The Ghost Likes the Piano

Whenever I saw fresh tracks next to out mail box, I paused a second or two before reaching up and pulling the door open, savoring the hope that there might be a letter from Aunt Pearl inside. It wasn’t the crisp dollar bills she always enclosed that fueled my anticipation. It was her words on the paper. I could smell her on the stationary. She had moved into an apartment in South Norfolk. “It’s across the street from a fire station. I thought the sound of the sirens would bother me, but I got used to it. There is a bowling alley just down the street. When you come see me we can go there and eat hot dogs with chili and watch the men bowl.” I re-read the last sentence. My eyes lingered on the words “when you come see me…” There is nothing I wanted more. When I showed the letter to Mama she dismissed it. “Pearl is just talking through her hat as usual. She knows I can’t get you up there and she isn’t going to step foot in Carolina. You need to get it through your head that you ain’t going no damn place.”

I was trapped. Maybe Mama was right. Maybe Aunt Pearl had moved on with her life and before long she would forget all about me.

I began to lose interest in the things that I’d enjoyed. School was no longer the refuge it had been. I lost interest in many of things that had brought me pleasure, but something inside made me keep practicing the piano. I had worked too hard to unlock the mystery of the white and black keys and the secret language of the treble and clef. Each new song I mastered was evidence that I was never going to be satisfied just being another kid on the creek. I moved quickly from Big Moon Bright Moon and Swans on the Lake to White Christmas and Sentimental Journey. Those were two of Daddy’s favorite songs. I learned that there was more music in my head. After I practiced my lessons I played the songs that no one had written yet.

I had no need for an audience. I played for myself. The house was empty that day. It was late June and the weather was unusually warm. I had opened the door to the front porch to get some fresh air. The front room was always musty – even in the summer. The front room was separated from the living room by French doors. It was the room where Aunt Sarah laid out pies to cool. It was the room where she stored the jars of quince, tomatoes, and beans and pickled when the shelves of the pantry were full. It was the room we never sat in. It was full of old, uncomfortable furniture like the red velvet settee. You’d think velvet would be soft but this velvet wasn’t. It was prickly and left marks on the back of my thighs when I sat on it. There was a heavy round dining table covered with dusty framed photographs and there was the old upright piano.

I came to the end of my song. I paused for a moment and ran my fingers along the edge of the peeling inlaid carving on the face of the piano. It must have been beautiful once. I heard the front porch swing creaking as it swung back and forth. At first I didn’t think anything of it. Then I remembered I was alone. Everyone was away. Mama was over at Madeline’s house and Aunt Sarah had taken Ivy and Laika with her to visit Mrs. Jordan. Waggles lifted his head and cocked it to one side. Then he growled and ran over and hopped up on the settee. The swinging stopped suddenly and then I heard footsteps and the sound of someone landing on the ground next to the porch. I ran to the window and looked out. There was no one there. Nothing there. Not even any wind. The wisteria hung heavily on the limbs of the oak tree. “You’re just spooking yourself,” I thought. I went back to the piano and started picking out a tune. It was a song my Daddy liked to sing about “that old gang of mine.” I didn’t have the music for it but I played it by ear. I was just getting to the part about Jack and Jill going down lovers’ lane when I was interrupted by Waggles barking. “Quiet, Waggles. Lay down.” Then I heard the swing again. This time I hurried to the window and saw the empty swing moving back and forth. Then the swing stopped on its own. Stopped completely. In a few second I heard the thump again – like someone had thrown something heavy off the porch.

I felt a chill in spite of the warm afternoon. Waggles whined and darted under the table. I wanted Aunt Sarah to come back. I would have evened welcome Mama’s fussing. I closed up the piano.

“Come on Waggles. Let’s go.” I hurried out of the front room, shutting the French doors behind me.

When Aunt Sarah got home I told her what had happened. “It sounded like someone was in the swing and then when I looked out, no one was there.”

“And then you heard someone jump off the end of the porch?”

I was astonished. “You’ve heard it before?”

“Many times, Clara. The departed can’t abide being separated from the ones they love. I think this one might be drawn to the sound of the piano.” She walked away calm as you please, like ghosts were just as ordinary as biscuits. I told myself she was just a crazy old woman, but something in me knew that she was as sane as I was.