WHY I DON’T PLAY THE PIANO PART 2

Let me pick up where I left off.  I wanted to play the piano really bad like I
told you in part 1, right?  

My pianist
Aunt Rose swore my fingers are made for the piano and promised to pay for my piano
lessons.

And she did. 

So, cut to my first piano lesson (or my almost first piano
lesson).

In my old all-girl school, we have a music room where the
stern, Belgian nuns teach piano.

You climb the tiny wooden staircase that goes forever to the
attic. 

Then you enter a tiny door and lo and behold, the music
room.

(the pianos kind of looked like this)

Now, you see, my school is old.  Really old.

It has a beautiful lawn with a tiny man-made
cave on the side, with a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes and below it is a cross in memory of nuns who died in World War II when the Japanese carpet-bombed the city, including the Baguio Cathedral and the convent (which is beside the school).

It is a school full of creepy urban legends.

Like the creepy, life-sized statue of St. Maria De Goretti
in the school library whose eyes seem to follow you and who reportedly roams
the school grounds after dark.

And so, when I proudly told my best friend I was going to
have my first piano lesson, she told me, “But a classmate says there is a skull
on top of the piano!  It is supposed to
watch you if ‘Sister’ won’t be around.”

I thought, “Nah, maybe she is just jealous…”, but when I
looked into her eyes, I knew she was serious!

You might want to read Part 1!