I've discovered my love for music when I was only five years old. My parents signed me up for piano lessons and they were the most enjoyable thing I can recall from my childhood. My teacher, Mrs. Tomson, was a lovely lady in her forties back when I began my musical journey. She was always so kind and encouraging, she would always give me the keys to her music room as she called it. It was a storage unit which she filled with various instruments where she held lessons for her students, but I'm the only one she would allow to practice alone. She trusted me that much. Over the next thirty years she would always be of huge support, often even more than my own parents. The front row seat was always taken by her on my every school play and my every concert later on and every time I finish playing, her clap would be so loud that it could be heard even over thunderous applauds. You can imagine how devastated I was to receive the news of her passing three days ago. I went to the funeral to say my goodbyes and cried a lot, it took me a long while to calm down. Soon after they read her will and I discovered that she left me the keys to her music room along with all of the instruments in it. Last night I finally gathered the strength and went to the storage unit where I discovered that it looks just as I remember it. The piano I used to practice in my childhood looked exactly the same. I sat down at the old, worn-out chair and placed my hands on the tiles. So many memories came flooding back and I was overwhelmed with both grief and joy at the same time. I got stuck in the moment and started to play the tune I remember from the very beginning of my piano lessons. Playing it was kind of soothing and it felt really good. But something unexplainably scary interrupted my flow of thoughts and it was the first time in my entire musical career that the sound of a familiar, encouraging applause was far more unsettling than it was flattering since it was coming from behind me straight out of thin air.
Image was taken from Pixabay
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