The rendition began.
There was a girl sat there playing piano in the pouring rain. I stated that as if it was a natural occurrence, but I imagine that no matter your situation in life, this isn’t a sight you oft see either. The rain was torrential, pouring, every last drop seemed to be specifically hitting the girl. The tune she played was a hardly melodic ensemble, to put it bluntly it was the work of an amateur.
I hesitate to call her an amateur at all however, after all, would an amateur piano player choose to specifically play their instrument of choice in the middle of the street in torrential rain to no one in particular? One might simply presume that she was playing for money and had no choice but to weather the weather and keep playing notes just to earn an extra note or two. But no such bucket lay with a pleading open space near her.
She was captivating, not to anyone else, many moved on or sought refuge from the onslaught the rain was making against their umbrellas. The girl however remained stagnant, a fortification against the rain, it was a one-sided battle and one she was obviously losing. Despite that, the girl kept playing and playing and playing, rhythmically and rhythmically and rhythmically and the same melody over and over and over again. I felt the need to treble my words for that reason, her melody was repetitive; a melody she had clearly hastened to learn.
So why, why did she play? That much was uncertain to me, she was fighting a losing battle with weapons much too ineffective for her purpose, yet she kept fighting. It was for that reason I did not seek refuge or follow the swarms that were evacuating the warzone she had chosen to situate herself within, I stood in awe of the defiant girl who played note after note after note. She wasn’t skilled, not one bit but her spirit was one of tempered flame that was of no doubt to me so, like her I weathered the weather and listened intently to the same 30 seconds of piano she had been playing for an unspecified amount of time.
How long had she been going? That was the question I wanted so desperately answered. If she stayed out here much longer than it wasn’t questionable, she would contract some ailment or another yet still she played. The weather didn’t matter to her and nor did the ramifications. That was admirable, well and truly admirable. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter, pitter, patter, the rain was annoying me with its repetitive sounds. The rain was drowning out her hastily beautiful rendition, yet it didn’t drown her no matter how much it tried to. A sole girl playing piano against the almighty and unrelenting rain, an omnipotent force that makes us late for work, spurs us to complain about the bad weather we’re having, a force that even those with strongest wills seek shelter from.
So why, why did she play? That much was uncertain to me. She was fighting a losing battle with the spirit of a million souls, and she just kept fighting. I felt the rain hit against me, perhaps it was targeting that girl and her strong will much more so than I because I barely felt a thing and was only remorseful that it kept getting in my eyes and ears blocking my senses from observing and hearing such a momentous occasion. The clouds had congregated above the girl, as if she were a cartoon character going through a particular sad bout with their troubles. The rain kept raining and the girl kept playing note after note after note. I realised that 30 minutes had already passed, and I was still fixated and unable to muster even the will to retreat, you might say I was also fighting the rain, but my impact was so overshadowed by the mystical piano player I wouldn’t dare mention it- just who was that special girl playing in the rain?
The rendition stopped.