Friday Fictioneers – Piano Lessons

ff230714By day our top floor apartment echoed to the sounds of learning: flats where manuscripts said sharps; clashing C minors in place of sweeping D majors. On the faded green settee proud parents sat nodding nervously in time.

By night the door was firmly locked, blinds drawn and the heavy curtains closed. It would then be her turn. There were never any missed notes; never anybody to listen except me.

Mother had played Carnegie Hall at 14, for a President at 15. By 17 I was born, and nobody seemed interested in her any more.

Mother isn’t bitter; she just loves to play.


These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

16 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers – Piano Lessons

  1. Helena Hann-Basquiat

    You know, I’d like to just be the first to say how clever you are, taking “Chopsticks” and turning it into a story about piano.

  2. dmmacilroy

    Dear paul,

    Segue master. Well done. This story was sad and happy and very believable. I love that she is happy just to play. Reminds me of me and my writing. Thanks for this one.



  3. Melanie

    Oh, those bygone days (though not so bygone as just changed to a new group)…so glad “fallen women” aren’t discarded as quickly and easily as we once were.

  4. patriciaruthsusan

    Paul, Lovely piece and well written as usual. I have to admit I didn’t catch the connection with chopsticks until I read the comments. It’s truly a shame some talented people are forgotten so easily. Well done. 🙂 —Susan

  5. rochellewisoff

    Dear Paul,

    The connection sort of went over my head although I guessed “Chopsticks.” But this is one of those pieces that is beautiful no matter how slight the connection. I’m happy to have read it. Very nice.




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