Oliver Cross looks like your typical grand: black case, 52 white keys and 36 black keys, the lifted top contoured to the classic piano shape.

But, really, what piano is typical?

To me, Oliver is Oliver because of the lower register; it's very strong, passionate, and absolutely commanding.  But that doesn't mean he can't do falsetto.  Quite the contrary, the upper register's just as beautiful as the lower.  Not bad for a 120-year-young Steinway.

Sometimes I wish I could stand and watch myself play.  I'd know exactly where to stand, too: a place the family's designated as The Spot.  Stand about one medium-giant step away from gentle curve, and let the sound roll over you.

I remember the first piece I played the day Oliver moved in.  After the movers slid him into place, I sat down to play.  Hesitantly I played Chopin's seventh prelude in A major, a gentle little ditty.

That was it, the beginning of the "end."  It wasn't too long after that that I really began to fall for the piano in general, but more importantly for Oliver himself.

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Author guidance for This work

A thing I started on ficly (http://ficly.com/stories/1032 ), which is where I'll probably be mostly adding to it, but I wanted to share it here as well. Apparently, it's possible for lil' ol' impish me, the more-often-than-not heckler of most things sappy, can write something this sentimental.

Miracles do happen, people. Just don't count on them happening all that often.

Oh, one more thing: this is my first real sentimental piece. Please, please be nice to me in your comments! Otherwise you may never get another sensitive word out of me again.

updated Jun 7 '09 by g2LaPianistaIrlandesa