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Piano Music
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
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The music flowed easily, so easily from the piano. Delicate white hands
moved over the ivory keys with butterfly-like grace. The woman sitting at
the piano hummed to the tune, her eyes closed, drinking in the music with
her soul. Outside the window, the sunset outside of the Martian Pressure
dome could be seen, and closer, down the street, a few teenage boys playing
foot ball. The woman,  Esperenza Garibaldi, opened her deep brown eyes and
looked out the window, past her little vegetable garden and her son's red
bike, which was tossed carelessly on the lawn, and down to the group of
teens presently making their way down the street.

Like an army of care-free vagabonds they wandered, not caring that any day
now,  they might be forced to grow up. No, they did not care of that, they
wanted only for the lazy days to go on forever, one Saturday night party
after another. In fact, she mused distractedly, they lived those precious
years of teen-hood like one long summer, each party, each stolen kiss, each
dare taken up, bringing them closer to the abyss called adulthood. Her hands
never wandered from their task at the keyboard, but her mind did, and as
Esperenza watched the boys, they found a can in the road and proceeded to
kick it, whooping loudly as they moved it down the street. <Someday, my
Michael will grow up too,> she thought was a twinge of sadness <some day he
will have those always-summer years,>  But she quickly reprimanded herself.
What was with her lately, it wasn't like her to enter these boats of
depression, these moods of idleness where it seemed that nothing could make
the world shina again. From the other side of the hall, she heard the screen
door open and slam shut, the sound of feet running on the hard wood floor. A
little boy and his dog.
"Michael!" she called out, "Don't slam the door!"
"Sorry, Mom!" the five year old boy called as he charged through the kitchen
in search of his mother.
"And wipe your feet too, honey!" she though belatedly.
"Aw, Ma!" Michael cried out in protest, but she heard him trudge back to the
door and wipe his muddy sandals off. A minute or two later, the little boy
poked his head into the piano room and soon, the face of his dog appeared as
well.
"Hi, Mom," he said., coming over and laying his head in her lap like a tired
puppy. She took her hands from the keyboard to smooth his ruffled hair.
"How was the game?" she asked.
"I dunno. Okay, I guess," Michael muttered, crawling up into her lap.
"Did you win?" Ms. Garibaldi well knew that when ever a game was 'okay, I
guess', it meant that Michael's little league team had lost.
"Yes," his reply surprised her.
"Then what's wrong?"
"I don't feel good, I have a bad feeling in my gut," he pointed to his belly
button with one finger.
"Are you sick?" she asked, concerned.
"Na," he dismissed her fussing with a wave of his hands, "Something bad's
gonna happen, I know it. Like Pop always says."
"Oh," Esperenza said knowingly. Scooping him up in her arms, she moved to
get off the piano bench. Suddenly, her knees felt like jelly, and buckled
beneath her, forcing her back down again. The world darkened dangerously for
a moment, and then....
"Mom? Are you okay?" Michael asked, sounding worried, "Am I too heavy for
you to carry any more?"
"No baby, I just felt dizzy for a second," she assured him.
"Hey, Mom?" he asked after a second.
"Yes, Michael?" she looked down at him.
"Promise me you won't go away?"
"Michael, sweetheart, why would you ask a thing like that?" Esperenza was
alarmed.
"Just promise me, Mom?" he fairly begged.
"Of course, baby," she said impetuously, but then wondered if that had been
wise. There would come a day when, like everyone else, she would die. But,
the motherly part of her brain told her, that day wasn't coming anytime
soon.  
"Good," Michael said. The sound of the car pulling up the drive sent Michael
flying out of her arms and out the door to meet his father.
"Don't slam the door!" she absently called out after him.

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Three weeks later

    He shuffled his feet in the reddish brown Martian soil, silent and
sullen, clasping a bunch of little daisy-like flowers in his hand. The dog
followed after him, like a second shadow as they slowly made their way
though the rot iron gates of the little cemetery.
The newest grave stone, pink and perfect, shinning like a new marble, sat
close to the entry way, glistening in the summer sun. Hanging his head, the
little boy approached it and tossed the flowers down. The dog beside him
whined, nervous and sad. A little tear rolled down his grubby cheek and
landed in the dusty soil.
"You promised," he muttered sadly, "You promised."