Like the action inside a bag of popcorn popping away in the microwave, the bustling Sunday morning street was crowded with seemingly purposeful people headed every which way. Pairs of pigeons perched on the power lines above while watching the passersby below maneuver around each other. The pigeons probably looked down at them and wondered why they hurried so much, if one day they’re just going to forget everything. Once the sun sets, the cars rush home, and the last lights are turned off, the pigeons return to their secret hideouts in the nooks and crannies of mammoth skyscrapers. And they’ll just forget the daytime wonders; they have terrible memories, too. 

     In the midst of this fast-paced societal snapshot, a large group of people settled into an impromptu gathering on the corner. Delightful music traversed the streets and wove between the rushing humanity, luring more to come.

     Ms. Stawarski, who no longer belonged here, was aimlessly strolling the streets. The winter wind hit hard; she wrapped her amber scarf around her neck twice to trap the warmth, and adjusted the black beanie so that her thin silver strands of hair were tucked in. Drawn by the sounds, her small body of skin and bones easily squeezed into the front of the crowd as no one seemed to notice her.

     A sign was propped on the pavement, “PIANO GIVEAWAY!” printed in bold capitalized letters. 

     What a great deal, Ms. Stawarski thought. 

     The piano looked high gloss-briliant, with a beautiful shiny black wooden body, smooth ebony keyboard, and a nostalgic musical texture to the sound streaming from the wondrous instrument.

     The grand piano planted itself firmly on the ground, humming a melody that sought to slow down time. The young pianist’s delicate fingers gently brushed over the keys and twirled to a slow waltz on the black-and-white-tiled dance floor. 

     Ms. Stawarski closed her eyes as her gloved hands swayed and her fingers moved to the music. Her fingertips itched, and a surge of pain ran through her as if something in the depths of her heart was calling. 

     If the piano could rewind the hours and go back to the time when memories had not yet flown away, piano music would be common at this corner. Back then, sounds had always found a way to escape the third-floor apartment unit and roam this street. It was just that sometimes it wasn’t pleasant piano playing, but choppy and dissonant. The unit owner would have scolded: “Mary, you need to practice more!” For a while it was always Mary.

     Like other students, Mary had dragged herself to the third floor once a week, swinging her bag of piano repertoires like the pendulum in a metronome. Before entering the apartment, she would erase the teacher’s notes in hopes she wouldn’t notice that she was supposed to learn something new.

     But she couldn’t get anything over on her. The teacher would lightly spank the center of her palm and say, “You can’t fool me, you were supposed to practice until measure 34.” 

     She had the best memory.

     The ten-year-old girl would reluctantly slouch down on the piano bench, dabbing her impotent fingers onto the keys, the absence of firmness and resolve too often resulting in choices gone awry. Once in a while, she would glance at the clock and count down the minutes until class ended.

     The last note of the piano diminished as an echo and seemed as if the trailing notes called the gray pigeons to venture down. They pecked onto the pavement, snapping crumbs of chips until the crowd thundered in applause. Then, the fat birds spread away in every direction.  

     Ms. Stawarski’s awoken eyes were drawn to the host of this great giveaway. She wore an old dark blue coat, but with eye-blinding golden jewelry and diamond-encrusted earrings that draped down to her shoulders. Her round eyes, high cheekbones, and thin lips were almost exact copies of Ms. Stawarski’s. In fact, they looked so similar that it was as if she stood in front of some kind of rejuvenation mirror. The younger version of the two women dismissively shook her head at the piano player and quickly ushered the next player to the bench. “I don’t hear any emotions in your playing - it’s dead. I want someone to play it back to life.” 

     A passing businessman leaned his briefcase on one leg of the piano and checked his watch. He was running late for work. In spite of his worry, he sat to play. His big, soft hands stroked the warm keys skillfully to Chopin’s Sonata Scherzo. Each note grew wings and flew towards the sun, except the last bit of resistance drew it back like a kite losing wind.

     Ms. Stawarski saw through his business suit a blurred dream.

     For her last lesson, 16-year-old Mary tied her ginger hair in a ponytail and waited outside the apartment door, nervously fingering her piece for the competition coming up in March. It was the tail end of winter, so she buttoned up her Navy blue coat. She must have rung the doorbell at least twenty times before the old lady finally welcomed her in.

     “Malina!” The piano teacher misaddressed Mary using her daughter’s name. Time had dyed her hair white and wrinkled her body like a crumpled piece of paper reopened. She spat out in the best faux angry tone she could muster, “Oh, I thought you’d never come back!” as she held open the door as widely as possible; as if she feared that her “daughter” wouldn’t enter.

     “Ms. Stawarski, I’m not…” Mary couldn’t finish her sentence. 

     Ms. Stawarski teared up and covered her face, “You won’t even call me ‘Mom’?”

     Mary held her hands and gently removed them from her teacher’s fragile face, looking into her drooping eyes as she did so. Mary scanned Ms. Stawarski’s body - her sunken chest, thin limbs, and long, skeletal fingers that perfected every piano touch. “You should rest.”

     Mary prepared her hands on the ebony and ivory keys of the shiny black wooden piano to play her competing piece, “Scherzo”. Her right hand bounced around, hitting octaves forcefully, as if banging on the bedroom door of an old person sound asleep. Wake up, wake up!

     Indeed, the piano woke Ms. Stawarski with a start.

     “Good, Mary!” Ms. Stawarski complimented. “Sorry, Malina never came back since she left for college. Your coat just reminded me of her.” 

     Thinking of Malina, she followed up, “Never stop playing.”

     “I won’t, I promise.”

     Mary invited, “Please come to my competition.”

     “I will, I promise.”

     And her playing woke her again, at the end of the dream. 

     Back at the crowded street corner, the last breath of the piano faded, but the lively  Scherzo’s final notes held Ms. Stawarski fast and twirled a few times before taking off to stroll on the rooftops. Upon its departure, a woman wove through the crowd and passed right through Ms. Stawarski on her way to the piano. “Excuse me, excuse me,’’ she apologized after each frantic step.

     Surrounded by whispering people, it was much hotter in the center, so she took off her black bucket hat, uncovering strands of rare pumpkin-orange hair. The intruder kicked the piano giveaway sign, hollering at the host, “Malina! What are you doing?” She stood in front of the piano, opening her arms wide as if she was Mother Goose protecting her children. “This is your mother’s most precious possession! It was a part of her. You can’t just give it to some random stranger!”

     Malina responded, “I’m not going to let the piano take up half a room when it’s just sitting there accumulating dust. It brings back memories… bad ones where Mom would force me to play and… never mind. But if you want it I’ll give it to you Mary, Mom would be happy. To her, you’re the real daughter.”

     Mary bit her lip, hesitant to take the offer. “I don’t … play anymore,” she said guiltily as she walked to the piano, accidentally hitting B flat, the first note of Scherzo.

     The song popped around and approached Ms. Stawarski again, taking an elegant bow in front, inviting her to the concert hall where Mary had played three years ago. The jumpy music pulled the long, red curtains, revealing a well-lit stage and the gorgeous, glossy grand piano shining its teeth toward the lights.

     Mary rapidly rubbed her hands against one another to keep them warm in the off-stage chill. She checked with her mom again and again, “Where’s Ms. Stawarski sitting?”

     “Focus on the piece when you’re up there, she’s definitely cheering you on, wherever she is.” her mother replied, trying to reassure her nervous daughter.

     As Mary pinched her ocean-blue dress and walked to the piano, her eyes searched the sea of faces in the audience for her teacher. Her eager eyes tried to pan over each of their faces to the last row, but Ms. Stawarski was nowhere to be seen. Once the echo from the last of the applause quieted, she shadowed her hands onto the piano, staring into the dark abyss of the entrance hallway, and began.

Her piano notes searched beneath the carpet, behind every chair, even the cracks in the ceiling, practically flipping the place upside-down to find Ms. Stawarski. But they did not make a pleasant melody.

     If only her playing could run two days back, slipping through the gap under the door into Ms. Stawarski’s sick room, she would find her. But the notes would never have made it and would have been crushed by cars way before.

     “Mary…” On the bed, Ms. Stawarski held tight to her daughter’s hands, tears soaking deep into her white pillow. Her rattly voice rung softer than a pianissimo.

     Malina kissed her freezing fingers, her red eyes made cold by helpless jealousy. “Mom, I’m not…” She stopped mid-sentence, seeing no point in correcting her.  

     “It’s March…”

     “Yes, Mom, Spring is coming. Let’s go to the park this weekend,” she proposed, knowing that with dementia choking her throat, it would likely be her last weekend if she could make it even that far.

     “Competition, Mary, weekend.” The last words from Ms. Stawarski.

     “Mom,” Malina gently shook her head, not understanding the reference Ms. Stawarski was making. 

     Mary’s Scherzo failed to find Ms. Stawarski in this world, and Mary’s Scherzo also failed to win. But Mary’s Scherzo always woke Ms. Stawarski.

     The old lady walked up to the piano bench, sat next to Mary, and closed her eyes.

     Magically it seemed, the piano at the giveaway started performing itself, scaring away the entire crowd just like the flying pigeons when the crowd drummed in breaking applause. Only Mary and Malina stayed, shocked, but smiling.

     “She’s here.”