Sandra blows across the row of ribbons hung above the piano while waiting for her mother. Last fall, after her mother lost her job, Sandra’s parents moved to a less expensive apartment. In their effort to keep up with their old life, her parents moved the black upright piano Sandra plays every day into their bedroom closet because the new apartment was too small to put the piano anywhere else. In the closet her father hung ten years of Sandra’s festival ribbons, awards, and trophies.
Still waiting for her mother, Sandra twists a festival ribbon and watches it unwind, thinking she wants something—a room of her own may be—but she doesn’t know what it is she wants; she just knows that she wants something deep, something exciting, something easy. She wants something that isn’t a piano or this apartment.
At 3:45 her mother settles herself into an armchair at the foot of the bed and begins knitting. Sandra sits down at the piano and begins first with arpeggios, fluent and smooth like water flowing, wrists fluttering like hummingbirds birds up the keys. This is good, thinks Sandra, Good enough for an exercise, but before the last note sounds her mother says, “Again,” without lifting her head from her knitting.
Sandra works through the arpeggios again. Her hands moving faster, articulating each note into a separate entity so a cascading waterfall of sound fills the room three times before Sandra moves onto the Khachaturian. The Khachaturian is a flashy piece, Sandra thinks. It is more dazzling than difficult. A winning piece.
Arms spread and poised before the keys, Sandra looks to her mother. At her nod, Sandra begins slow, too slow for the toccata. Her mother’s tongue clicks disapproval. Sandra closes her eyes. She stops thinking about her hands; she no longer sees the notes in her head. The rhythms carry her forward. For the first time in a long time the notes release her to another place.
This week’s word is deep, adj \ˈdēp\
3: difficult to penetrate or comprehend : recondite <deep mathematical problems>
You can use no less than 33 words and no more than 333.