The piano stool was a little high for him, but not high enough to daunt his determination. If Mom could sit up there, so could he. He shoved his chest onto the soft cover, pushing himself up, feet dangling below as he twisted his hips, attempting to get a leg up. An extra swing and his knee caught the edge and he pulled himself up.
Pushing himself upright, he finally found himself sitting at the piano. His feet dangled way off the ground.
But he could reach those wonderful keys.
Reaching out, he touched one slice of ivory just gently. A single note thrummed softly. Another. A higher note.
Balancing on his butt, he brought both hands into play, just like Mom did. Several keys at once. One, two, three. Up in scale. Three, two, one. Down in scale. Two, one, three. Three, one, two. He giggled. He could make music.
Five, two, three, one, four. One, five, six, four, two, three. More giggles.
“That is beautiful, honey.”
He startled, looking up to see his Mom smiling down at him.
She smiled at him. “Perhaps a little. Scoot over, sweetie.”
He shuffled to one side on the stool and his Mom sat beside him, her fingers automatically dropping to the keys and dancing out a little tune.
“Do you like the piano, Virgil?”
He nodded. “Sounds nice.”
“Would you like to learn how to play it?”
“You can do anything you want to, honey.”
“Can you teach me?”
Another smile. “I can help you, but only you can learn what you want to learn.”
“Yes, Mom.” Hopeful. “Can I try?”
She lifted him onto her lap and holding out both his little hands, she splayed his fingers. “Your fingers will make the music. You need to practise until they make music without you thinking about it. Do you think you can do that?”
“I can try, Mom.”
She kissed him on his head. “Good boy.” She touched a key in the centre of the keyboard. “This is called Middle C. It all begins here.”
Hot off the press. Maybe make you feel a little better?
(terribly mean with wings of fire)