Painting the Piano



I have known her my entire life.

Or at least her entire life.

I think.

To be honest, I’m not actually sure how long I’ve technically known her.

But, I can’t remember ever not knowing her.

We were small.

My family made the move from Ontario to Texas in 1995.

And since I’m being honest, I’m not actually sure I remember anything before that.

The point I am trying to make… I guess I already made in my first line.

I have known Rachel, for what seems to be, my entire life.

I get to see her almost every year for short amounts of time when our families are in Florida together.

Two years ago, while in Florida, I decided that I wanted to get a piano.

Rachel was the first person that I told.

I’ve never played before in my life, nor do I even know how to read music.

When I was little, my grandma had a player piano and I remember going into the room to just sit on the couch

and stare at it.

I could stare at it for hours, trying to grasp how something could be so simple and create such a beautiful sound.

So, I wanted to get a piano for my apartment and I wanted to paint it.

I went online and managed to find a free one right down the street from me.

It was perfect and one might even say meant-to-be.

It sat in my apartment, as beautiful as can be, for almost a year without a drop of paint on it.

Finally, I decided on a colour and was able to convince Rachel that she needed to be here when I painted it.

She needed to make a visit to Texas.

And she did.

We spent the week doing the ATX thing… eating at all the favorite restaurants, coffee shops, and simply touring the city.

We also painted the piano.


The colour of the ocean.

And now is sits in my apartment, across from my dining table, ready to be played.

Just like my Grandma’s.

I can stare at it for hours, trying to grasp how something so simple could bring back such a beautiful memory.

A memory of my Grandma.

A memory of her heart.

A memory that always makes me smile.

Piano Keys


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