My Story

In Matches in the Gas Tank, I wrote of my upbringing as the child of a fifth-grade educated alcoholic pyromaniac who took the family into a cult when I was three months old and of my unquenchable ambition after escaping at 17. Giving voice to the history that created my pain and feelings of unworthiness was cathartic but I do not want it to define me. I have more, much more, to say beyond stories of childhood deprivation, adult achievement and overcoming the loss of much that I held dear.     

An artist uses life's experiences to create - sometimes with words, sometimes with paint, sometimes with sound. If those works simply mirrored actual experience all paintings would look like photographs and all writing would be memoir. Instead of telling you who I am, I'll let Lily's story do it for me.     

 

Lily and the Black Keys 

 Lily was crazy about the piano.

At two, she banged the keys with her fists.

At four, her tiny fingers touched one … at … a … time.

At six, her hands pressed the white ones to make sweet sound.

 

Go outside and play, said her mother.

Lily shook her head and put her thumb on middle C.

I must practice.

I cannot play the black keys until I know all about the white ones.

 

Now when Lily made up her mind to do something, nothing stopped her.

Not the look that grown-ups give kids when they think they are being silly.

Not her friend Ruthie telling her that she was a little strange.

Not the man next door who said, You will never amount to anything.

 

She was not afraid to be different.

She wore her princess skirt with cowboy boots.

She put paste on her cheeks and covered it with glitter.

She liked math.

 

While everyone else played Barbies and Legos and video games, Lily played the piano.

And when she played, she floated in the clouds.

She did not see the cracks in the walls or the peeling paint or the stained carpet.

Everything was beautiful.

 

By the time her legs grew long enough for her feet to reach the pedals,

She was making music from the black keys and the white keys.

People came to listen.

For a few minutes, they forgot the things that made them sad.

 

Lily loved pieces that were fast and loud and had many notes.

Her hands flew from one end of the keyboard to the other.

The sounds from the black keys made her feel strong and brave.

They drowned out the things she did not want to hear.

.

One night her mother woke her up.

Hurry, she said. We must leave now.

Not without my piano, said Lily.

I am sorry, said her mother. It is not safe here and we must go.

 

She and her mother and her brothers went far away.

To a place where they had no friends.

To a place where they did not have enough money to buy good food.

To a place where she had to wear the same dress to school every day.

 

Lily missed her piano more than anything.

Each day after classes were over, she slipped into the school auditorium to practice.

She played ever … so … quietly but one day a nosy teacher stuck her head inside.

This area is off-limits, she said with a snarl. Go home.

 

She walked to the church down the street but its doors were locked.

She took a bus to a grand hall but the lady there sent her away.

She rode the subway to a place that smelled like beer but the man said she couldn’t come in.

Nobody would let Lily play their piano.

 

When her mother turned on the radio, she put her hands over her ears.

I cannot bear to hear what I cannot play, she said.

When Lily made up her mind to do something, nothing stopped her.

She replaced sweet sound with silence.

 

Without music, the world was dull and gray.

Lily hurt inside.

But she was strong and brave.

She made a new life.

 

Lily grew up to amount to something.

She had a big office in a building that reached into the clouds.

Her home was filled with things that were too expensive to touch.

Important people said, Hello, Lily.

 

But all alone in her fine house, tears ran down her cheeks.

She felt sad and lonely and empty inside.

She only wore black and navy blue.

She missed the little girl who had dared to be different.

 

She thought about how her hands had felt racing up and down the keys.

She remembered how her heart had felt full, as if it were too big for her body.

Her face lit into a smile.  

She could buy her own piano.

 

She sat in front of the keys looking at sheets of music she had once played.

The notes looked like silly squiggles.

Her fingers touched the keys and made an awful noise.

Do not fret, said the teacher. Start with the white keys.

 

Lily practiced and practiced every day.

Before long she was playing the white keys and the black keys.

She wore a pink dress to work. And a purple one. And a red one.

She covered her walls with colorful pictures.

 

You have changed, everybody said.

Music helped me remember the part of me I forgot, she answered.

How can that be? they asked.

Come to my house and hear me play, said Lily.

 

They sat on the couch that no one ever sat on.

When there was no more space, they brought the chairs from the dining room.

When there was no more space, they put pillows on the floor.

When there was no more space, they stood around the piano.

 

Lily wore a princess dress and cowboy boots and glitter on her eyelids.

She pulled her bench close to the keyboard.

She set her feet on the pedals.

And she began to play.

.

People who had forgotten how to laugh, laughed.

People who had forgotten how to clap their hands, clapped their hands.

People who had forgotten how to cry, cried.

When Lily finished, they cheered and begged for more.

 

When Lily made up her mind to do something, nothing stopped her.

Not even the friends who said, Lily, you have lost your mind.

She was strong and brave.

She left her job in the tall building.

 

Now all she does is play the piano.

Sometimes there are people who listen to her music. Sometimes she plays just for herself.

It does not matter.

Everything is beautiful.

View Carla's Professional Resume

 

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