My Final Symphony

 

 

To make a difference is to change the world.

 

To change the world is to help one person. Anyone, really. For being nice to one person, means they may be nice to another. And then nice to another. Pay it forward, in a much simpler fashion. That movie was rather depressing… the kid dies.

I never really helped anyone growing up. I was never that good of a kid actually; I got in trouble because I knew I could get away with it, I didn't really care about others. I made fun of people, I taunted and teased those who I knew weren't as successful as me; at school, at a sport, just in general.

One time, though, I finally got caught. And to make up for my crime, I had to do community service.

I got stuck working at this old folk's home downtown, where I had to adopt a grandparent and talk to them and read to them and be their friend and family, seeing as their real friends probably died and their family stuck them in an old folk's home. What love is there, right?

 

"What's your name?" The woman asked me at the window, one of those really motherly types who looked like she baked really good sugar cookies.

"Marietta."

"Oh, you're our new… volunteer." She said. Volunteer…ha. Like I actually had a choice in coming here. "Well, your new grandparent is Mrs. Love. She should be over there by the piano." The woman pointed to an elderly woman who looked to be about 70. She was small, fragile looking, with skin a lot smoother than those around her.    

 

"Hello, Mrs. Love, I'm Marietta, I'm here to be your granddaughter!" I said with fake enthusiasm, sitting in the chair next to the piano and slouching down.
"Cross your legs and sit up straight." She said automatically, trying to play something on the piano and not doing so well. I grimaced.
"Do you know how to play?" I asked as nicely as I could manage.
"Of course I can play you half-wit. Why would I sit here if I didn't know how to play piano?!" She snapped, going back to her music, trying even harder to play it. She stopped, rubbing her hands, sighing heavily and biting her lip.

 

For two hours we sat there, her playing the piano, stopping, rubbing her hands, playing, stopping, rubbing, over and over again. I gave up attempting to speak; I just sat there, watching her fragile little fingers press down on the keys.

 

"Marietta, it's time for you to go home." Finally. The Sugar Cookie Lady released me from my prison as I stood, rushing out the door as quickly as I could, not bothering to say goodbye to Mrs. Love.

 

I came back the next week, sitting down in the same chair. She still had the same sheet of music in front of her, trying relentlessly to play it. Another week, the same song. I started to read while she worked; it was much easier than just sitting there, watching her fingers.

 

One week I went to the home, and she wasn't there. The Sugar Cookie Lady-whose real name was Mrs. Roberts- told me that Mrs. Love was at the doctors.
"Why is she at the doctor?" I asked, trying to hide my actual concern. She was almost amusing, my almost-grandmother.

"She had very bad arthritis in her hands. The cartilage in her joints in her fingers is almost completely gone; it causes her extreme pain even just to move her hands." I stared at Mrs. Roberts, dumbfounded.

"Then why does she insist on playing the piano so much?" I asked after a minute, thinking about how she stopped, holding her fragile little hands.

"Why don't you ask her one day?" Mrs. Roberts replied finally, turning back and going to her desk. I just rolled my eyes, wondering what she could be talking about.

 

Four hours. It took four hours of sitting in that chair asking before Mrs. Love finally snapped.

"Why do you play if it hurts so bad?"
"Mind your own business, you little brat."
"Why do you play?"
"Shut up and leave me alone, find another old woman to bother."
"So why do you do it?"
"Because what else am I supposed to do?!" She started crying. I hadn't expected it in the least. Why was she crying?
"Why are you crying…?" I asked, voicing my thoughts, confused. She turned to me, ignoring the stares of other grandparents and people who actually volunteered.
"When I was young I played the piano professionally, for nearly forty years. I had to quit playing professionally because of my condition, and I was fine with it, I could stay at home, write music, be with my husband. Then he passed away, and my daughter Molly instead of wanting me to live with her decides to stick me here, even though I'm perfectly lucid, don't have Alzheimer's and wouldn't be a strain on her family at all. She just doesn't want her pretty little boyfriend to live with her old bothersome mother. When I play the piano, when I play this symphony, it reminds me of being on stage, where people actually cared about me. When some teenage convict wasn't forced to be here so I had someone to spend time with!" She said finally, standing up and storming off. I stared after her, not knowing what to do. Finally, I followed her to her room. Her delicate shoulders were shaking as she sobbed on her bed. I sighed, going over.
"I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate…" I said finally, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away, but I still sat there, not moving. "Listen, I think…we should like…. have a recital or something. You could play your song and others can do what they like to do…it'll…it'll be fun." I said. She simply looked away.

"Like you could arrange such a thing." She replied, as usual with her sour attitude. I stood up, looking confident despite my looming feeling of unease.
"Of course I can! You have nothing to fear!" I told her, telling her my goodbye and promising her that I would plan it all, going to Mrs. Roberts. She liked my idea, but I had to plan it. Ugh! I'd never really taken on this sort of responsibility before; I was kind of extremely lazy.

 

I talked to the other adults and managed to find other people who would do various things in the recital; sing, play an instrument of their past, I even had a couple who would waltz for the audience, and did so captivatingly. The night of the performance, everything was set…

 

Except there was still one problem.

 

Mrs. Love's daughter Molly just wouldn't come. She said they were busy that evening, that her new boyfriend wouldn't like it, that her daughter would be bored or scared being around so many elderly people. Like these people had some sort of disease; they were not lepers, they were simply old. That didn't change who they were…

I finally went to Molly's house and screamed at her, telling her how much it would mean to her mother. She first slammed the door in my face. But finally, she came with me, sitting in the front row.

 

Mrs. Love was last, and, despite her pain, played the song she wrote absolutely perfectly. It was entitled "My Final Symphony."

 

I cried during the piece, for I knew it was about the pain in her hands, and in her heart. As the tears fell down my face, I looked over at Mrs. Love's granddaughter, who too, was crying. After the song was over, as Mrs. Love stood on the stage to offer a final curtsey, her granddaughter ran up, hugging her and saying that she wanted to learn how to play piano. I'd never seen so much love in Mrs. Love's eyes. The grumpy old woman was finally living up to her surname.

 

After the performance, I went up to congratulate her.

"You know, Marietta, when you first came, I thought you were some delinquent who would just cause trouble. But thank you…did you know my granddaughter, Lily, wants me to teach her piano now? She's having her mom drive her here every day." Mrs. Love's eyes were lit with joy, and I couldn't help but smile.

"That's fabulous, Mrs. Love, I'm really happy for you." I offered the woman a hug, when a tap on my shoulder made me turn around. It was my probation officer.

 

"Marietta, your community service is over with, you don't have to come here anymore, just check in with me monthly." He informed me. "Aren't you happy?"

 

I didn't know how I felt, but joy wasn't one of them. I loved it here now; I wanted to be with Mrs. Love, with her head-strong personality and will of a god.

 

"I think I'll keep coming." I said, looking at Mrs. Love and grinning. She smiled back at me, giving another hug; she seemed so happy I could swear she was glowing.

 

I went to the nursing home every single day for nearly three years until I turned 18; the saddest day of my life, because it was the day that Mrs. Love passed away. I didn't cry for her, because I knew that she died happily, and her life had not been lived in vain.

 

Lily, her granddaughter, became a concert pianist as an adult, and now is one of the best players and teachers in the country.

Now, I hate to brag… but Lily did learn from her grandmother, who only saw her because of the recital.

 

Which I helped set up.

 

Now Lily is helping dozens of young girls and boys develop their love for playing and composing music.

 

My small contribution to that old woman's life has affected more people than I could ever know.

 

Just like her contribution to mine has affected me in ways that I could never even dream of, and will always love her for.