The Pianist

WC1212



Carla stood at the door of her father's office. Her teeth worried her bottom lip and her heart beat so hard she thought he might hear it.

Across the room, her father sat bent over his keyboard, fingers flew as he pounded out information for whatever he did. He never shared his work with her or her mother. When she asked him what he did for a living, he'd pat her head and say, "I make money for you and your mother to spend."

At first she laughed and teased him, but the older she became the tone of the answer wasn't lost on her anymore. He no longer patted her head. His eyes no longer crinkled with laughter. He didn't even speak to her for weeks on end.

Today she needed him. More than anything in all her life she needed something from him so desperate she stood shaking at his door. He looked up and his eyes found hers.

"Did you want something Carla? I'm very busy and I don't have time for frivolities." His eyes narrowed as she took a step into the office.

"I-we need your help." She stammered.

"What help? What's wrong? Can't your mother deal with this?" The sigh in his voice cut her heart and she almost turned and left the room. She needed him.

"Father, I need you to do something tonight." She stared at her feet and took a deep breath. "Miss Tibbits, our music teacher was in an accident yesterday. She's in the hospital and we don't have anyone to play the piano for our concert." She saw his jaw move and his eyes narrowed to a slit. "It's just a few songs. I have the music for you to practice, not that you need to, but I have them."

The long silence sucked the air from her lungs. She waited for her father's reaction. She took a breath to add more urgency to the request, but he held up his hand.

"You know I don't play anymore. I haven't touched the piano for years. I certainly wouldn't debut my playing in front of a bunch of." he hesitated then spat, "People." He waved her away and his eyes turned back to his screen.

Carla felt cold. Shaking she wadded her shirt in her balled fists and memory burst into her mind. "You play." Her voice rose in condemnation.

His head whipped around to face her. His fists balled on the desk. He started to stand and Carla backed up, her spine hitting the door jamb.

"WHAT..DID..YOU..SAY?" he demanded.

"You play. I've heard you in the basement on the keyboard. You play when you think no one is watching. I can't hear what you play since you wear headphones, but I can watch your hands. You play."

He didn't speak. His glare pinned her to the doorway and she wondered if this was going to be the day he actually killed her. He never touched her or her mother. His anger came out in a verbal barrage that sliced their spirits more than any fist or knife could. He didn't love them and showed it in everything he said.

"No, I won't play the piano for you or anyone. Go away. They can cancel whatever you're doing tonight until the teacher can play." He turned his back to her and sat down again. "I gave up playing in front of people."

Carla felt an anger like she'd never experienced before. It was as if hot lava moved from her feet to her head. Her ears burned, the top of her head tingled, her fists balled and before she could stop, her feet stomped across the floor and she leaned over the desk. Tears filled her eyes, they ran over and down her cheeks.

"I have never asked you for a single thing in all my fifteen years. I have listened to your hateful words spoken to me and mother. I have hid when you've lost money or had a bad day and threw things in this office." He started to stand but she pointed her finger at him, "SIT DOWN!"

He sat, his eyes wide with surprise. "Tonight, I have the chance to be accepted into a good music school. Maybe even a scholarship, but we need a pianist. No one in this town can play these pieces on such short notice." She stood up and took a deep breath. "I despise you. You are selfish and for the past five years I haven't used any money you gave me for my birthday or Christmas. It's all in the same envelopes." She moved to stand beside him and opened his bottom desk drawer. Inside lay a pile of envelopes, unopened. Moving back around to face him, the desk once again between them she pressed on. " I'm begging you. I and the others who have to perform tonight need you. If there were anyone else to ask, you can be sure I would. I have everything to lose. Can you get off your high horse and come tonight and play for us? We practice in two hours at the concert hall. You know where it is, you once played there yourself." She went back to the door and picked up the music folder. Setting it on his desk she made one last plea. "Please Father, if not for me, for the daughters and sons of your colleagues who need this opportunity."

She turned and left. Her mother peeked around the door of the kitchen and reached out to touch her. Carla ignored her mother, picked up her bag, and headed for the door, "Bring my concert dress."

When the house was quiet and no sound came from the office, Carla's mother stepped with a quiet tread to the office door. Her husband sat staring at the computer screen.

"John, are you going to play for them?" She asked in an almost whisper.

John looked up with an impatient growl. "Of course not. I don't perform."

"Just this once, you could play to help these children."

He snorted his response.

"John," He looked up again he frowned at her. "If you do not choose to play tonight for them, I'm leaving you. Carla and I will go to my parents house until I find somewhere else for us to live." She turned and walked down the hall. This time the sound of her heels on hardwood reverberated through the house.



Carla and her friends plunked notes on the piano practicing the best they could. "Is your dad coming?" Her friends asked one after another. The answer was the same, the negative shake of her head.

As the children arrived and stood on the risers for practice, the piano bench remained empty. One of the students hit the starting notes and the choir began to sing. It sounded rough to Carla's ears, but they gained strength as they sang.

As they began the next song, the pitch notes sounded and some of the choir looked at the piano. The accompaniment sounded in their ears and Carla felt a surge of joy. Seated at the piano, her father played the songs with perfection. His hand waved them to end together.

The concert went on.