Annette Watson, Non-Piano Playing Girl
I peered from behind the wall of cans in front of my face. Behind the Kitty Kat Chow! labels, I could mostly see the door, and doorknob. I shuffled the cans until I could reach out one of my hands, and pushed open the door that opened up to my back stairs. I sneezed once, twice and rubbed my nose. We should really get around to cleaning the stairs…
Over the cans, I could see the first step, and slid my foot around until I felt the edge of the step. I slowly thumped down the stairs, craning my neck every once in a while to try to see in front of my self. Why do we need all of these cans downstairs right now? Seriously, if Suzy puts on any more weight, she's just going to explode! And right as I thought of my good natured but sadly WAY overweight cat, I saw her standing just two steps away from me. If one of us didn't move in three seconds, Suzy would have an aching tail and terrible temper for the next week. And trust me, you do NOT want to see Suzy when she's angry.
I quickly tried to maneuver over onto the next step, an easily done thing. If you're not carrying anything. Actually, scratch that. I could've done that with a book, or even glass of water, really anything. Except fifty tons of Kitty Kat Chow! cat food. So as fate would have it, walking down stairs with cat food while trying to avoid a very annoyed cat just wouldn't end nicely for me.
Actually, the first can fell while I was still in the air. The cans didn't even wait for me to tumble down the stairs before clanging to the ground, deadly packages of banged-up cat food.
Most of the cans, though, just fell out of my hands after I let go of them just a moment too late. By then, my foot had snagged on the step, turning it into a one way ride to the bottom of the stairs, face first.
Oh, I was fine, really. One moment of silence later, I tried sitting up, and screamed out in agonizing pain, My hand, my arm, oh it all hurt so much.
"Mom! Dad! Anyone! Please, just someone! I am DYING here!" Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a little bit, but who could blame me? Just lying there, I felt like I was both inside and outside of my body. Huh, I bet I would need a cast for this. Well, then at least everyone had to sign my hand. Cool.
For a minute, it was like I had climbed out of my body, facing the stairs, out of the house, staring down at my town. At least it didn't hurt then.
Soon enough, sounds of thumping came down the stairs.
"Sweetie, why are you yelling? You don't want to b- HENRY! HENRY! Call 911 right now!"
More thumping. A face. A blur of flashing lights. Wheeling past white walls, faces peering out at the crooked handed girl, me.
It was all in a haze. I remember lying in one of those hospital gowns, my hand twisted in pain when the doctors and nurses came rushing in, dragging in an x-ray machine.
When the results came in, it was pretty obvious my hand was broken. Thankfully, I did not need any realigning.
One thing I remember was what the doctor said to my mom.
"Don't worry Mrs. Watson, she'll be fine. We get these things all the time. Just make sure she wears her cast for the next three months, and her hand will be good as new."
Okay, so I would be fine. That was good, right? Then... All the time? I didn't know so many people tripped over cats and broke their hands.
What he said next, though… Three months with my hand in a cast. I knew what that meant right away. No piano. No fun pieces. No All-City jazz ensemble.
That was bad. Really, really bad. For one thing I wouldn't be able to continue my studies. I mean, sure, I could read the music, but I definitely couldn't play them. For three months. My teacher would have steam smoking out of his ears with that.
For a moment, the thought that it would be nice to take a break from piano ran through my head, but I banished that thought quickly.
Then there was jazz ensemble. We all had worked so hard for that, I had worked so hard for that, and now, to think I wouldn't be able to play?
Those were some pretty complicated pieces! So now, to think the back up piano player would have to play it? I mean, sure, he can be good at some of the easier songs, but I'm really not sure about this time…
Of course, there was that other thing too. Playing... well, playing with Steven. I mean, he's so nice, and fun to be around. At least I knew about him before his brothers cancer. *Cough Renee Cough*. I can't believe what a- er, to put it nicely, a… well, I really can't put it nicely. Let's just say Renee and I have our differences.
Back to the point. Yeah, I kind of like Steven, but I'm okay if he wants to stay friends. For now.
About the piano? I'm hand-less for three months. I can't really play any Sonatas in B-flat minor, now, can I? The song I really wish I could play right now is Take Five. It's got that jazzy beat, and I love the tune. Now I can't play that.
I'm not exactly OK with that. I'm not going to die, or anything, though. It's just three months. That's what I have to keep telling myself. Three months until I'm not Annette Watson, non-piano playing girl.