I drum my fingers. A lot. It's become more noticeable the past year with the addition of acrylic nails. My co-worker has told me that its my "thing". I hope that means that its something that she identifies as unique to me and that its not the thing that I do that annoys her.
I wasn't aware of this habit until she pointed it out to me. Once brought to my attention, I attempted to pay attention to what I was doing out of fear that this is indeed the thing that could annoy her. It took me about 2 days to identify that the tapping happens when I am in deep, deep thought and lost to the world. The type where I'm standing there, staring in space and you could wave your hand a few feet away and I wouldn't see you. What I would be doing is rolling my fingers back and forth.
I've pondered this habit and why it happens when I am in such a trance. The only conclusion that I can come up with is that it is probably a result of the piano.
I took lessons for six years from my mother's best friend. Every Saturday morning for a half hour. I would practice during the week for at least a half hour almost every night. I didn't always want to practice. On those nights my mom would give the choice of practicing or helping with the dishes. I hated washing dishes.
I was (and still am) only okay at playing the piano, not great by any means. However I found that once I stopped taking lessons and started choosing the music I wanted to play, the music that I identified with, I started to enjoy playing. My piano bench became a place of solitude and serenity, where I wouldn't be interrupted and my thoughts could play out. My frustrations, fears & joys had a physical feeling when pressed against those ivory and black keys. Even if I didn't want to share what I was thinking, there was still a sound and that helped make my teenage thoughts make sense.
When in college, I moved into a sorority house that had a baby grand. To my amazement, none of the girls in the house ever touched it. It took me 3 months before I worked up the courage to ask our house mom, Mom Laverna, if we were allowed to play on the piano. She grabbed my arm and asked very excitedly "You play?!" and then practically drug me over to the bench where she opened the seat to revealed books of music left behind by others. "You should play." she instructed, leaving me to sort thru the pieces collected by the house over the years.
I loved sitting at that piano. There were many times that I needed that piano then, much like I needed it in high school. And I loved that after I started playing, other girls started to come and play. By the time I graduated, there was never a question of if a person was allowed to play the piano. I hope that others felt like I did, having a piano available helped make that house seem like home.
I haven't had a piano in my home for over 5 years now. I rarely play when I go to my parent's house, in part because we're often so busy that there isn't much time and in part because I'm mostly at peace with no real reason to isolate myself. My mom has told me numerous times that whenever I would like my piano, I can have it. Unfortunately, we just don't have room right now. And to me, a keyboard is not the same thing.
I always identify with songs that feature the piano, especially those that I myself learned to play. This morning, my drive provided me with a sucker punch of favorites - November Rain, A Long December, and Turn Me On. All three were an obsession for me while sitting at the piano bench, and hearing them back to back even in the order that I heard them felt all too familiar.
November Rain was the first difficult song that I felt I conquered. It was my go to song when I wanted to find a resolution because I could pound my hands against something, hard fast and furious. But no matter how hard you pushed and pounded, there was still something beautiful about it- that was something you couldn't change. Having something that you can't destroy, no matter how hard you try, is a rarity in life. I realize that more than ever today.
A Long December was a song that I loved at a time when I wasn't so self confident and sure of who I was. It was simple and I could quietly sing along, feeling better that someone had put into words that sometimes its all a lot of oysters with no pearls - hoping that someday someone would look across a crowded room, that a light could attach itself to a girl.
The Norah Jones songbook was a parting gift, given to me by Kendall weeks before he graduated college. We had not been together long and he was moving to Chicago for a job. He knew I would be sad that he was leaving my life, that we couldn't be sure we would be together or could make a long distance relationship work. He knew from our short time together that most likely, I would seek solace within the keys of the baby grand. It was possibly one of the most in tune gifts that he has ever given me (pun unintended there). Turn Me On was the obvious song to learn first and I didn't find myself playing much else. I still find that I ache inside when I hear it, even tho my prayers sent from the keyboard did come thru.
It was strange to hear the three songs together - especially since I flipped stations between. To be honest, I don't know if I've ever even played the three together since all were part of my life at different times. To hear them in such a sequence was unexpected, a little unnerving, but not necessarily undesired. I found that I didn't want to keep my hands on the steering wheel. I wanted keys in front of me, I wanted to play back the memories. Which is especially strange to me because I am not the girl who needed those songs to help cope, or those keys as a crutch and explanation. I am the woman that grew from that girl, and those memories - good, bad, happy, sad - are all things that I relish, even if the sound that comes with them is lingering.
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