The Piano

The piano sits in a vast wilderness that, though hundreds if not thousands have passed through, has remained unsettled, uninhabited, and leaves little to be desired. It's dry, arid, and lacks any accumulative amount of rain or even snow as the winter months pass by. The land has been seen and traveled by native peoples of the plains, mountain men on their way to the high country, and settlers on their way to a better life in a better place. It was such a group of people who were the last to see this object that was once a thing of beauty and offered hours of joy and entertainment to the ones to whom it belonged. The last to see it that is, until now. A cowboy rides into new country just opened to the grazing rights acquired by his employer after nearly a century of it being closed to the outside except for the wildlife that might roam freely by. Off in the distance he sees it. At first he's not sure what it really is. He knows it's not one of the cattle he is employed to watch and make sure they graze only where the allotment will allow, but...he's not really sure. So he rides out across the vast plain to the object and when he realizes what it is, he is baffled. It's just a piano. Sitting and rotting away in the sun, wind, and though rare, yes, rain, and snow. He dismounts and walks the last few steps over and as if drawn by some unknown force, he puts his finger on one of the notes. It rings with dead silence. He puts his finger on another, then another, and yet another until he finally finds one note that will still play. Now he is curious so he tries every single one so he will know just how many have survived. Only a handful. Out of eighty-eight, he can only find five that still play. He looks at the relic and finds it sad. He is a solitary man who likes his quiet solitude or he would not be in the occupation he is in as the sole overseer of cattle on this nearly quarter of a million acres far, far from any town. However, this moment, this object, it's fragile condition, and this arid place all come together within him as a loneliness he has rarely felt. After a moment he sits on the ground leaning his back against the side of the piano and his mind begins to wonder. Where did such a thing come from and how did it find its way to this place. He stands up and investigates further. He raises the lid and the hinges all but brake apart. He carefully lays it aside but notices an inscription. It reads...

"To whom it may concern. This piano belonged to my dear sweet wife Eliza. She played it beautifully. She came from wealth in St. Louis. I was a drifter and a dreamer. Against her families wishes we were married and left for San Fransisco on a wagon train on the 23rd of May 1891. She came down with a fever and died here in this place and here is where she is buried. We placed her beloved piano, a gift from her mother given in reluctance, over her grave as a marker to anyone who might pass by. I couldn't bear to hear it played ever again. It was my selfishness and lust for adventure that is the reason she rests here instead of playing its ivory keys for family and friends in the parlor of a mansion in St. Louis. Rest in peace my precious Eliza. With love, William."

Upon reading the last of these mournful words, the cowboy places the lid back on the top of the piano and rides away. It will be a landmark for him from now on as he watches over the cattle here in the vast place but it will be more than just that. It will be a monument. A monument to love and life lived and lost. There are no last names. No real facts on which to base an investigation as to the true identities of the characters in this play. Maybe that is best. Maybe the story will be better if our imaginations travel back to a parlor somewhere in St. Louis, perhaps in a mansion that, itself, has long become a relic or may not even still be standing. But t as the cowboy rides away none of that really matters because in his mind and heart he can feel the beautiful music it must have played. He can sense the pain of her families loss as she left and the pain of her husband as he traveled on without her. He can sense these things because, he too, is a drifter and a dreamer.