The Piano that Continues to Play

The Piano that Continues to Play

By: Catherine Ream

It is said there are five stages of grief; everyone is familiar with them, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Although one experiencing these phases while in mourning isn’t scientifically proven, I can say that I certainly did when my wife passed away. The first stage, denial, was the worst one of all. I am Mr. Grimwood, and this story was quite difficult for an isolated man in his fifties to say, so please gift give me with your full attention.

I was a high school literature teacher while my wife was a music teacher. We possessed a luxurious piano, and despite its age, it still appeared to be brand-new. After our lengthy, busy days came to a conclusion, my wife would tap the piano keys, playing a melody as I would type on my computer, grading essays. We were at peace, deeply in love, and most of all…we were content with our lives. However, the light must burn out eventually as it is never permanent.

When my wife unexpectedly passed away everyone she shared a connection with was dismayed. The ship was smooth sailing, and the weather was clear, but then she just sank to her demise with no explanation. I refused to glance at the light of day, for it always reminded me of her, and I never left the house unless it was absolutely necessary.

A few days after the funeral, I went out to retrieve the mail when my young neighbor, Anna approached me with her usual forgiving smile. My wife was still roaming the earth the last time I saw her.

“Good morning, Mr. Grimwood,” she began, and I nodded, acknowledging her presence.

“I apologize about your wife. She was a lovely human being whom I was grateful to meet and you have my condolences.” Anna sympathized.

“Thank you,” tears sat in my throat as I choked on them. I turned to avoid eye contact as I opened my rusty mailbox. For some unexplainable reason, my hand couldn’t bring itself to grab the mail. Perhaps it was because of all the “sorry for your loss” cards with stale, scentless flowers that awaited me.

“I have to admit I’m concerned about you. I rarely see you outside when I think fresh air would be rejuvenating for you.” Anna advised, taking my mail and placing it in my hand. Ignoring her suggestion, I made my way inside.

I set the mail down on the coffee table when I heard a singular, light, soft key on the piano being played. Bewildered, I went over to the piano of which I’ve paid no attention to since my wife's death to observe and hear more keys being played. I lept back startled; not a soul was there, and this was not a self-playing piano.

“D-darling? Is-is that you?” I wondered, still shocked out of my skin. 

“Fidling with my heart strings like a harp is not a joke!” I raised my voice, thinking this was some kind of prank. There was no answer, only music. She would never answer me when she was lost in song. My darling had at last returned to me and put me out of my misery. For hours, I sat on the sofa, listening while occasionally humming to her tune, and for the first time in weeks, I was content. 

Everyday, for the next few days, the sun which was beaming more than ever before, would peak over the clouds and she would begin playing. I opened every window in the house hoping my concerned neighbors would hear my happiness.

I went to retrieve the mail one morning, with a skip in my step and an intention to toss any sorrowful cards I received in the trash. Anna was out once again to check on me.

“You seem chipper this morning,” she smiled with relief.

“Haven’t you heard? My wife, her spirit is miraculously playing the piano for all to hear just like when she was alive! I’ve unlocked every window surely you can hear her too.” I snatched the mail from the box. Anna's appalled expression needed no words, but she spoke nonetheless,

“Mr. Grimwood…I haven’t heard piano playing…” she tried to come off as nice as possible.

“M-maybe the others have,” I panicked and I wasn’t sure why. I know what I heard, and it's alright if they haven’t.

“Yesterday the whole street gathered at my place as we were concerned for your well-being. We were also unsure why you had every window in your house open.” Anna placed her hand on my shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter! My wife has returned and I feel sorry that you won’t open your ears and listen to her again! I guess this proves that you or no one else on this soulless street ever cared a thing about her!” I stomped inside and slammed the door.

I slumped on the couch and the piano was silent for the rest of the day. To occupy my time, I flipped through the cards that got sent my way.

The next morning, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to see Anna and a strange new accomplice.

“Mr. Grimwood this is Mr. Fox. He is here to… investigate your piano,” Anna and this man entered without my consent.

“I never called for a piano investigator…” My voice growled like the angry, old man I was transforming into.

“I did Mr. Grimwood,” Anna confessed.

“You can’t just march into my house-” Anna took Mr. Fox to the piano and my feet followed, somping with irritation.

“Mr. Fox is a professional,” Anna attempted to soothe me.

“So, you are claiming that your deceased wife is playing this piano?” Mr. Fox began.

“Precisely, she adored music,” I confirmed. Perhaps this man could help everybody realize that I am not insane.

“Well I don’t hear any playing,” the man commented when I realized she hasn’t played sense yesterdays confrontation with Anna. It was all silence for about a minute until I stated,

“Come on darling- we have guests…” more silence.

“Don’t be shy you used to love to play when we had company…” I encouraged but more woeful, unbearable silence followed. At last, the tears began to fall like the first, shy, hesitant drops of a rainstorm that soon led to a horrific, flooding tempest.

“Please darling don’t surrender to our love, to me… I simply can’t face the light without you… don’t abandon me,” I fell to the floor with a tempest of tears feeling physically sick. Why didn’t my wife soothe me with her song in this moment? She always wiped my tears with her white handkerchief when she was here.

“He’s in denial,” Mr. Fox concluded.

“One of the five stages of grief,” Anna recalled.

“I am NOT in denial and I am NOT DERANGED! She truly was playing!” Anna knew it was time to show Mr. Fox out, and instead of exiting with him, she sat on the floor by my side without a word for the rest of the day.

After I got my life together I did indeed realize I was in denial and that my wife was never playing. It was the depressing truth, but Anna, a woman sent to me by God, was there for me whenever I required it.

A year passed and I was about to exit the house to interview for a job as a literature professor at the local university when I recalled my wife and how proud she would be of me. That's when my ears picked up on the same singular, light, soft key being played, “she’s keeping me in her memory,” I smiled and left.

After a successful interview, I rolled up my sleeves and began teaching myself the piano. Keeping my lovely wife's memory alive for years to come.

The End.