Friend of Sutton

 

“Hello? Hello? Excuse me? You are a friend of Sutton?”

A nondescript silver car has pulled up alongside me. I’m on the last block of my evening walk, heading home against the wind that never stops. Who is this hailing me?

            I look inside the car with a loud yapping dog in the back seat. I don’t see the dog, but I hear it. Its barking is shrill and incessant.

            The driver of the car is an old white lady in a blue flowered strapless Culotte getup. The spaghetti straps hang loosely over her bony shoulders; the seatbelt fastened across her chest. She’s nervous, visibly so, not shaking exactly but hesitant in her speech.

            Who is she?

            I do know Sutton. He’s a cat that lives up the street. For months there were signs in the window that he had ‘penned’: “Hi, I’m Sutton. I’m 3 years old.” And then the next week a sign would be beside the first one: “I’m a tuxedo harlequin cat.” Finally, after a couple of weeks a third sign appeared: “I am a rescue cat. My sister’s name is Rosie.”

            Sutton would sit serenely on his cat architecture, gazing out the window at passersby. “Hi Sutton!” I’d call out.

            He’d blink slowly, then stare past me at a leaf blowing down the sidewalk beside me.

            Was this woman now Sutton’s mom? I had met her once, but don’t remember anything about her except she was an old white lady. This could be her. Or obviously, it was her.

            “PJ told me that you play and teach piano?” she said now, leaning toward me from the driver’s seat, the dog’s yapping intensifying.

            “Yes, I do,” I answer, thinking maybe she wants to take piano lessons. That would be cool. I can always use more students.     

            “I have a baby grand piano,” she continues… “and I’m wondering if you would like it or if you know anyone who might like it. They’re just giving them away now, you know?”

            I nod, knowing this is true at the same time wondering why she’s asking me if I want her piano. I have a piano. Shouldn’t this be obvious? It’s like when people find stray cats or kittens and then know I have cats and ask me if I want the found cat. I already have a cat. Why would I want another one.

            I already have a baby grand piano. Why would I want another one?

            I don’t say any of this to her, though, just mention that one of my piano students did, in fact, find a piano for free at an estate sale. All he had to do was pay to move it.

            She ignores this story and continues.

            “If you want, you can stop by and check it out. See what kind of condition it’s in.  Play it if you want….”

            Her voice trails off. The dog continues to bark.

            I’m a piano broker now? It’s so strange to be stopped on my walk to be offered a free piano or to ask if I know anyone who wants one. Though, in a way, this makes sense, I suppose. I do teach piano and one of my students might need a piano. I did give my old piano to one of my students. It happens. But I honestly don’t have time to go around checking out used pianos and finding homes for them.

            Though…I am curious about the inside of her house and seeing Sutton again.

            “I’m moving. Well…my daughter is moving me….to a retirement community…”  She pauses, musing briefly. I wonder if she wants to move or if it’s a daughter instigated action.

            “Where are you moving to?” I ask.

            “San Diego.”

            “Oh, my mom and sister live in San Diego.”

            She ignores this and continues with the piano talk. “I’m home all the time. I see you walking past my house everyday. You could just stop in and check out the piano….”

            The dog’s barking becomes shriller if that’s possible. Why can’t I see it? I wonder. Maybe she has it in a small dog kennel behind the seat. It sounds really mad!

            “I have to go now,” she continues. “My daughter…she’s expecting me…. I have to go pick her up.”

            “Okay,” I say, smiling. “Maybe I’ll stop by sometime. When are you moving?”

            “Oh, not till the end of the year. I just want to get this piano taken care of.”

            “Won’t you miss it? Do you play?”

            “Oh…” she giggles softly. “I do, but not very well. I just play for myself. You know what I mean?”

            “Yes, I do,” I say, thinking how at this point in my life I only play the piano for myself unless Ian is around. He likes to hear me play Ponce’s Intermezzo #1 in E minor and Chopin’s Waltz in A minor.

            The yapping becomes frantic and even louder. “Oh, dear! I’m so sorry. I have to go…”
            She puts the car into gear and pulls away from me. I watch her taillights turn red at the stop sign and then the left-hand blinker goes on.

            I continue home. It’s only a few hundred steps away. As I turn up the walkway to my house, I hear the notes of Chopin’s Waltz in A minor floating through the air. It’s my piano student across the street, practicing.

            Unlocking the front door, I step in. The baby grand piano greets me. I kick off my shoes, head over to the keyboard and start playing the Ponce, letting the melody carry me away to another world of romance and magic. In Mexico. By the sea. Palm trees singing in the breeze.

Lang Lang plays Ponce Intermezzo

            Another world that only music can take me to. With  a little help of a baby grand piano. Of course!