Play It Again

The sun poured into that corner of the room thru the oversized windows.  He could have been sitting in a Palace.  The Hermitage? Schönbrunn Palace? But this is now, not then… not a scene from Amadeus.

And the person at the piano was his eldest daughter. He hadn’t heard her play in years. When did she take it up again?  Never mind.  Others were there to listen, too.  Did the others know that he was her father?

The piece began slow… what was it?  It reminded him of how a rain begins on summer night.  The air filled with an intense humidity, then the rain begins to pick its way thru the leaf laden trees. Softness before the storm is unleashed.

It’s one of the most soothing pieces he knew.  He probably first heard it as a background  to some old Warner Brothers cartoon! He stumbled trying to come up with the composer. Chopin? Hayden? No… it’s Beethoven!  Beethoven!  Fűr Elise.

When did she learn this piece? Not a single flaw. She concluded, folded her hands and turned to polite applause. 

He sees her beautiful smile.  Her head tilts slightly, she blinks, takes a breath, clearly relieved and proud of her performance, she catches sight of him.  Her eyes say it all “Dad, I did it.”

The sun?  The music?  It was eyes and the radiant smile.

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