Pianoforte

PIANOFORTE

When it happened, it seemed to happen all at once. The day had broken cold and sterile—another fine, arctic day in February. I was just getting ready to go to the hospital when she came.

What was it they said? How many times did you have to do something before it turned into a habit? Or a ritual, for that matter? My routine of going to the hospital was now edging dangerously close to becoming a ritual. As usual, I got up at around eight. I washed and got dressed. I had a little something to eat, eggs this morning, as a matter of fact. Yes, eggs! I know, I know… For years, I listened to what they said about eggs and cholesterol and well—death. But these days, I must say, I tended to view things a little differently.

After I ate, I got my things together—my watch, my wallet, my cane, and prepared to go out the door. I fumbled around in my pocket for my keys. I adjusted my glasses. I fumbled again and finally found them. And then just as I placed my hand on the doorknob, the doorbell rang.

My hand jumped back and I thought for a second that the electricity from my touch had actually passed through the knob, past the door, up and across the wall over my head and lit up the doorbell. I lifted my eyes and stared at the bell for a bit.

It rang again.

Oh my. I chuckled to myself. How foolish…! Shaking my head, I reached out once more and opened the door.

I froze. I dropped my cane.

“I…”

For there she was, standing at my door.

For a moment I didn’t say anything. I went to open my mouth a few times, but then closed it again.

She smiled.

I found myself smiling too. I stepped aside to let her in. She bent down and recovered my cane for me.

“Thank you,” I said, as I took it from her.

Here was a moment I had envisioned for some time but never did happen. Now that it was happening, I did not know what to do.

“I…” I raised my hand to…to what? Was I supposed to shake her hand? Ridiculous!

She smiled again. She began undoing the belt of her coat. I helped her off with the rest of it.

“Won’t you come in?” I asked. “I mean…you’re already in…I…”

She laughed a little.

“Would you like a little tea?” I led her into the kitchen. “I think I still have some from this morning…are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“It has been such a long time,” I said.

She sat down in a chair by the kitchen table. It was the chair she had always sat in. For all the years she lived in this house, this was the chair—her chair. What a strange and glorious thing it is that we reassume old habits and slip them on like a forgotten sweater, an old pair of gloves. I smiled. I saw her sitting there and in that moment my chest was so filled with memories I thought it would burst and the years would come gushing out and all over the floor.

I swallowed hard. I sat down too. “I’m sure you heard. About her condition, I mean.”

She nodded. Her eyes had been wandering over the different things that we had left unchanged over the years. She did not take her eyes off them as she nodded.

“Is that why you came?”

No answer. But I could see her drinking in the past, a parched, thirsty child.