My mother had me at age 40 and I was her last child. She lived quite an interesting life before me. So, when I tell this story, I tell it mostly from my grand imagination and its mostly conjecture. My mother did play piano like a Broadway or Symphony professional but became no more famous than a piano bar player in a city tavern in the 1950s. She did meet a man who loved and adored her. She was married twice but not to him because of race and she was part Sioux, a fact she often rejected and tried to hide because she looked 100% Danish and back then it was looked down on to be mixed race whether part native American or African American. Both of her marriages left her lonely and in pain. Her second stole her hope and denied her soul love and adoration. Beyond that, this story is mainly from what my Uncle and half sister shared and what I imagine she went through.
As the evening went into full swing, the crowded bar filled up with laughter, people and merriment. That old style piano bar on the corner on the outskirts of Albany, NY drew attention for their pianist who broke out into the oldies. Her favorite was The Entertainer. She did not drink and was never was needed to serve alcohol. She smiled and it was obvious as her 5'10 slender frame that she was the right person for this job. Her thin blonde hair was always carefully kept. Her long arms graced the piano keyboard as if it was an extension of her soul. Each day she would walk a few blocks home escorted by one of the bartenders who looked out for her like a big brother. She would meet her daughter at the neighbors and bring her home. He meager income was offset by her tip jar. She was lonely but never brought men home or entertained the vain crooked ones who tried to woo her at times. She was quiet and odd. But she had her reasons. Now in her twenties, she had been married once, had a child, had a baby who died, was divorced and left home not feeling at peace with her mother. Her father moved back to Denmark. She had her dreams of being swept off her feet, being loved and adored and having the sweet little home with a white picket fence. She did not know much and only studied to 8th grade, but she wanted to be loved and be part of a family. She just wanted to belong somewhere. She was born in CA, lived in CO with her first husband and moved to Albany with her daughter for a fresh start. On one rainy evening a man walked in. Everyone noticed him for some reasons you would expect and some that you wouldn't. He was galliant, tall and well kept. An air of confidence carried him in such a way that he was well respected. He was heir to both an estate and a business. He discovered this bar while passing by drawn in by the music. His perfectly smooth olive complexion and tight, curly blonde hair gave most people the impression they could not identify his heritage. His face held large yellowish brown eyes and beautifully formed lips that struck most women in all honesty as exquisite if they could get past their predjudice. But he had faced his share of discrimination. He earned respect in his own circles. Still, he was not afraid when he laid his eyes on the piano girl. He was several years her senior but nothing like the creepy modern men on tv who stalk younger women for their own exploits. Instantly mesmerized, he ordered his drink and tried not to stare. He would not want to be taken as rude but he would return many times just to enjoy her and she didnt know. Carried by the wind of the music and dancing, she never noticed the magic unfolding in his soul for her. His hands were tough and his voice deep and gentle. She had not heard it. No, not yet. But anyone in their right mind could see that poker face expression as if he had never before seen a woman and she was the only person in the room to him. He introduced himself carefully and calculated like he was executing his most valued business transaction ever. He noticed she often had a ginger ale resting on a coaster nearby so he began to bring them to her. He thought she did not notice as she never let on that she noticed him from the moment he first walked in. He could not stop thinking about her. Yet, she treated him no different from the other men she interacted with. He was in love and she did not seem to notice. He was a man of few words and great intellect so he one day handed her a glass and their fingers touched briefly. She hesitated then took the glass thanking him with a smile. Oh she noticed him too. She couldn't stop thinking about him since the day he reached out to shake her hand and briefly held it with both hands. She heard every word he did not say from that moment on. Sometimes she would catch him scanning her over. Any other man would have disgusted her by doing that. She didn't understand why she enjoyed that other than that she felt adored for the first time in her life. He never once complimented her appearance. He observed and said to let him know if she needed anything and she knew he meant that. His most subtle gestures made her feel like a queen. Over time, they talked a bit more. But they experienced their love without words never having kissed or even held hands. Their very real passion overshadowed the fact that his work would soon take him overseas and she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving after going on like this nearly a year. But she couldn't tell him. He was "black" and she was "white" everyone said. She knew this was socially absurd. Could she risk everything for this? Her family would object and the world would reject her. She let him go. He could not forget. He wrote letters she refused to read. After some time, he was gone. She married a "white" man who had his eyes on every woman. He did not respect her and this created family problems as they had children. He was abusive and she defended him. He didn't stop cheating until he was in his 70s. Yet there was no divorce. Her misery and sorrow compounded year after year. She held together for the kids but never forgot that beautiful man she let go because she didn't think he was good enough. She knew she was wrong but became old and tired. He never married. There would never be another her to him. There would be not even a friendly reunion but plenty of tears and remorse for losing that year....it was the best year of their lives for both of them. We often fear the consequences of breaking social/moral code and later realize the consequences of not breaking code for the right reasons are much greater and the loss too painful to bear.
