Melody and Memory

a story of family and loss

This short story was written as part of my year-long creative writing challenge. Every Monday, I use a random number generator to select a new writing prompt and share my response by the following weekend. You can learn more about the project here.

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Write a scene, vignette, or poem that takes place in or is inspired by at least one of the locations pictured below.

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Sunlight drifted lazily through the window of the townhouse. It cast beams of light into the bedroom of her childhood, untouched and dusty for so many years. Even though the rest of the room was covered in sheets, the old upright piano stood uncovered on one side of the room. The sunlight made the wood glow a rich mahogany with hints of amber swirling through the grain. 

Marion ran her fingers along the ivory keys with an ache in her chest. She didn’t know why her father had kept the piano for all these years. She’d stopped playing over a decade ago, when the demands of journalism school and a toxic relationship had taken over her life. When she’d moved, leaving both the boyfriend and her family behind, he’d asked if she wanted to take the piano with her. 

“Where am I going to fit a piano in a New York apartment?” she’d said.

After that conversation, she’d assumed he’d gotten rid of it—yet here it was, tucked up on the third floor with a vase of wilting flowers atop it, as though they’d just recently been put there. 

She remembered when he’d first gotten her the piano. It was just after the divorce, when both of her parents were trying to buy back her affection with toys and treats. Found at an estate sale in Vermont, he’d surprised her with it, hiring two of her cousins to maneuver the thing up the three flights of stairs. She could still hear the banging and swearing as they’d struggled, finally depositing it on the landing outside her room while her father opened the door with a flourish. 

Unlike the trips to the amusement park and the shopping sprees, the piano was the one gift that she’d truly enjoyed. Music was her refuge back then, when the fracture of her childhood became too much to bear. She’d lose herself in sound, transmuting her feelings into preludes, sometimes playing well into the night. Her father had never mentioned it even though he must’ve heard her, allowing her space to grieve. He’d only said once, when she was in high school and already not playing as much, that he missed the sound. 

Marion pressed her finger down on a key. The note rang out in perfect C. 

He’d kept the piano in tune. 

She closed her eyes, the back of her throat burning with unshed tears.

Downstairs she could just hear William saying goodbye to the last of the guests from the wake on her behalf. They’d be eating from a procession of casseroles tonight, as they started to work through the mess of an estate that her father had left behind. Marion pulled on the sleeves of her too-large sweater and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. 

Then she pulled out the bench and started to play. 

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Family has been on my mind a lot lately. Though 2023 has been wonderful for the birth of my son, it’s also been a very heavy time for us. The matriarch of my husband’s family passed away suddenly last spring; several once-close family members had serious falling outs; my own father is ill and the doctors still can’t figure out what’s wrong with him.

Lying on the floor watching my son and listening to

FogChaser

’s music the other day, I suddenly started crying. His song After a Summer Rain captured the bittersweet melancholy of new parenthood so perfectly. It’s constantly on my mind that these days are fleeting, and that my son will never be this small again. After the year we’ve had and the knocks to our family, everything has felt more fragile and precious than ever.

When I sat down to write for this week, the photo on the right caught my attention. It felt like such a personal, private moment and made me think of how music can carry so much feeling. I’ve often used art as healing when things become difficult. My own parents divorced when I was eight; I remember drawing on the floor of my bedroom for hours to process, alternating between music and Harry Potter audiobooks on cassette tape. I wanted to capture a bit of that feeling with this story—how art can house memories and the complexity of family relationships.

Did you enjoy this piece? What was your favorite line? I’d love to hear what you thought about it ♡