The Piano

I secretly called our piano, Mr. Bebe.

I remember how I hated playing on the cursed thing. My mother used to make us take piano lessons and I'd do every horrible thing I could think of on the hopes that my teacher would eventually give up on me. (I tried pissing on her foamy piano seat and when that didn't blew her off, I wanted so bad to piss on her face instead but couldn't for lack or projectile-pissing glands) My teacher never gave up on me and I knew I'd play Mr. Bebe for all of my childhood days.

I'd play with Mr. Bebe for hours. Daily. Even during weekends. Especially during weekends. I probably played with him more than I did with my human best friend. I actually didn't have a choice. I'd love to watch TV or read a book instead but: 1.) We only had one TV then and my oh so loving brothers would hog it all day watching NBA or other lame sports stuff and when I made the smallest effort of 'borrowing' the remote control, I always end up with a bloody nose, and 2.) I have read all the books at home, except for the dictionary and reading that is just plain SAD. So I always ended up with Mr. Bebe.

It was probably during 4th year high school that I began to actually *like* playing Mr. Bebe. This was one of the loneliest year of my life and Mr. Bebe was the only one who was consistently there by my side. I poured all my emotions to him. I play him when I'm happy, sad, depressed, suicidal, horny (woot), or just plain empty. The once cold ivory keys I loathed suddenly felt so warm and welcoming. Like a nice bowl of soup on a rainy day. Gradually, I came to love Mr. Bebe.

I'm sorry Pa, but it wasn't you that made me go home every weekend during first year college. I crossed seas a thousand times and conquered my sea sickness because of Mr. Bebe. I felt lonely not having to play with him. This may sound a bit bizarre, but I had a feeling Mr. Bebe was feeling the same way too. And so I always came back, and with a handful of songs in my head, would play Mr. Bebe till the wee hours with nothing but that warm fuzzy feeling between me and him.

~0~

It's been almost 2 years now since I last played a complete song with Mr. Bebe. Since we've moved, there weren't much chances to actually stay with Mr. Bebe even for just a couple of minutes. The most I could do was open him and push a key or two and that's that. It's so sad. But I know Mr. Bebe feels worse, being abandoned in an old deserted house...being deprived of cleaning for years...not having anyone to play wonderful music ever again. I wish I could be with Mr. Bebe again.

I miss you, Mr. Bebe.