My life had always been filled with music. Instruments filled up all the random corners of our house, to the point where if you didn’t look where you stepped, you could find your foot inside a tuba. But all the guitars and saxophones couldn’t hope to compare to the grand piano in the guest cabin. A rich chestnut color, the wood was stained so it had an almost marble pattern. The legs were Corinthian columns and the sides carried designs of scaled dragons. I would trace my fingers along the wings of the terrible creatures until I reached the plume of fire coming from its mouth. If I concentrated enough I could even feel a little heat.

 

Dad would grumble about how a piano as beautiful as that one deserved to be on display in the main house. Mom would just pat him on the shoulder with a half-smile I learned to recognize as distinctively hers. She loved having the piano tucked away in the rundown cabin. As a kid, whenever I heard the tinkling of notes on the breeze, I would creep downstairs and outside and lean on the window and let the music carry me away. I could still picture her swaying on the bench. 

 

I used to hear those notes every day. 

 

What a change to witness the small structure go up in flames. White paint curled into black and the gorgeous blue shutters looked as if they had aged 50 years. Even now I could see the perpetrator through the floor-to-ceiling windows-- a small candle lit for remembrance even though we had forgotten to blow it out. If I wasn’t able to see the candle, I might have blamed the dragons. 

 

And so I stood on the pebbled path with Dad, both of us watching the chaos unfold inside. Reds and oranges danced on the endless expanse of window, with heavy grey smoke forming a frame. I wasn’t quite sure how long we had been there. Moments flew by and memories flashed before my eyes. The dancing flames itching a corner of my mind I hadn’t touched in months. 

 

It’s a shame, he says. 

 

Why?

 

It was a magnificent piano. 

 

Oh. 

Yeah it was. 

 

I guess even magnificent things have to burn at some point.

 

I thought maybe it could be saved if we just moved. We didn't. We stood, staring at the fire slowly licking the ivory keys. Expensive wood folded to flame under our careless eyes as we watched on.

 

I swear I could still hear its song swell.