In her high school years Michelle had lived in the apartment across from the piano room with her mother.  Four years later she was still in Greendale apartments and now resided just above her lovely piano and its pianist.  Michelle attended the same school as the boy.  She knew that he was in foster care but knew nothing else of his background.  The times they had gotten to chat never seemed to approach that subject and she never pushed, wanting to be sensitive.  They attended few classes together and so seldom had the chance to speak and get acquainted.  Though, the times that they had, had been very pleasant and Michelle developed a kind of distant affection towards the boy.  After she discovered it was the same boy that came to practice by her apartments, she was delighted. 

            Every Sunday he came and played piano.  When she had lived across the street she would listen to him play by propping up her window.  She lied on her bed, arms against her pillows just listening, for what seemed hours.  Sometimes when she had escaped into the music, a faraway orchestra seemed to become almost audible, and Michelle was at first perplexed yet intrigued. 

She found herself looking forward to those Sunday mornings in which she could hear her lovely pianist.  He always walked from the woods that lead to the neighboring apartments.  At times, when she was up early enough, she caught him peering over the bridge that connected the sleek black pavement to the woods.  She could see his tall and lanky figure leaning against the railing supports.  As he stood, soft black hair swept across his thin angular face.  He sometimes lingered on the bridge a while, simply enjoying the temperate weather.  The boy dressed casually but he stood with such an erect posture and kept such a steady gait that he could have been a noble prince.  Who knew, perhaps he was. 

The lobby where the piano dwelled contained nothing special.  There stood a large sofa, a bulletin board and a table accompanied by a few chairs.  Of course, the piano was there as well.  Though the room was not special by itself, the moment his fingers touched the keys, the room seemed to shimmer with a kind of ethereal glow.  When Michelle listened, the world around her would dissolve and she would allow herself to be carried away by the melodious tide.  Each piece a multitude of emotions, smoothly going up and down like the waves. 

One bright Sunday afternoon, Michelle decided to go out and continue her painting that she had started the weekend before.  Upon completing her schoolwork while listening to the lovely music emitting from the floor below, she shouldered on a light jacket, grabbed her paint bag and leisurely made her way downstairs.  Soon the music filled her ears and mind.  She allowed herself to drift for a moment into the music before continuing outside.  She caught a glimpse of the piano and its player through the hallway.  A friendly nod from him and a shy wave and smile from Michelle were all that was exchanged as he continued his playing.  The suction sound of the main door announced its closing and was a prelude to the faint hum of the piano inside.  Walking into the brisk fall air she thought she heard the distant orchestra playing and gave a contented sight.  After a number of years, Michelle had grown accustomed to hearing the little orchestra.  She no longer questioned it, but she still knew that there was something magical about the piano, or perhaps the pianist. 

As she walked along the well-traversed path towards the meadow, Michelle noticed the leaves were just beginning to turn.  Though many others had been there before, it still felt like the meadow was her own little haven.  Standing at the lip of the meadow allowed the viewer to behold a most breath taking sight.  A great expanse of woods lay beyond the meadow, and by night the gentle twinkle of city lights lay beyond the woods.  It seemed quite impossible that such an unruffled and wild place should be next to the suburban Greendale apartments, but it was there nonetheless.  Years before, a well to do, nature lover had funded the money to preserve the haven, and so the meadow had remained untouched for 70 years.  Michelle settled herself down in a crunchy pillow of leaves facing the magnificent oak tree that resided in the meadow and that was her most recent subject.  Mindlessly taking out her paints, she studied the tree with its great boughs and intricate layers of foliage.  Gradually she lost herself in her paints, she later thought she could hear the distant orchestra that was always around her lovely pianist.  Maybe I’m going crazy, she thought to herself.  Well, a very pretty place to lose my sanity. 

After some time she became aware of a presence behind her.  She finished one last stroke and turned her head to look behind her.  The orchestra faded out and she gave a short cry of surprise to see the boy standing there smiling reassuringly.  Quickly recovering herself, she nodded at him and said hello. 

“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s ok, you did startle me a bit, though.”

“I was just going home when I thought I’d say hi on my way.  I haven’t really seen you about since high school and I was wondering where you disappeared off to with your canvas and paints all the time.”

“Well, I just come here to paint, its not like I’m any good really, its just fun and something to do.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the painting and said, “May I?”

“Oh, sure.”  And Michelle stepped to the side. 

“Wow…it’s just so vivid, how can you call this just something to do?  This should be called art.”

“You really think so?  I mean, I’m only a beginner and all; real art is the work of famous people and people that aren’t anything like me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, I believe art can come from anyone, and by the looks of it, I’d say you’re definitely an artist.”

The pianist tested the ground with his long slender fingers before shifting his weight and settling onto the ground.  His loose button-down shirt brushed lightly against the ground. 

“So what other things do you do other than art?”

Michelle thought it was funny how he could all of a sudden show up and act so comfortable.  She halted a second, but he just looked so friendly sitting there, she couldn’t help but smile.  She decided to follow this amusing series of events and sat down next to her painting. 

“Well for one thing, I love being outside…”

            Throughout the next few weeks Michelle talked with him on numerous occasions.  They spent long meandering hours bundled up walking in the part or sitting by the piano talking and laughing together.  Sometimes she just sat and listened to his playing.  Now that she felt more welcome to enter the piano room she could get the full volume of his music and it was even more enchanting.  The distant orchestra resounded more clearly when she was nearer the piano, or perhaps when she was nearer the boy.  Either way it was simply magical. 

            One Sunday morning Michelle went on a walk with her usual company.  They began to walk, arm in arm, through the serene park.  Great fluttering masses of glittering leaves gently floated down from the trees, and a fiery layer covered the ground. 

            A month or two had passed since their encounter in Michelle’s meadow.  She decided, for once, that today she would approach the subject of his past.  Michelle felt almost selfish in respect to their past conversations; they had almost always talked about her.  Or more specifically, they never spoke of him.  She wanted to repay his kindness of listening and supportiveness.  These last weeks, Michelle had felt more confident in her art than ever before; she had even entered one of her paintings into a gallery and been accepted.  He had told her that all this energy for art had been in her long ago; she just needed to release it.  Despite all this, Michelle still knew that without him, she would never have discovered how wonderful it was to feel good about her art, and in turn herself.  Slowly she transitioned to thinking of him.  She really didn’t know much about his, or at least not much about where he came from.  She was familiar with him and his personality, beliefs, and interests. 

They spoke a while more about a new class that Michelle had switched into at school.  A moment of silence passed over the two. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked her. 

“I guess I was just wondering about you, and where you came from.  I just don’t know much about you, other than you were in foster care.  How was that anyway…being in foster care?”

“Not easy.”

“I mean, if you don’t feel like talking about it, that’s totally fine.”

He took a breath and then said, “I know this is going to sound weird...but I really don’t know anything about where I came from.  All I know is that I just sort of showed up as a baby at the police station, completely safe, wrapped in a towel.  I’ve grown up in the foster system ever since.  I never got adopted because I used to act up a lot when people would come and see me.”

“But there’s nothing else to your past?  No clues, or people out there trying to find where you’re from?”

“Nope, for all I know I’m just some alien dropped down from the heavens.” 

Michelle laughed; she could see he was trying to make things lighter.  She hope she wasn’t making things too uncomfortable for him.”

“Is it hard for you?  Not knowing where you came from, and not having grown up like most other kids?”

“Sometimes I think about it a lot.  And yes, I do wish that I could have experienced being loved and doted over.  I used to wish that my parents would come someday and open up a whole new world to me.  Just take to me away and I’d escape from my life of moving about from home to home.”

“That must be hard,” sympathized Michelle.

“Yeah, sometimes I still think of going out there and searching for them….”

Michelle was a little surprised to look up and find that their steps had lead them to the front of her apartment. 

“I should be heading home, it’s about lunch time for me.”

“Yes, same here.  It was nice walking with you though.”

“Thank you for the wonderful afternoon ... I guess I’ll see you later then.”

Michelle gave him a fleeting hug, and went inside.  After waving through the glass at him, she made her way upstairs.  Inside, she shed her coat, the warm room welcomed her.  She pondered a few moments on how mysterious the boy still was to her before fixing up a quick lunch and for the remainder of the afternoon she decided to snuggle up with a good book.  Life for the moment had an at ease feel, yet, as usual, it was always full of unanswered questions. 

            Monday morning came around, Michelle yawned as the alarm clock whined at her from across the room.  Getting out of bed, she slumped across the room and switched off the alarm.  Half an hour later after completing her habitual morning chores, Michelle grabbed her backpack, keys, and jacket, and headed for the door.  Through her window she could see an unsettling wind blowing through the trees, picking up leaves off the ground.  Before she opened her door she felt a draft through the door, dreading the chill she knew would accompany her walk to school.  She shouldered her jacket a little higher and opened the door.  As she stepped outside a white sheet of paper caught her eye and she turned around to get a better look.  Michelle reached out taking down the little envelope that was taped to her door.  Puzzled, she opened it and began to read.  As she read, she let out a little cry and sank to the floor, still reading.  The letter read:

Dear Michelle,

Last night I had the strangest dream I’ve ever had before…  So, I’ve dreamt in the past about meeting my parents.  But always, right before I meet them, something happens and I never actually meet them.  This has happened to me countless times.  I realize now, I haven’t actually had any of these dreams since I started talking to you this fall down in the meadow.  But last night, for the first time in a while, I had another one of those dreams, except this time I actually met them!  The experience was overwhelming and real; I remember every moment of it.  I feel like that was my cue to take action, I need to find where I was from, without it I feel so incomplete.  Thank you for reminding me of what I need to do.  You’ve been so kind to me that I couldn’t leave without telling you.  I know this sounds totally ridiculous, and maybe a little crazy, but I’m taking a train today and I have some money saved up, and I think this can really work.  Even if I don’t find them, I’ll learn something of the world and like they say, it’s the thought that counts.  These past months have been absolutely terrific getting to know you.  I hope you keep up your amazing painting skills.  And make sure you take care of that piano for me!  Goodbye for now…

~Your Pianist~

Michelle read over the letter again, incomprehensive to the rest of the letter, she could only read, “Thank you for reminding me of what I need to do…I’m taking a train today.”  She thought to herself, how could he have done this?  No…no, it must be a big joke or something.  As Michelle took the bus to the train station, the letter stayed clutched in her cold, sweaty hand. 

The train station bustled with people, and she kept looking, expecting to see his soothing brown eyes smiling at her.  She willed him to tap her on the shoulder ending this eternal agony of waiting, but it never came.  Michelle didn’t go to school that day, she just went to her meadow and painted, completely stunned.  Every Sunday there after the piano remained untouched.  The apartment lobby remained quiet except for the passing of people, and dust began collecting on the keys of the piano.  The pianist was never again seen in the Greendale apartments, but sometimes while Michelle painted in her meadow and the wind blew just right, she could still hear that faint orchestra playing for her.