December Rain

Peter always loved the sound of the rain. As a child he lived in a house with huge, wide windows. Whenever it rained, he would climb the chair next to the window to watch the rain and to place his ears against the windows so he could listen.

Today, it was raining when he woke up. He had fallen asleep on the couch by the piano. He walked towards the window, watching the rain paint gentle slashes across the window glass. He made a circle to wipe away the window fog, and pressed his ears up against the window. He couldn’t hear anything this time. He tried listening again, even more intently. Not a sound. In disbelief, he pushed open the window, stepped onto the window ledge and leaped out. He felt himself lifted up; he was floating upwards towards the sky, through the soft clouds. Once above the clouds, he found himself drifting through the foggy air towards a distant but distinct figure. He couldn’t quite figure out who he was. Then, he saw it was Igor Stravinsky, a young Stravinsky in his thirties.

Peter was stumped for words. He stood in front of the great maestro Stravinsky; staring blankly at him. Stravinsky shot him a firm and steady gaze and said,” Let’s play.”

Peter opens his eyes. It is raining. He had fallen asleep on the couch by the piano. He walks towards the window, watching the rain paint with slashes of water across the window glass. He makes a circle to wipe away the window fog, and presses his ears up against the window. And he can hear Stravinsky orchestrating the rain, first a gentle rhythm, then a rapid change with the rain beating down hard on the pavement, followed by staccato raindrops falling from the eaves onto the metallic top of the car below. He smiles a smile of relief; he sits down on his piano and starts playing frantically on the piano again, infused with newfound passion. He will be ready for his comeback performance as concert pianist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. 

It had better rain that day, because then he would know Stravinsky's listening.