WATERFALL

I've heard it called "Bella's Song" -- you know, the piano piece Edward writes and performs for his love, Bella, in Stephenie Meyer's vampire book series. But really, it's called "Waterfall." I forget who wrote it, and I'm too lazy to go downstairs and check.

I've been learning it on the piano. I practice every day. Genevieve plays this beautifully; it's a delightfully happy little piece. And it goes fast. I smile when I finally get a section up to tempo, fingers flying, the muscle memory kicking in.

I practice other stuff, too. Debussy's "First Arabesque". Beethoven's "Pathetique Sonata". Chopin Preludes and Nocturnes. Bach Inventions. Pieces I learned long ago, but haven't played in years.

I forgot to play for a while, though a baby grand sits in my living room. My step-grandmother gave the piano to me twenty-five years ago, after her only daughter, a gifted pianist, died in a car crash coming home from college. The piano is a gift I cherish. The fact that I can play piano is a gift I am trying to cherish more appropriately.

I forgot how happy it makes me to play. I get lost sometimes in being responsible. I forget to take time to just sit on the bench and make music. I play best when the house is empty, when it's only me I'm playing for. If I could, I'd let you listen. But you'll have to just imagine a melodic waterfall, notes cascading fast and loud, the mist of music in the air.