He sits at the piano every night and plays when I go up to bed. He starts with loud, crashing pieces – The Tempest, Pictures at an Exhibition – so that the huge sounds he likes to make come as I'm washing. Then when I’m in bed reading, he moves to quieter pieces: Bach, Satie. No more pounding of keys to excite my heart, no thrilling arpeggios moving along my spine, but soft melodies floating up the stairs into the bedroom, falling over my shoulders, stroking my hair, kissing my ears, leaving me full – just the way I like it.
Judith Lysaker lives in Indiana where she loves to bike in the local park. When she’s not writing or biking, she can be found exploring her latest culinary obsession, or rearranging her city backyard. She and her husband dote on their dog, who likes cucumbers in the evening.