The Piano Movers

Mandy was distraught. Her husband of forty-three years had died. She was struggling with being responsible for everything in her life.

She spent most days grieving, losing the love of her life.  Their marriage hadn’t always been great, but then, as he had worked through his post-traumatic stress disorder, it was as if the shackles holding him prisoner, after the war, had fallen away – one difficult piece, at a time, until that one day when he was finally free again to be the wonderful, amazing man he always wanted to be.

“Oh, John! I miss you so… your loving touch, your tender embrace, your ‘I can’t catch my breath hugs,’ our laughter; your funny jokes that weren't so funny, but we laughed anyway.” She sat there, as the clock ticked and the room became dark. She missed him so much.

“Bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, bong!”

“Oh! The piano movers were coming at six to move the old piano out. They will be here, any moment!” She didn’t play the piano. Only John’s fingers could tickle the ivory and create such beautiful music.

“Oh, John! Why did you have to go so early?”

“Ding! Dong!” The piano movers were at the door and introduced themselves. Joe and Shane came in and covered the piano in a quilted blanket.

Joe noticed her eyes begin to glisten. “Are you sure you want to get rid of this piano? Perhaps, it would be good to wait a month or so.”

“No,” Mandy said. “It’s time. I got rid of his clothes and books, so it’s time to get rid of the piano, too.”

Shane added, “You can always call and ask for it back, if you change your mind.”

“And if no one has bought it,” Joe added.

Joe and Shane rolled the beautiful piano up onto the truck.

Joe said, “Please call, if you change your mind.”

Mandy walked back inside and saw the empty wall. She collapsed in tears.

Five minutes later, she called the truck drivers. “Could you please bring it back? I’m not ready yet.”

Joe said, “Sure!”

They drove back into her driveway and set up the piano right where it had been… as if it had never been moved.

“What do I owe you?" Mandy asked.

Joe smile. “Nothing, Ma’am. There’s no charge.”

“Really?” Mandy replied, surprised.

Joe and Shane just smiled. “No charge! Enjoy your piano and your cherished memories.”

“Thank you,” Mandy whispered, with a tinge of a smile.

This was written during my Practice Writing Group, with a prompt of: piano movers, for 10+ minutes and edited slightly.

Although this is a piece of fiction, it was based on a true incident described in Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and  Renewal by Diane Dettmann, Outskirts Press, c. 2011.

Precious Linda, 2013

The Stone Arch Bridge

The gray sky rumbled, as my feet squished through the muddy trail and seeped over my ankles to color my socks black-speckled brown. Joan turned aside, as the wind flapped her windbreaker, while trying to avoid the stinging pellets of the March rain. We were heading to the stone arch, a quarter mile away to get out of the bitter-cold rain.

“A great day for photography!” she shouted through the wind.

“Yeah! I wish I’d brought my umbrella to keep my camera dry!” I replied.

“I don’t know if I could use my camera. My fingers are so cold.”

”Well, let’s see what we can take pictures of while standing under the arch!”

We began to quicken our paces. My toes were already numb from cold. I needed to do something to stay warm. Joan reached the arch, seconds behind me and we laughed. We looked like a couple of wet rags hanging out to dry on a rainy day!

As our eyes began to adjust to the shadowy areas under the arch, we each began to gasp and exclaim!

“Hey! Look at this moss growing on this colorful rock!”

“Look how the colors stand out when the rocks are wet!”

“Here’s a place where the water is trickling down.”

“Hey! I found it! It landed in my eye!”

We smiled. We hadn’t seen each other for over a year-and-a-half. It was so wonderful to spend part of the day together again, like we used to do back in high school.

We were two peas in a pod, then, and we were still now. We smiled on that rainy day in March, knowing we had treasures to share, under the stone arch bridge.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

This was written during our Practice Writing Group with the prompt of: stone arch, for 11 minutes.

onomatopoeia*

*We had fun at my Practice Writing Group with the prompt of onomatopoeia, which was a new word to most of us. It means: “The naming of a thing or action by a vocal imitation of the sound associated with it (as buzz, hiss)” – from merriam-webster.com. We wrote for 10 minutes. I tried using more than one form of onomatopoeia in each sentence. Can you identify these words?

Boing! The ball dribbled crazily along the floor.

Crash!! The shattered pieces of crystal lie dazzling in the sunlight.

Rip! The feedbag fractured at the seams spilling bouncing beans hurriedly scattering on the floor.

The mice scuttled and scurried to pounce on a mouth-watering tasty morsel.

Thud! The whole house shook when a car crashed and ricocheted off the front entryway, leaving falling bricks and shattering shards of glass for the homeowners to find.

Swoosh! Swoosh! The breeze fluttered past the delicate, sheer curtains.

“Rustle! Rustle! Crack! Crush!” went the leaves, as the children shuffled through their piles, leaving them in tiny pieces.

“Vroom!! I awakened to Mama vacuuming and Billy running through the house being the engine for his paper airplane! “Vroom! Vroom!”

“Pop!” The can exploded, as fizzy bubbles oozed out of the silent, cracked container.

Linda