When I pound at my piano, I get lost. In my own world, one that comes from my soul and sends delight to my ears. When the song ends, I feel exhilarated and more than a little breathless. The applause sends delight through me. I feel as if I am floating on air as I leave the stage. I walk through backstage and into the hotel. I head up to my suite, almost tripping over my long, silver dress. I unlock my room and collapse onto the bed. Tomorrow’s concerto would be several miles away; I would have to take a cab instead of just walking. I step out of my silky silver dress and slide into my plaid sleep-pants and red shirt. After brushing my almond brown hair, I fall onto the soft covers and drift to sleep, riding on the memories of my symphony.
My alarm sounds and I rise, groggy and confused. I turn off the alarm and look around. I see the snow covered trees, mid-morning traffic, and many people setting out to start the day. It takes me a while to realize that my concerto is in just two hours. I slip into the hotel shower and whistle through Beethoven’s third symphony. After a long, hot shower I pull on my freshly ironed slinky gold dress. With my teeth brushed and tiara perched on my tightly pulled bun I go to the window. It is abnormally dark outside for the time of day, but that doesn’t stop the New Yorkers from going about their business. I glance over my shoulder to the alarm clock. Only one hour and fifteen minutes until my concerto. I sigh and begin to head downstairs. Several cat calls and “congratulations,” sound as I pass through the lobby. I catch a cab out front and they drive me down to Redson Avenue. I enter the large, castle-like building and head backstage, sitting at the buffet and looking over the divine selection of fruit. I pick up a plate and make it up with strawberries, blueberries, granola, and yogurt. As I munch on my parfait I think. Think about what to play today. After 20 minutes of solid thinking I decide to play Richard Pohl’s Romanza . I hear people begin to file into the theatre. I smile, this is my stage. On it, I will shine. I finish my fruit and yogurt and I brush myself off. Around 11:30 I am called to the stage. I pull on my gloves. I walk to the stage; the only sound is that of my high heels tapping across the wooden platform. I seat myself on the provided stool and lift my hands above the piano. No one moves, no one breathes. I drop my hands onto the first note of the song; once I begin I refuse to stop. I play, my hands moving quickly and gracefully across the keyboard, more like caressing it rather than playing it. I’m lost. I’m lost even if I’m seen. The song is mine, as is the moment. The song ends abruptly. Now I have been found. The applause is almost deafening. I stare out into the crowd, give them a smile and curtsy. I walk through backstage then out of the building, oblivious and still high on the feeling of success. I realize very little things in the next instant. I know people are yelling and a horn is honking. After that, all I realize is the pain, the crushing pain! In engulfs me, and the world turns to black.
I open my eyes, florescent lights are too much, and they force me to close them again. Where am I? The chemical smells and sounds are different. I hear voices and footsteps. After a while, I squint through my eye lashes and slowly open my eyes, getting used to the brightness of the lights. Finally they are fully opened where am I? How did I get here? Why am I here? So many questions and I have absolutely none of the answers. Someone clears their throat, “Miss Adams?” Who? “Miss Lauren Adams?” I try to open my mouth and find the pain too much to bear. “Miss Adams are you ok?” I shake my head, the unknown person chuckles. I clear my throat, speaking through the pain, “Who is Miss Adams?” I ask and I turn my eyes to look at the mystery speaker. It turns out to be a man. He isn’t bad looking, he is actually quite handsome. He gives me a questioning look, “You are, aren’t you?” I shake my head, “I’m not sure,” I croak through my raw throat. He mumbles something I can’t quite comprehend and calls in a nurse. He whispers something about memory loss and I cock my head, still confused as to what’s going on. “Miss Adams, will you come with us?” I shrug, could I move? I sit up and find myself wrapped in cords. The doctor comes over and unhooks several things and helps me stand up. I follow him past a laundry room. On a hanger is my gold dress, it has a red ketchup looking substance covering it, I shiver. “What happened?” I ask the doctor, he turns around to look at me, “You don’t remember?” I shake my head. He sighs, “You were oblivious, and a car was going too fast, and you were hit, it’s a wonder you only got a concussion,” I nod and he continues, “Your front teeth were broken, we capped them, so they look normal. You broke your nose, and you have several cuts along your face, those will heal,” He turns around and begins to lead again. I follow like a puppy dog; our walk finally ends in the rehabilitation center. We walk in and he hands me off to a nurse, “What will she need?” she asks, “Memory,” They laugh and I feel lost. The nurse smiles down at me like I am a child and she is a teacher, “Come on girl,” She grabs my hand and walks me to an office. She types things on the computer as I look around. She looks at me, “Go ahead, check things out,” I walk away. In the center of the room sits a keyboard. I look at it. So familiar. I pull up a chair and sit it in my lap. I stroke the keys and think. A tune comes into my head. I close my eyes and my fingers begin to move. Everything gets quiet. I remember this feeling I lose myself in the comforts of memory. The song I am playing is the first song I ever learned, Piano Man by Billy Joel. It feels like I’m being reborn. I find myself singing, “Fa da da didee da da daa. Sing us a song you’re the piano man sing us a song tonight!” When the song ends, I feel like darkness has left, everyone around me is smiling and a few are actually crying. The nurse walks over with a huge grin on her small face. “Honey, that was beautiful, what was it?” I think, “I’m not sure,” I say. She nods and smiles again, “You don’t have to stop,” She whispers and walks away. I can’t remember…… I look down at the keyboard and close my eyes. I see bright lights and hear people clapping and cheering. I open them. Reality is sad and setting in, I can’t remember anything. I think I could learn. I know my name is Lauren Adams, I know I was hit by a car and I lived. I look down and smile, a small tear trailing down my face, I know the piano is my friend, but for now I’m just going to pound away at memories.
