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The Piano

Violet couldn’t move. Day in and day out, she lay on the wood with bottled-up anticipation. She watched the cat move across the room- first one delicate white paw, then the other. She marveled at his artful silence. Violet herself, when she could move- and that involved human assistance- rolled on little wheels to the school auditorium or a bigger stage and even with those wheels, she created a great deal of noise.

Sometimes she even scared the cat and he ran away so fast that she could hear his paws if she listened close enough.

Every day, Violet waited for Henry to be done with his lessons, bang the front door shut, and yell, “Mo-om, I’m ho-ome!” Once this was taken care of, he would have a piece of fruit and then- at last- he would seat himself comfortably onto a plain black stool and extend his hands.

These he ran down all over Violet’s backside, tinkling and whistling each of her black and white ivory keys, creating mellifluous music.

It was at these times that Violet could have purred like a cat.

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