The boy slipped through the heavy, double doors at the top end of the big room.
It was dark and quiet.
"Good," he thought. "No one here."
He quickly walked down the sloping aisle, past the rows of seats on either side, to the space in
front of the stage where the huge, black piano sat.
He slipped himself onto the bench, and ran his fingers over the gold letters.
Steinway & Sons.
He softly touched the chipped and scarred keys.
Then quietly he began to play a familiar tune.
The notes hung and reverberated in the air of the dark auditorium.
Quietly, he continued to play, switching to some chords that sounded almost Oriental.
He played.
Oh so quietly, he played for almost an hour, and when he knew that the loud bell would soon
be ringing and ending his time here, he began to play loudly.
Louder and louder, he played the old boogie woogie bass line and the sound leapt and filled the room.
He knew he would get caught. He always did.
And he knew he would have to hear the lectures and do the penance.
But that was later.
Right now he played.
And he smiled.