The old music hall, dark and abandoned for decades, was a sad replica of what it was once was. The seats, before a deep red, were now a dull blush. The stuffing billowed onto the dusty floor where the velvet coverings had been torn. The floorboards, faded and coated in layer upon layer of gray dust, were littered with the yellowed bits of music scores that once soared through the rows up to its vaulted ceiling. The only item that remained intact was a grand piano on the far right side of the stage.
The stillness was broken by the clicking of heels on the worn wood. A young man stopped in the doorway of the great room. His green eyes skimmed across the floor, up the graffitied walls, over to the broken window that was boarded over, and finally came to rest on the dilapidated piano. He took a few steps, hesitated, and glanced behind him. Making his decision, he strode towards the piano.
Standing in front of it, he gingerly reached forward and stroked its lid with his finger leaving a dark, dust-free line in it’s wake. As he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together–feeling the grittiness of the dust on his skin–he circled the piano. It was old, that’s for sure, but nothing seemed broken or out of place. Not even bothering to clean off the stool, he sat down and silently glided his fingers over the gray keys.
Slowly, softly he pressed down. The note was crisp and brought a slight smile to the man’s face. One key, then two, were quickly followed by an entire chord. His hands flew effortlessly over the keys as the time-worn piano sang beneath his gentle touch.
As the song progressed and grew in strength, the keys became a pure white and the grime disappeared from the entire piano. It’s pristine appearance stood out starkly against the dank appearance of the rest of the hall.
The notes were thundering from the piano now, and the man was lost in the world he was creating. As the music swirled from the piano, it created a wind that blew the dust away from that corner of the hall. Blasted by strength of the music that was being created, the dust and cobwebs were forced out of the hall.
Soon, it looked unrecognizable. The vaulted ceiling’s exquisite paintings were refreshed, the once faded and torn seats were bright and plush, and the floor shone in the sun the poured through the window. The man’s grin spread across his entire face as he looked out across his masterpiece.
All too soon, however, the last note died and faded away, taking with it all the glory it had returned to the hall. The man removed his hands from the keys and folded them in his lap as he sighed contentedly. The playing of the piano had returned the hall to its former glory for just a moment. For that is the power of music: the ability to reveal the beauty in any thing, any place, or anyone.