Last Sunday, I had the pleasure of watching Justin's piano recital. All the kids who performed were great. And, I'm certain all the parents who watched were greatly anxious! As I watched the fast fingers on the grand piano and the parents' eyes fixated and intent, a dark image came to my mind.
I saw a sick man in his dying bed, next to a grand piano. The man had a life-long passion with music and the piano, and specifically, with his son performing the piano. On the one side of the bed is an oscilloscope beeping faintly as the green lifeline spikes to a dignified largo. The son sits by the grand piano and plays his magic, tears in his eyes and sweat down temple. He must play, for this is his father's final wish. He must play. He must play well.
The movement of the notes flashes a life's memories through the man's mind. Each up and each down brings a quicker and shorter breath. Each panting brings more tears to the son's eyes. He must play. He must play well.
As the music climaxes, the man's breathing crescendos to a muted forte in prestissimo. On the last note, the green lifeline rests.
The audience applauds and I'm back in the hot recital room.
More music: Sunday Scribbings