The Power of a Piano

The waves rolled endlessly. Livianna watched as tiny grains of sand were pulled into the swirling tide pools beneath the rock she sat on. Before her stretched the wide, blue-grey expanse of the ocean. A larger wave crashed into the rock and sent a spray of salt water to her face. She squinted and spluttered, attempting to wipe it away from her eyes with an arm, only to be reminded that her face wasn’t the only thing drenched in seawater. 

On any other day, probably, this would have been welcome. Even that annoying sting from the salt in her eyes would have been small in comparison to the relief of the sun’s blazing rays. But as it was, her daily walk to the beach had been met with the highly unexpected late-June rain session. It was called a ‘session’ because in this part of Nova Scotia, rain wasn’t exactly on the daily, weekly, or monthly forecast for the summer, and it only came out in spurts. As it was, the rain had stopped falling, but determined to visit the sea every day out of tribute to James, Liv had still climbed the rock and sat atop it for her standard thirty minutes. Only, she felt she wasn’t done. She hadn’t written anything for her blog or her fanfiction or her supposedly “in-progress” novel for weeks. The inspiration, innovation, whatever you wanted to call it, just wasn’t there. 

She had revisited old books with the hope that something would catch on and brilliancy would take its course. With waning creativity, Livianna had decided it was time for a break, and temporarily abandoned her readers. However now she found herself in the grips of boredom, and desperately wanting some inspiration. Her brother wasn’t any help; all he did was lecture her about what to do this next year of college. Her parents didn’t quite understand what she meant by “writer’s block,” and for some reason her normally-understanding friends were in this silent stage and were unresponsive to her texts or calls...and usually got back at 2am. 

Vainly and out of habit, Liv searched the horizon for a ship that would bear James, her bonny lad, to her. He left a month ago to fix something with her father, she wasn’t sure what; he was a little touchy on the subject. Even that wouldn’t have really bothered her, though, if she had heard from him, but she hadn’t, so her only two options, it seemed, were to wait for any sign of him, and write. 

Truly, she missed him. She also missed writing. But the adrenaline, the words that would flow from her fingertips seemed to have vanished. 

Silently she clambered down the rock and slinked back up the beach and down the road in her soaking wet jeans. Livianna shivered when the cool breeze and another raindrop hit her arm, and quickened her pace. She made plans to light a candle and the gas fireplace, maybe bake something like cranberry bread despite the season to warm her up and keep her busy until her brother, Mark, returned from work. 

Just at the door, Liv retreated into her house and pulled off her shoes, socks, and drenched jacket before marching up the stairs to her bedroom in order to really get comfy--meaning changing into the softest, most homeless-looking, yet incredibly comfortable pair of sweats. They had been on the seven-dollar sale at H&M what was it… a year ago? Buying them was more of a dare from a friend, but if Liv was being honest, the purchase wasn’t regretted. 

Ten minutes later, the candle and fireplace were lit, the grandma’s recipe out, and Liv was staring blankly at the piano. Totally and completely random. She hadn’t played in years, not even to tune her guitar. The instrument had just lost its appeal, but now as she stood at the counter, bowl in hand, her eyes didn’t budge from that corner. 

Slowly she walked to the dark cherry instrument and ran her fingers over the lid before lifting it, revealing the smooth, worn ivory keys. Liv scooted the bench out from its place beneath the piano and opened the lid, filing through endless stacks of music books and sheets. Selecting an old Irish piece, she set down the lid and seated herself on the bench, music in front of her, hands in position. It would be scratchy, to be sure, but there was no one around, and for the moment this was just for her own enjoyment. 

Her fingers tested a chord, then sounded the introduction, before sailing into the old Celtic melody. Remembering to move her wrists and becoming familiar again with the pedal, Livianna played it over and over, each time recalling more and more of the art. But what held the most enchantment wasn’t the music. No, it helped for sure, but what grew in her mind and what drove her fingers to work was the ever-evolving image in her mind. 

With every note it grew clearer, and with each stanza she found herself first gazing across the Scottish Highlands, then the billowing waves in a wild ocean storm, then the peaceful meadow scene of children playing and laughing to birdsong. The images began to stitch themselves together, and as soon as it was all one piece, Livianna ripped herself from the piano, leaving clumsy notes of discord hanging in the air, and ran to her computer. 

Not wasting a moment, her fingers flew across the keyboard and furiously typed away, forgetting everything else around her and only writing the scenes that the music had brought. When she had followed the thread to the end, she began to breathe deeply, realizing she had held her breath. Smiling widely, Liv skipped over to the piano again, laptop in hand, and found another Celtic ballad. For hours she worked like this, going from song to keys, each time letting the music take her away. Mark ended up finding a meal in the freezer and heating it up, receiving no more than a concentrated, “hi,” from his sister, who vaguely heard some other pair of footsteps. 

When he peeked over her shoulder, Liv rested her hands and turned around on the bench. “What?” she asked, furrowing her brows. “I was writing.”

“Obviously.”

She put her hands on her hips. “What is it, Mark? This is the first time for weeks I’ve been able to carry anything on, especially writing. And it’s been years since I’ve played. Or you, for that matter. Oh, seriously, what is it? You just keep on smiling--it’s creeping me out.” Mark raised his eyebrows and continued to smile. 

“You haven’t talked to anyone today, have you?”

Liv shook her head, still confused and growing impatient.

“And you still haven’t noticed who is literally standing right next to you.”

Livianna squinted and began before glancing to her side, “What? Who--” She gasped. James was standing next to her, face red from stifling bursts of laughter, and holding a napkin to his mouth. She stood up right away and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing out what air he probably had left.

“Oh James, it’s so good to see you! Why didn’t you write? I mean text? Or call, or anything, and you said to watch the horizon and I did, but this morning you weren’t there and--” she cut herself off, breaking the hug and waving her arms in exasperation. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained. “I didn’t know you would do this though while you were waiting.” He motioned to the computer screen. “It’s pretty good. You can really get somewhere with this, you know.” He smiled as he watched her blush and enveloped her in another hug. “I’m glad you waited for me, though. Next time it won’t be so long.”

“It better not be.”

“Alright, you two,” Mark butted in. “Split up the lovefest, Livie can’t be like this when she goes into her junior year of college. She’s not a freshman anymore, so she’s not going to get away with...this.” He motioned awkwardly to the couple. “But sis, I’m glad you’re back into it. No more brooding is good--makes it really crazy with hormones around here.”

“You’re a year older than me.”

Mark shrugged and said, “What can I say? It’s not my fault I’m chock full of college wisdom.” Liv raised her eyes and sent one last longing glance at the piano before pulling James to the counter where her recipe and bowl still sat. “I’m glad I’m back in it too,” she sighed under her breath, savoring the sweet, dreamy feeling of the dreamworld she just exited, and the wonderful rush of affection for her...uh, James. And Mark. But this was not the last time that she would remember the power the piano held for her.