There was a piano near our departure gate. I sat outside Starbucks, while we waited for our flight and to people watch. Sal had gone to queue.
While I was waiting, three teenagers approached the piano for a laugh. Two were egging on a third to sit down and bang the keys. I was curious to see if the lad had any ability. Perhaps he could knock out a one finger tune or even chopsticks. The youth sat with a cocky grin. One of the others raised his phone to video the joke and I sighed.
Sal returned with two paper cups and, like me, was looking over.
“That’s brave,” she said, placing the cups on the sticky table. She sat down and took out her phone. “Got to get this.” With that, she too began to video.
Predictably the performance was nothing more than a lark.
“Priceless,” said Sal half to herself and she fiddled with her phone lost to a text message. I glanced at my cup but the grey-brown ‘soup’ failed me. The boys had already drifted off with a shove and a snigger. I looked about vaguely and, a little bored, decided to try my flat white after all.
But I stopped, because there was suddenly this young woman, about twenty or so, standing at the piano. She sat down with calm confidence and she began to play. And boy could she play. She played beautifully, in fact. Some passengers stopped to listen or to watch. It wasn’t a recital but it worked a little magic that ended as it had begun: with gentle self-assurance. The girl stood up. She paused to look at the departures board and I watched her then wander away, melting into the crowd.
“That girl could really play,” I said. “I think it was Chopin.”
Sal looked up dully.
“You didn’t video it?” I asked.
Sal lowered her phone and reached for her coffee. She shook her head.
“No one likes a smart arse,” she said.
“Really?”
She looked at me like I wasn’t getting it. “Just a showoff. You know what I mean?”
I looked down and felt lost. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”
Sal shrugged and returned to her phone. “Whatever.”