Fingerprints

My 5'7" Yamaha Grand has been fingerprinted.  The smudges left behind by hands belonging to my 9 year old Grandson, Ezra, have birthed her a new identity. A third generation of souls entranced by the power of musical expression has been born and my fondest dream has been realized.

We all nourish these fantasies of unity in the darkness of night. Sometimes romantic love is the vehicle. A vivid memory of one moment when the skin of timespace melts allowing a true sharing, union with another. Playing the piano is a solitary, intimate act, not unlike a ubiquituous act of lovemaking. The performer so wedded to her body that each stroke of a finger, each armful embrace evokes an expression from the heart made manifold in the sounds of strings, wood and felt. It is a private sanctification, rarely shared. When this holy liason is witnessed in another the sense of  separateness shattered is overwhelmingly powerful.  Such is the union that has been forged between Ezra and me.

The saga began in late August when I was babysitting in Minneapolis.  Ezra, who had been participating in a group piano instruction situation at school, asked me if I knew" Fur Elise", that piece of program music by Beethoven which is so routinely butchered by piano students. Ezra then played with only his right hand.  I showed him a few bars and, like Gaugain with a brush, he transformed it into a masterpiece.  Since that fateful day, a mere two and a half months ago, he has called me almost nightly. Through the ethereal goo of cyberspace, an ancient cellphone and a ramshackled keyboard he has created a repertoire which includes ALL of the Beethoven piece, Mozart's "Rondo alla Turk", complete with opposing octaves and grace notes and Pachebel's Canon in D.  At his Uncle's wedding he watched me like a hawk as I played Bach's "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring "as a wedding postlude on the Baroque organ in the church in Mt. Sinai. The next day he begged me to show him how to play it. A mere 24 hours later he owned it, it was both Bach's and his.
My heart swells to the breaking point with this visceral recognition that surpasses the bounds of student-teacher, Grandmother-Grandson.  Our souls have met I know him and he knows me.

Ezra has returned to Minneapolis where a scholarship at the MacPhail Conservatory awaits him.  I would be lying to say that I am not jealous of the teacher who will inherit his musical future.  Every night I pass by my Yamaha and bless, with abundant gratitude, those 4th grade fingerprints.  I will not polish them into memory. They are mine!