My Treasured Everett Piano

                “Mom, come here.  I want to show you something.” 

                I heard a faint voice behind me, as I was in the kitchen preparing pancit and adobo for my mother’s birthday party at my sister’s house.  I turned around.  It was my 18-year old daughter, April-Joy with her face whiter than a clean sheet of writing paper. 

                ”What?  I didn’t hear you.”

                “The piano fell.”

                “The piano fell? Fell, where?”

                “Off the truck, on our way here.”

                Dumbfounded, I calmly followed her out to the driveway. She pulled my arm the way she had when she was a little girl who did something that displeased me.  My treasured Everett piano was in eight pieces…The main frame, the top, the fallboard , with the trusses piled on top of the other, like fire logs in back of the pick-up truck!  I closed my eyes.  I could not bear to look at the piano-in-pieces but in the corner of my eye, I saw three foot pedals lying on top of the pile.

                The year was1993. April-Joy decided to participate in a beauty contest after much prodding from well-meaning friends and relatives.  I scheduled my two-week vacation to coincide with the timing of the pageant just so I could be there for her when she needed me.  (This was her second time to join a beauty pageant.  When she was twelve years old, I got her started in the Miss American Pre-Teen Pageant in Los Angeles and she was one of the five finalists in the talent show with her piano rendition of “The Spinning Song.”  I could hardly contain my delight in her achievement.  It warmed my heart seeing my firstborn fulfill one of the lifelong dreams I had for her.)

                Her father and I gave her our blessing and support when she mentioned this to us knowing that she certainly had the looks, the personality, and the talent to participate in a beauty contest.  She hit a snag during rehearsals, though, when she was told that she would have to provide her own piano because the auditorium where the pageant was going to be held did not have one.  I was ambivalent when she approached me about this because although I was not willing to let her take the piano out of the house, I was not willing to disappoint her either!  I told her that I would talk to her dad about it.

                You see, I cherished that Everett piano because it was one of the fulfillments of my childhood dreams.  At eight years old, I used to envy girls my age who took lessons and whose parents provided them pianos.  So, I said to myself, “When I’m a parent, I will have a piano and my children will have piano lessons so they can perform and fulfill my own unfulfilled dreams.”  It was inevitable then that when April-Joy, my oldest child, was 6 years old, her dad and I went out and bought her an upright piano. Then, I found her a piano teacher.

                Now, going back to April-Joy’s predicament, I prepared myself to approach my husband. I knew that he would not hear of it.  He flinched when I mentioned the plan to him so I dropped the subject. I thought that when the pageant neared, I would just ambush him.  I did exactly that and I talked him into letting April take the piano, albeit, half-heartedly on his part.  April-Joy’s boyfriend, Jeremy, and a couple of guys helped her haul the piano to the auditorium, twelve miles away, and that night she won the talent contest with her rendition of “The Moonlight Sonata.”  She also came away with the most trophies.  She glowed that evening and we were ecstatic for her.  Amid the fanfare, little did we know that disaster would strike…

                Standing there, seeing the many pieces on the back of the pick-up truck, I had to pull myself together.  I looked at April again.  And then, her girlfriend, Elizabeth.  Both girls were beside themselves, fearful, shaking and pale.  Amazingly, I found not a shade of anger in me towards them.  Instead, my heart melted.  I stepped back and thought: Two teenage girls hauling a 500-pound gorilla of a piano.  Who would believe it?

                “Didn’t you tell me that Jeremy and a couple of his friends would help you out with this?”  I finally broke out.

                “Yes, Mom, but they had other things to do today.” 

                My heart sank.  Surely, this is a test of my learned patience.

          I jolted myself and continued,

                “You’re lucky it wasn’t you who fell out of the truck and broke into multiple pieces.  Or your friend Elizabeth.”

                “No, Mom,”

                “Good. That’s all that matters.”

                “I’ll pay for it Mom.”

                “We will talk about that later.  What we need to do right now is to put this back where it belongs without your father noticing it yet.”

                Remaining calm, I gave her a hug and held her tight. 

                “It’s okay, April. It’s just a piano. Things we can replace. Life we cannot.” 

                However, saying that was one thing and meaning it was another because I knew that the toughest part was yet to come. I had to face my husband and his rage. My stomach churned. How was I to deal with his anger with calmness and grace?  I knew that he would blow his top when he found out. At that time, he was fortunately taking a nap.  I cautioned my two other girls, fifteen-year-old Kara and nine-year-old Gemma, to walk quietly and talk under their breath, so as not to disturb their dad.  They were in total shock themselves.  I had to think fast to cover up this tragic end of our piano. I called my nieces’ husband, Craig, who came in a flash with his handy toolbox.  He sympathized with my predicament and did a “Band-Aid” fix. We helped him carry the pieces inside the house.

         When he was done, he shook his head and said,

                “Good luck.  I hope you can pull this off.”

                  I told him that I just needed to buy time until Mama’s birthday party was over.  Spoiling Mama’s day with this disaster was not the kind of excitement I envisioned would delight her.

                Around three o’clock, George woke up.  Everything was in its place.  For the obvious scratches on the left-side arm, Kara covered them with her stuffed dog, Ralph.  They didn’t look noticeable, I thought.  I can put off the “moment of truth” for a few hours, I assured myself.  Well, at least, until after Mama’s birthday party anyway.

          I went ahead and carried the food to the van.  We were all ready to leave the house but George took a last look in the kitchen as he usually does before leaving.  I hovered around him so he would not notice anything out of place, but on his way to the garage, he stopped one more time and said,

                “What is that stuffed animal doing on the piano?  It doesn’t belong there.” He picked it up and threw it into the girls’ bedroom.                                                       

                “Are you ready?”  I said, ignoring his mutterings.  As he turned towards the garage door, he spotted three big screws lying at the end of the kitchen counter.  Looking at me, searching for an explanation, he picked them up and asked, “What are these?”

                “Oh, screws,” in nonchalance, I replied.  Oh, no, I’m done in.

                “Let’s go,” I urged, still trying my very best to steer him away from noticing anything unusual.

                I walked ahead of him and got in the van.  He followed and got in and proceeded to put the key in the ignition and turned it on.  Then he paused, and with a quizzical look, he said, “I see scratches on the piano.  What happened to it?”

                I knew then that he would not let go unless I give him a detailed account.

                “It fell.”

                “Fell, where?” 

                “Off the pick-up truck, on their way home.”

                I could feel the heat burning and blood boiling inside him and hear highly unusual unprintable and colorful words come out from his lips.  Livid was a mild description of the expression on his face.  I waited quietly for a few moments and as he was regaining composure, I tapped his shoulder and said,

          “It’s okay.  We can always get another piano.  Thank God April and Elizabeth did not get hurt.”

                ‘What do you mean, it‘s okay?  It‘s NOT okay!”  And with that he turned off the ignition, got out of the van and announced, “You go to the party.  I’m not going.”

                My insides churned more pronounced this time.  I had to make up my mind whether I should stay to put up with him or proceed to the party.  Well, I figured he needed time and space to cool off, so I took off with Kara and Gemma.  When we got to the party, I had more explaining to do because George and April-Joy should have been with us.

                That night I did not want to go home.  I wished there were other places to run to.  I tried to stretch the hours and then the minutes as midnight was drawing nearer and nearer.  My steps were heavy as Kara, Gemma and I headed to the van after midnight.  They both sat quietly all the way home.  They knew I dreaded walking into the house. I slipped into Gemma’s bed with her.  I could not bring myself to sleep with my husband under the stormy cloud that hung over us.

                Sunday morning, George was not talking to anyone. The girls and I went to church without him.  We all stayed out of his way that day.  Then, in the middle of the night, when I thought that he was sound asleep, I quietly went into the closet and prayed.  A small voice told me to open my strong box.  My homeowner’s insurance policy caught my eye.  I browsed through the coverage and to my pleasant relief, the policy rider indicated that it covered the replacement value not just the original sales price.

                I could not wait for Monday morning to come.  At eight o’clock, I called our insurance agent.  He said he would come to assess the damage.  George heard the tail end of our telephone conversation as he walked into the kitchen.  I looked up.  His eyes sparkled as he said,

          “Good thinking, Mayr.  I never thought of that!”

          I gave him a reassuring smile that meant, “I told you it would be okay.”  And he gave me a hug.           

                  I heaved a sigh of relief and breathed a prayer to thank my God for letting me win again not with outbursts or arguments but with quiet and subtle persuasion. 

         Within the week, a brand-new Baldwin piano was delivered to the house to replace the Everett at no cost to us.

                My heart still aches whenever I think of the Everett piano.  I feel as though my childhood dreams evaporated into thin air like a mist when it was hauled away never to be seen again.  But I have rested in the thought that April and Elizabeth did not get hurt and my marriage is still intact. 

                Moreover, I hope I have taught my family that life is more precious than silver, gold, or all the Everett pianos in the world!