I gently laid my hands onto the lid of something I knew not of. I felt guilty touching such a lovely crafted wooden lid with my grubby hands that had never touched something so wonderful and smooth. I looked around the room, making sure there was no one to see me, a street girl, in this old deserted clock tower. I lifted the lid, my whole being just wanting to know what was inside. My mouth opened in an awed o shape at the sight that lay in front of my bright blue eyes. The white reminded me of snow, and the black of my hair. They were all lined up in a long line, and I knew at once that I just had to touch them. I timidly stretched my hand out to touch a middle white piece. I didn’t know what would happen when I touched it. I had never seen one of these things. I closed my eyes, as I pushed down lightly.

The town people all looked up at the clock tower, as a merry sweet sound rang out. First the note was soft, and the town square was silent. Then the same note rang out again, louder and more confidant.

“Why that’s not the clock ringing, is it?” Said one simple dressed laundry women, going about doing her day to day errands.

“No, it isn’t!” said an elder of the church, looking up from his clock.

“Then wat is et, then?” Asked another lady.

“Why it’s, it’s the grand clock pi-”

“It can’t be!” Said an old man, sitting with a begging tin up against a wall.

“Oh but it is!” Cried another man excitedly.

The talking stopped after that as a different note rang out, much sweeter, higher and louder! And after that came another, and another!

I couldn’t stop, my hands started to do their own errands, as they swiftly and gently glided about the keys. And as they played their song, visions as a young child flew through my mind, all in a blur. Then my hands seemed to feel my uprising spirit and happiness, and I was soon playing a story through the keys. It was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life! The sounds rang out like the wind picking up. And they seemed to soar out the window like newly released birds. That was when I found what I think is called a pedal. I pushed it. The sounds seemed to collect them selves and then sound for longer, mingling together, and making rich music that would fill any lost wandering person with joy. It was like a story, at first cheery then sad, then finishing with wonderful sweet sounds. For how long I played, I do not remember. I then realized my hands slowing to a different beat, softer sounding. My fingers seemed to climb up the line. Higher and higher they climbed. When my finger was about to touch the very last note, I knew the song was about to end. I pressed it lightly, but held the pedal down. It sounded for a while, and then I released my foot from the pedal. It was over.

The people stood in the town square, captured by the beauty of the song. It was a while after the last note that people actually began to talk again. But this time, the talk was different. There was no shouting or arguing. It was as if the music had some effect on everyone that had heard it. And the only talk that went on afterwards for the next three hours was about the music.

I left the clock tower unnoticed (just as well) and then blended into the crowd. Everyone, I noticed, was talking about music. What music? I could not conceal my curiosity any longer. I walked boldly up to a man sitting up against a wall with a begging tin.

“If ya scuse me sir, wat on this bless’ ed erth is it that ever’in seems ta be talk’ in bout?” I asked him.

He turned his soft blue eyes upon me and answered with a smile that was missing three teeth.

“Why tis the music gal!” He replied.

“Wat music?” I asked confused. But as soon as I had asked, the thought struck me.

“Why aven’t yer eard?” He asked. His eyes twinkling. “There was music distinctively a’ comen from the ol clock tower!”

I turned pale and decided to play dumb.

“Oh, there was was there?”

“Sure was sweet eart!” He said.

I walked off quickly into the crowd. Everywhere I went people were talking about my music that I had played. Some people were mystified, and some thrilled, and others just took it for what it was and simply called it beautiful. I was at first troubled that I had actually been that loud. But slowly I began to feel good about what my music had done. It had hushed crying babies, it had stopped the street fights, and created a peaceful atmosphere in the town square.