Piano Aficionado

Verny was good at, well, everything she did. She was so good, in fact, that on occasion I'd be rendered speechless--dumbfounded at her natural grace.

One of Verny's talents that always caught me up was how she could play piano. Verny's mum said that her piano teacher was amazed at her ability to sightread from such a young age. Me and Verny watched some of her childhood home videos last summer. One of them was a piano recital, and it was jaw-dropping to see a tiny Verny, maybe seven at the time, take her little steps up to the piano and play a piece that demanded wide-eyed glances, and maybe the occasional moistened cheek, from the audience. We watched it a few times. Sometimes I laughed at her demeanor in the video, that even as a child she had this "it's no big deal" attitude. But sometimes all I could think was "wow." It was surreal to me.

When Verny sat down in front of a piano or keyboard, it was clear that she owned it, no matter whose it was or what the location. Any time I saw the opportunity, I would ask if Verny could play something for me--I didn't care what it was, I just wanted to watch. When I got the chance to see Verny play (lucky me), it was mesmerizing. Her fingers delicately yet powerfully probing the keys with intention and precision, leaving not one meaningless moment. It was as if time had stopped--reality was outside, and inside was the life and song of the captivating Veronica.

I think it is fitting, then, kind of like a book-end, that my last moments with Veronica, in person, was on a quiet summer night, playing a keyboard in her parents den. I had been working all evening and didn't get back 'til late. She hadn't given any notice that she was going to be in town, but when she texted and said "Where are you? I'm here" I dropped what I was doing with a pal and got in pretty late. It was always exciting to see my best friend's car in the driveway, and when I opened the downstairs door I could hear my keyboard faintly being played by who else but she. We didn't say too much as I came into the den, walked around the coffee table, and sat next to her. We fiddled with the settings. She played remarkably, as usual, and I joined in, clearly without motive, haha, but just to be playing along. Our hands met a couple times, and we laughed, or she'd push mine out of her way. We tried some different tones. Some were really funny, and when I tried to change from some space alienesque setting she demanded, "put it back!" I obliged. She was playing My Heart Will Go On...again, in reflection, it seems fitting. But I had worked all day, had to wake up early the next morning, and at this wee hour of night I was tired.

I got up, telling her I had to go to bed. We had hoped that I would get out of work early enough the next day to go spend a little time with her in Knoxville, but she left just before I was able to get out. But our last moments, there on the couch together, were bursting with significance beyond what we were then able to recognize. As I left the room, only partially closing the sliding door, I could hear Vern faintly continuing to play My Heart Will Go On until I dozed off to sleep.