Lucy's Lessons

by
Laurie Reaume

     She is fresh air. Lucy whisks in with wintergreen breath, striding to the piano and flexing her fingers like a prize fighter, ready to confront the keys and knock out songs, show 'em who's boss.
     Like the phonograph needle traversing a 78 RPM record, Lucy's vintage voice crackles, "I took piano lessons when I was a little girl."
     She swivels her hips on the bench with the ease of the nine-year-old she used to be, and turns to look at me directly. "But it's hard to remember what I learned 75 years ago!" she grins, pleased at putting the past in perspective with a punch.
     At 84, Lucy has a buoyant bounce to her step. She carries her 5'3"122 pound frame in sturdy walking shoes. No knee-hi nylons or old-lady spongy sandals for her. She takes eight-mile hikes to see wildflowers ripen into springtime splendor.
     Perched at the piano, Lucy's limber, not-yet-knobby fingers reach for the keys. She tips her wireframe bifocals forward to align eyes and thumbs. "Both my thumbs have to fit here, on Middle C?" The corners of her smile curl upward into a challenge accepted.
     Like the rest of Lucy, her nails are matter-of-fact: unpolished and trimmed straight across at her fingertips. No earrings or jewelry, save a strap-on Timex with large numerals. She garnishes with a smidgen of lipstick.
     "I know I'm supposed to count out loud as I play, but I don't like the way my voice sounds," she sputters in exasperation. "I sip water and suck on lifesavers, but I sound the same-all dried up." Maybe so, but her speech is not feeble or slow. Lucy's lips spill out slews of speedy sentences.
      Nothing about Lucy sags or looks defeated. A thick thatch of straight silver hair hangs chin length at a youthful angle, framing her swim-tanned face and coffee-with-cream eyes. Her crisp checkered blouse is tucked into no-wrinkle beige chinos.
     She finishes playing a primary level piece, then turns to me expectantly. "How was that?" Not waiting for my reply, she admits, "I know, I played it too fast. I'll do it again slower." Grinning at having answered her own question, she begins again-at the same speed as before. I smile to myself and let her go forward with gusto.
     Conscientious and eager to please, Lucy reports that she practices every day and looks forward to sitting at the piano "just to play." Her enthusiasm for learning refreshes my tired teacher's tongue that has repeated musical rudiments one too many times to obstinate eight-year-olds.
     After the lesson, Lucy gathers her books. "My kids and grandkids ask me why I'm taking lessons 'at my age.' Well, what age should I take them?!" She shrugs and tosses her head to shake off the ridiculous queries.
     "I know these are just simple songs, but I love music. And I like being able to make my own music." With that, Lucy offers a firm handshake and hearty thanks for the lesson. She smiles with all of her own teeth, then scoots out the door.

Laurie Reaume plays piano for weddings and parties, leads lively sing-alongs, and enjoys helping piano students from age 6 to 86 learn to express themselves musically. A writer and editor, Laurie also composes essays about gardening and vegetarianism.