy Joel, or something from the charts today. Then again, it might be something as simple as Chopsticks. No matter what gets played, the room is filled. Filled with the keys, the notes, the chords, the runs, the riffs that make up our favorite songs. It’s not just the piano that comes alive, no, all of the memories and emotions come rushing back. Do you remember that song? When did you first hear it? Is it one of your favorites? A jazz standard? A soothing lullaby? A favorite classical melody played with passion and heart?
It was very quiet when I first walked into the music room. Nobody played the piano while I was there but, somehow, even though the picture makes it look empty too, that’s not the way I’ll remember it.
Until next time…