Where Do You Stay (9 page)

Uncle James pulls into the driveway and gets out of the car. “What's going on?” he asks.

“I couldn't sleep, and then I saw this piano.”

Uncle James shakes his head. “In all my years, and I'm not young, I never heard of a piano landing in somebody's yard.” He looks around. “I wonder how it got here.”

“I think somebody pushed it down the hill.”

“Somebody like who?”

“I don't know,” I say. “It could be Miss Ginny found it.”

“Miss Ginny?”

“You know, the lady who bought the big house.”

“But why would she push it to our yard?”

I swallow. “Maybe because she knows I was looking for one.”

Uncle James rubs his chin. “We'll have to get some more information, Jerome. But now what we need is some sleep.”

It takes forever until I fall asleep. My mind is spinning in circles, but I want to tell Mama that I'm not mulling. It's just that I can't get tunes to stop playing in my head.

When I wake up, the sun is high and Monte is jumping around the room, chattering away. “Jerome, you saw it, didn't you? You saw we got a piano, didn't you? Daddy says maybe we can keep it long as nobody else claims it, and nobody has.”

“Did you ask Miss Ginny?”

“She's not there. And nobody else claimed it. Nobody's going to claim it either. I tried it out, Jerome, I played the scales and ‘The Little Pony' and I'm making up a new song, I want to show you.” Monte grabs my arm. “Get dressed, Jerome, hurry up.”

Ashley and Wesley are in the yard, and Ms. Jackson is talking to Aunt Geneva. “I didn't hear a thing last night,” Ms. Jackson says. “Not a thing.”

“Me either,” Aunt Geneva says. “And to think that somebody could move something this big and keep it quiet.”

“It looks in pretty good condition, too,” Ms. Jackson says, “all things considered.”

“I don't know much about pianos,” Aunt Geneva says. Then she sees me. “Morning, Jerome. You feeling better?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Do you know anything about this?” she asks.

“There used to be a piano in the mansion.”

“Is that right?”

“A big white upright.”

Miss Ginny pulls up in front of our house and rolls down the window. “Morning, neighbors,” she says. “I hope I didn't scare anyone.” She winks at me. “We found the key to the back room.”

“But—”

She waves her hand. “No buts. If you want it, it's yours.”

“But for the school—”

“Tom has a baby grand coming, used to be his grandmother's. Well, I better get to work.”

She drives slowly up the street.

Uncle James, Damon, and I push the piano to our front door. “Okay, on the count of three, lift,” Uncle James says. We hoist it into the living room. Aunt Geneva has cleared a spot for it along the back wall.

“You think we can really keep it?”

Monte asks. Uncle James considers. “Seems to me it was a gift to Jerome,” he says.

“And now he's going to teach me how to play on a real piano,” Monte says, placing his fingers on the keys.

My legs still feel weak. Monte's practicing the scales and I'm lying on the couch. Aunt Geneva brings me some ice water. “You sure you're feeling better now, Baby?”

I sit up. Mama never called anybody Baby or Honey or Sweetheart, but coming from Aunt Geneva, it sounds all right. “Aunt Geneva?”

“What is it?”

“Do you know where 8600 Reading Road is?”

“Eighty-six hundred, that must be down past Dorchester, toward town. What business do you have there?”

“Can I go there on the bus?”

“First you tell me your business and then I'll tell you yes or no.”

“Mr. Willie stays there now.”

I show her the note. She reads it over a few times and then considers. “I know you're eleven, Jerome, but I don't like the idea of you riding the bus to someplace you've never been.” She puts her cool hand on my forehead. “Monte and I will go with you this first time. And then we'll see.”

“Can we go now?”

“Who lit a fire under you?”

I smile, remembering how Mama always said that.

“Give me about an hour,” Aunt Geneva says.

Aunt Geneva has a whole bag of stuff for Mr. Willie, two shirts, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of jelly, a loaf of bread, and two containers of chili. “He likes your chili,” I say.

“That's what I hear,” Aunt Geneva says. She hands the bag to me. “You ready?”

We get off the bus at the 9000 block, cross the street, and head south.

“Eighty-six hundred, is that what he said?” Aunt Geneva asks.

I'm holding the note in my hand. “Yup,” Monte answers. “That's what it says.”

It's an ordinary-looking house with a big porch that's sagging in the middle. We walk up to the front door and knock. My stomach is churning around. Mr. Willie might not even be here.

Monte puts his ear to the door. “There's music in there, Jerome,” he says. “Listen.”

I stand still and listen, and sure enough, it's a piano all right, a piece that's fast and light, like a mazurka, I guess.

“He's in there,” Monte says, jumping so hard I think the porch might fall.

“Mr. Willie is not the only one in the world who can play the piano,” I say.

When the music ends, a young woman comes to the door. “May I help you?”

“We're here to visit Wilson,” Aunt Geneva says.

“The piano player,” Monte says.

The lady smiles. “He told me he might have a visitor or two or three.” She leads us into the hallway and tells us to have a seat.

A man in a wheelchair watches us. Two old ladies are sitting at a table playing cards. This can't be it. This can't be where Mr. Willie is staying. He had his own place with a mattress and a table and a bust of Beethoven.

I feel his footsteps before I see his face. “Welcome,” Mr. Willie says. He looks embarrassed, like he's not sure what to say to us inside this building. “Thank you all for coming.”

“Monte gave me the note,” I say, “with the address.”

Aunt Geneva takes the bag from me. “We brought you a few things.”

“I thank you,” Mr. Willie says. “I almost forgot to introduce you. I'd like you to meet Sharon.” Mr. Willie enunciates each word. I see Sharon reading his lips. Then she smiles and reaches out to shake our hands. “This is the boy I told you about, can play the piano.” Mr. Willie pretends to play in the air.

Sharon nods. In the light from the window I can see that she has piano hands, just like Mr. Willie said.

After that we don't know what to say. There are no rocks in here to arrange, no hose, no cement.

“Jerome's getting adopted,” Monte blurts out.

I wish he wouldn't say that. It's my news, not his.

“It's a long process,” Monte says.

“I know that's right,” Mr. Willie says. Then he leads us over to the piano. “You know that duet we were talking about?”

“You mean the Chopin for four hands?”

Mr. Willie starts humming the first few measures. “I know that.”

“Let's give it a try,” Mr. Willie says, sitting down on the bench.

“I haven't been practicing,” I say.

“But now you have a piano, so you can get started again.”

“How did you know?” I ask.

Mr. Willie laughs. “I have my ways.”

Our eyes meet. “Really, it's Miss Sharon's piano,” I say.

“Sharon's the one who told me you should keep it.”

“But she doesn't even know me.”

“Of course she does. I told her all about you. Anyway, what would we need with another piano here when we already have one?”

I sit down next to Mr. Willie on the piano bench. Monte's standing beside me, with Miss Sharon and Aunt Geneva.
Some of the old people are coming around. We set our hands on the keys. Mr. Willie nods his head, and we start. My fingers miss a note. I stumble.
That's okay, Jerome. Just listen and come back in. Let your fingers find their way. The music is in your heart and in your hands.
Mama said that. And Mama knew.