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Piano or Pain

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For the past nine years, my husband has dreamed about owning a grand piano. Well this past Monday, his dream came true. Around nine o’clock, a truck pulled up to our house and delivered his beautiful Yamaha. However, little did either of us know that his dream would become my nightmare. Don’t get me wrong, I was also excited about him finally getting his dream piano, so much so, that we purged the living room to be sure we had enough room for “Yamita.” That’s the name he’s given to the new woman in his life.

On Monday, he called me at work to give me a blow-by-blow description of the installation. I could hear the joy and pride in his voice as he talked about how the movers used a special dolly and runners so that they wouldn’t damage precious Yamita. After he described how everything was unfolding, I couldn’t wait to get home to see this beautiful instrument in all its glory in our living room. I thought about the facelift Yamita would give to one of my favorite rooms in the house, especially now that we have new hardwood floors.

I held my breath while I pulled into the driveway. I quickly got out of the car, unlocked the front door, and flung it open. As soon as my eyes locked on Yamita, my heart sank. There she sat like an oversized coffin taking up more space than I ever imagined. Her top was shut and she sat there like a whale out of water, straight forward, stern, hard, huge, and ugly. Yuck! I hated everything about Yamita in that moment. What happened? She’s not supposed to be sitting face forward like an upright. Why isn’t she turned at an angle showing off all her beautiful lines, and why is she so far away from the wall?

I immediately called my husband and asked him what was going on. He explained to me that he had the movers put Yamita at an angle but it didn’t look right. “Well, did you try other positions?” I asked, trying not to put a damper on his special day. There was silence and then he said, “I didn’t want to move her too much.” “Too much? You had the movers put her in one position, that didn’t work, and you were too afraid to have them move her until they got it right.”

Once he got home, there was more strained discussion and outbursts. Who knew that a piano named Yamita would threaten to destroy our happy home. We spent the night going back and forth about Yamita and what to do. I know it sounds petty especially with our planet in a crisis, people starving, and nations at war. But at that time, in my mind, we were having a crisis, I was starving to be heard, and as long as my husband refused to position Yamita at an angle, we were going to be at war.

Today is day four and Yamita is still the elephant in the room, and I’m not talking about her keys. My husband has finally agreed to open her top and he’s trying to purchase the special runners so we can reposition Yamita. Am I asking for too much? I just want her at an angle so that there’s balance in the room. I want the grandness of a grand!

I forgot to mention that he played Yamita the first night and she sounded glorious. While my husband serenaded me with a medley of jazz, contemporary, and classical pieces, I couldn’t help but count my blessings for having a husband, a husband that is talented, and having a grand piano. Maybe it’s me and not Yamita that’s been the pain!

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