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piano lesson

A bright gust of March blew Donna up the front walk. She paused
on the front porch, puffing and panting with her friend the wind,
while her music books flapped in merry disorder. She pressed the
doorbell, heard its distant buzz, and regretted that she would have
to leave this boldly alive day outside.

The door swung back, and Miss Winston drew her into the
house, shutting out the sharp Saturday morning. Donna's eyes re-
adjusted to the dim interior. The hallway was subdued, immaculate,
an impression of dark wood and old lace, scented with a mixture of
books and distant lemon sachet. Miss Winston's slight figure seemed
but an extension of the ancient hall. She was wearing her perennial
brown dress, with her dry grey hair tied back by a bow, much as she
must have worn it back when she and Grandma were childhood
friends. Her sunken eyes were large but colorless. She took Donna's
hand. "Child, your fingers are frozen! Did you walk all the way here?
You know how bad that is for you-why, you're all tired out and your
fingers will be stiff so you can't play your scales well. Now you go
into the library and rub your hands to warm them up. The other
child is almost through with her lesson.

As Miss Winston disappeared into the living room, Donna turned
toward the library. She laid her music on the dark armchair while
she prowled through all those old books. From the other room came
the hesitant notes of a beginner struggling with "Deep River." Just
as she reached for the faded volume of Tuppers Complete Poetical
Works, Miss Winston's voice filtered in to her. "Goodbye, child. Now
don't forget to practice your scales. Button your coat up." Donna
slipped Tupper's lifeless verses back into the bookcase, regathered
her music, and headed for the living room.

A massive piano dominated the living room. As Donna ap.
proached its glossy hulk, she considered angrily that it also dominated
the lives of herself and many other unwilling piano students.

"Come ahead, child." At the sound of Miss Winston's small
flat voice, Donna dutifully arranged her face into as happy an ap-
pearance as she could muster and slid onto the piano bench. She was
philosophical, realizing that the sooner she got through with all this,
the sooner she would be free to run in the wind again.

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