The Arrival

I saw the truck way before they figured out where my apartment was. I threw on my coat and ran outside, down the steps, into the parking lot, flagging them down. The heavy set guy in the red baseball cap rolled down the window and flicked a cigarette out the window.



I had been watching for the truck for almost an hour. They were supposed to come at 11:00 am, but a muffled voice mail from my friend told me they hadn't yet picked up and she would let me know as soon as they left there.



When she did call, she sounded less than positive. How could piano movers be confidence inspiring if they weren't even sure how to get the piano out of the house where it had resided for the last few years? My friend mentioned that they tipped it up on end, and I immediately envisioned the beautiful instrument tumbling down the crazy steep steps outside.



They climbed out of the truck and followed me inside the hallway, remarking about the unusual rise in the concrete steps. I gulped. "That's why I thought you might prefer to bring it in the back - there's only two steps there and they aren't so deformed." They peered out the back door and shook their heads. "Lady, there isn't even a sidewalk out here. That piano is heavy. It will sink into the mud and we won't be able to haul it out until spring. No, we're coming in the front."



I shivered, trying to figure out how they would hoist a big piano up those stairs. The guy on the bottom would get buried for sure. But there was no bottom, so struggle, no sweat. They backed the truck up to the stairs, raised the back gate, slid a long metal ramp from the truck bed to the top step, and rolled it across with all the grace of gliding in a swing.



They were rolling so fast I had to scurry to get the door open. I wasn't sure if it would fit down the narrow hall, but they didn't even blink. They breezed through the living room down the hall and into the bedroom easy as you please. The driver looked at me and said, "On three, yank that dolly out from underneath." Before I had time to think, he yelled "Three!" and I reached down and pulled the dolly out.



They gently set the piano down right where it should be, then picked up the dolly and disappeared, leaving me face to face with the adorable perfect piano. Mine to use until it was needed elsewhere. Mine to regain some small shred of technique, some bit of musical fluency. Mine to allow for choir rehearsals in my own place. To interest Drew in music again, to dust off the scores and play to my heart's content.



I ran my fingers over the gleaming white keys, brush the dust off between my thumb and fingers. I have not had a decent instrument to play since I left Illinois. How I have missed playing. How I have missed hearing my butchered rendition of Mozart and my slow and painfully difficult Brahms (I so love his music) or my agonizing Chopin and Rachmaninov. I cannot wait. I want to play until my arms fall off.



But alas! Before I knew the piano was arriving, I made plans to help a few projects and people. I must tear myself away, duty beckons. I do not want to leave. O for a few minutes! I am already late because the movers were delayed in arriving. What difference if I am a few more minutes late? Quickly, before I can think what I am doing, I rummage through my box of piano music and select Brahms Intermezzo in A. My fingers stumble through the first page, stiff and uncooperative. I bite my lip and try again. Yes, its a little better. I go back and play just the melody - not even the top hand, but just the line, just the beautiful arching line. And I smile. It will come back. All is not lost. I have worked with excellent teachers. I will remember.



I close the lid and force myself out the door. Tomorrow. I will have time, and I will ease back into it. I pick up a CD by my favorite pianist, a good friend of mine. HE does Chopin as no other. I will listen, I will inhale, I will devour, I will learn. And tomorrow, I will begin the painstaking process of beginning again.