Story

You were playing the piano in the middle of the park square. Despite the crowds you had almost no audience, maybe a couple people stopping for a few seconds to watch, take a picture, move on. The music was beautiful, but what I was truly moved by at that moment was your face. The intensity of your eyes, your stare. You looked at that piano in this sea of people as if you were the only two things in the entire world. You could have been anywhere at that moment. 

I sat down on a bench nearby, and watched your performance all the way through. It is always moving to be in the presence of someone clearly in the depths of their passion. After a couple of songs you looked up at me, straight into my eyes. I applauded enthusiastically, unsure of what else you might want, and crippled by the intensity of your stare being directed now at me. You stood up, came around, walked over, and asked if I could please watch your piano for you. 

“Oh. Sure. Where are you going, and for how long?”

“Just to get a slice of pizza. About fifteen minutes. I appreciate it. Don’t let anyone touch it. People will want to touch it.”

This surprised me, as it was unclear to me who the hell would want to touch a piano sitting in the middle of a park, especially one that is clearly occupied. It was also surprising that you assumed people want to touch the piano, but I wouldn’t. I sat at the bench in front of it. Out of temptation alone I would have played something, if I knew how to play anything at all, but my history with the piano is long, tenuous, and depressing. I won’t get into it now. I left the piano alone as I waited for you to come back. 

“Can I play something?”

“What?”

“Can I play a song real quick?”

“Oh. No. I was asked to just watch the piano and not let anyone touch it.”

“Oh okay. Bitch.”

Sure enough someone did want to touch the piano.This task was turning out to be more than I had originally bargained for. I had to fight off a couple more piano-touchers before you came back. 

“Hi. Thanks. Do you see that guy wearing camo? That couldn’t be me. Not even casually. I mean, who the hell wants to be associated with that imagery? The military, war, everything terrible this country does. You know what I mean. I don’t own a gun for that reason. My dad did. My dad served actually. He’s the one who explained to me all about war. What it feels like to kill someone. He’s dead now himself. Don’t worry, natural causes. He hated me playing the piano. You want to know why I’m here? Why I play here? Has nothing to do with my dad honestly.” 

You’re not even looking at me, staring off into the distance instead. I think my presence at this moment is completely irrelevant to you. This conversation would have been happening no matter me being here or not. Maybe I’m affecting the fact that you are speaking out loud, but only maybe. 

“You see that woman, she’s walking a dog, and the dog is cute, so that guy reaches down, pets the dog, and the guy and girl look into each other’s eyes, and they get to have that moment? That connection. That. That’s what matters. It’s the only thing that matters. That moment, creates a wave, an energy wave, a positive energy wave, and sends it off into the world. The world is now a better place. All because she went walking with her dog. That’s why I’m here. I’m here because four years ago I woke up and I couldn’t take the world anymore. I had a calling. I quit my job, left my life, my home, and I realized I had to do everything I could to fix the world. And when I play music I’m creating those positive waves. Some days it seems like I’m the only one who wants to fix the world. I’m the only one. I’m alone! But guess what?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. In fact, I haven’t said a single word since he started speaking. 

“The world is going to get better. That’s what. Not a doubt in my mind.”

I look around the park. It’s a freezing day, and the shoes I’ve worn are nowhere near warm enough. I can no longer feel my feet. The sky is gray, overcast, with possible snow soon. Everyone is wearing big bulky jackets. But despite the cold there’s still a surprisingly large number of people out. This park tends to get busy no matter the season. However absolutely no one in this park looks like what I’d describe as ‘happy.’ No one is even close.  

“And not too long from now either. Within the next five years. The world will get better. Much better. You see, I know this to be true.” 

“I agree,” I finally manage to add in. I’m not actually sure if I agree, to be honest I’m not much of an optimist, and definitely not enough to be ‘sure that the world will get better within five years.’  But I suggest agreement anyway as a way of making you feel more at ease. You’ve been talking so intensely, and so quickly, as if at any moment I might slap you for what you’re saying, and you have to defend and explain yourself before I get to. 

“It doesn’t matter if you agree. It’s going to happen. And I wake up everyday and I work on it. I come here and I play the piano, and I make the world a better place. You see my songs create those waves. They send the same waves out into the world, and it fixes it. It heals it. And by the way I make no money at all whatsoever, I just go to bed knowing I made the world a better place today. Oh yeah people ask couldn’t I volunteer, or build something or donate? NO! This is my calling. This is MY way. This is what I’m meant to give to the world. The waves. Like sound waves, but energy waves. I can see the effect it has on people.”

I was moved by his certainty, his total and complete lack of self-doubt. He knew what he was doing, unlike me, or even most of the people that I knew. In his eyes I could see no recognition, no grief. No room for anything besides the music. No acknowledgement of what it meant to have left his previous life, and me, our home, our family. All he could see were the waves, the piano. He couldn’t see my face, or the tears running down it as he talked. He didn’t see the sledgehammer I had been holding this whole time, well, not until I had already landed several passionate and angry blows onto his piano. It collapsed readily, as we had bought it together over twenty years ago and he had been dragging it to a park every day for the last five. It lay on the park square completely destroyed, a pile of wood and ivory.