Keyboard

She walked into the room. All seemed as it should, nothing changed, everything in its place. She dusted the books, moved on to the keyboard, accidently pushing a key. G she thought. He always started his pieces on a G. Just his thing she said out loud to nobody in particular. She put down her dust rag and, sitting at the keyboard, plunked out the first few notes of his last song, the unfinished one. The one they played at his funeral. The song whose words she could not hear when he wrote them. ©kcasady2014