‘You need friends’ my father said, ‘and a proper job’.
But my fingers were my tools, ivory keys my colleagues and composers my friends. I earned little, but it paid the bills.
When on stage, notes flying, gliding, hovering, diving, my audience flew with me. I played in smoky jazz bars too, where I competed with chattering crowds. But I loved it.
Time took its toll on my overworked hands. I can’t play now. I gave my piano away. What happened to it, I don’t know. Music remains my companion, though now I consume, not create. It will never desert me, never.
Word count 101. I promise to only use 99 next week!
My story is loosely based on a longer one I wrote a few years ago, but as very few people read it I thought I’d give it a tune and play it again! Second time lucky?
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle and Anshu Bhojnagarwala provided the photo.
Prod the frog to see who else is taking part this week!