Writings

Getting Edward’s photo re-framed cost five dollars.

I hung it up in his room with a note that simply said, “More Chopin.”

That night, he played for three and a half hours without stopping.

Forward

Edward saw my vision at the same time I did. He was just moving to sit down at the piano, but instead of the peace-filled expression I usually saw when he was ready to sit down to play, I saw his face twist in horror.

“Can we stop them?” he asked.

I shook my head.

But Edward is the fastest of all of us, and he’s also the most stubborn.

We left the front door open.

Forward

Edward didn’t ask me about the photo, nor did he thank me for it. But he played almost every night, and most nights, I sat with him, listening, watching. Trying not to think of his mother and how it must have been, her sitting there with Edward leaning into her side.

Sometimes, my mind would drift though, and then I would hear his fingers falter as my imagining of his mother appeared in my mind.

Listening to him trip over the notes, I squeezed his arm.

“I’m here,” I whispered.

He kept playing.

Forward

The Trans-Canada highway runs through Calgary. The speed limit is a hundred kilometers per hour. That’s a completely fine speed limit on a dry, sunny day.

It’s a terrible speed limit on ice.

Forward

From Montana, we moved to Portsmouth, New Hampshire which is very cold in the winter. The house was tiny, and all seven of us lived there in four cramped bedrooms with hardly enough room to get around.

Carlisle suggested that maybe we get an upright instead of a baby grand this time.

Edward looked stricken.

Cramming a giant piano into the middle of a tiny living room is a lot easier than making Edward upset.

Forward