Her fingers stroke the keys lovingly. As though it is an old friend she has not seen for years. She sits on the bench. The reflection of her fingers shines in the glossy black mahogany. So many years gone. Every mistake, every regret, every pain, seems to slip out of her mind as she pushes down on the keys. Notes. Up and down, back and forth, her fingers start to walk, to run. It is as though they are remembering everything again. She is remembering everything again.
She leans in, pressing the keys gently now, it is soft, intimate, heartbreakingly tender. Now harder, faster, the excitement is swelling. She feels her chest move up and down with the breath. Inhaling, exhaling. Everything is coming back. Has it been so long? The piano gives back whatever she puts into it. Truly, like an old friend, it sings its song for her. It remembers her.
The brain that failed her so often is now working. Her brain that forgot whether she had eaten or not, forgot who her children were. This frustrating, heartbreaking brain, is now alive again. Her cheeks felt wet. Days, years, of frustration start to melt away. It didn't matter that she forgot how old she was and thought it was the 50s. It didn't matter that she couldn't remember her own phone number. Now, all that is here is the piano.
Her eyes start to blur with tears. She is remembering. Like snow melting after an eternal winter. Like the animals awaking from hibernation. Her heart starts to come alive again. For the first time in a long time, she feels like herself. Sobs tear from her. She is holding onto this feeling. She doesn't want to let it go and return to the way things were. She has to stay in this light. Has to keep from falling asleep inside. Had to stop the ice from returning and closing over everything. From letting that beast, alzheimers, steal everything. She doesn't know how long she has before her mind slips again.
This is her window in time. And the piano is her medium.
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