Trifecta week 77 challenged us with the third definition of the word:
Write at the Merge: week 20 gave us the word Orphan and this image
I had not remembered until I went up to clean out my mamma’s attic. A few discarded thoughts were piled up in a shadowy corner. I dusted off some memories. I remember the keys of the piano jumping up and down in a frenetic exercise. The gentle sound of a melody soothing the tense air. I remember his long, thick fingers ravaging the ivory. His broad shoulders shifting side to side. The back of his head bobbing up and down. His long arms held strong in front of his torso. I remember being taken away by the music. I would stand near the door jamb holding my hands at the small of my back. My eyes closed, I’d lift my head and sway. Gradually, I’d become weightless and float above supported by the notes. His long, thick fingers would play my body. I always wondered how he was able to touch me without ever touching me. Afterwards, I would feel ashamed of myself. Ashamed for feeling that way. I would try so hard to restrain myself, but always at the holidays when he was at the house, I’d beg him to play. Just one song – for me! He would smile and walk over to the piano with deliberate steps. He would hold his hands above the keys for just a moment as he gave me a secret wink. After this, he would become all serious as he played. Again, I would be taken away. After he was gone for a while, some men came and took the piano away. Today, all that remains of him are a few photos in a cardboard box in the attic along with a sketch I drew of him one short, hot summer long ago.