t 'n t luoma

I think I went to close the cover that goes over the piano keys (you know, the piece of wood that flips up/down) which was fine except that my cell phone was partially resting on top of it. When the cover moved forward, it pulled my cell phone forward as well, except that the rest of it came off the top, it no longer had anything under it, so it did what Newton said it would do, it fell.

And by "fell" I mean it slid onto the cover that goes over the piano keys; specifically, it slid on the lovely and most likely hand-carved curved wood of the cover, and landed with a resoundingly dull and quiet thud.

Yes, my phone had found its way into that purgatory of space between the keyboard and the body of the piano. Like so many thousands, nay millions, of pencils which I suspect have suffered the same fate across the world over the years since pianos and rotating piano key covers were first invented, it was now resting where no piano-designer had ever anticipated anything resting.

The cover to the keyboard was able to fully close, but could no longer fully open.

Several thoughts went through my mind. A few of them were actually suitable for a sanctuary. A small sampling would include:

"What if the doctor's office calls?"

"Heck, what if someone calls during worship?"

"How in the world did that happen? I couldn't do that again if I tried."

The lovely and most likely hand-carved curved wood over the cover was designed to fit perfectly when closed. When opened, it was designed to tuck itself out of the way into the empty space -- or should I say "up until very recently empty space" -- the space which now contained a small but expensive and valuable piece of plastic and electronics.

Initial expectations that I might simply be able to open the piano and retrieve it were quickly dashed when I realized this neverland area was self-contained and apparently inaccessible from any other direction.

The only way that it was coming out was to reverse the path that sent it in. Of course, the path *in* had the assistance of gravity and a lovingly hand-carved curve. The path out had, as its only hope, the dexterity and nimbleness of my fingers. You should note that these are not equal teams squaring off against one another. The piano had a definite advantage.

I decided to open it half-way (is it half-opened or half-closed? Well, no time to think about such things) and see if I could reach it.

You may not have ever looked at my hands, but they are roughly the size of cornish game hens, at least when compared to the carefully and probably handcrafted area into which they were currently being squeezed in a valiant yet seemingly futile effort to retrieve my phone.

I cursed my parents for not having had a daughter. Had their 3rd child been a daughter, she probably would have either had longer and thinner fingers or who would have paid closer attention to music class in Junior High and would not find herself taking a remedial music class at the age of 31, when one can no longer hold any reasonable expectation that ones fingers will transform from squat sausage links into nimble expressions of God's own grace.

Then I wondered what I would do if my hands became stuck. What if I managed to pop one of the Sausage Twins back there, only to find myself inextricably (but not inexplicably) up to my wrist in a piano? The office was closed, with no one likely to arrive for at least 17 hours. I could always call for help, assuming that I could dial the phone while it was still in the piano. More likely, it seemed I might manage to sever one of those muscles on the back of the hand that controls the movement of the fingers, which would, it occurred to me, be a definite detriment towards learning to play the piano.

General Wrist announced a hasty retreat, and we stood there, my thoughts and me, trying to come up with a plan.

"I need some string, and maybe some tape, or gum, and I'll fish it out," said my inner-MacGyver.

"Yeah right," said my inner teenager, "because what you're really well known for is your manual dexterity. Isn't that what got us here in the first place?" Then she sighed, rolled her eyes, put on her headphones and went off to her room.

"What if I tipped the piano enough to have it slide.... wait, no that won't work... besides, what would that accomplish?"

"Does the key cover come off?" [fyi: no. There are no visible signs of how it is attached, at least none that I could see. That's the problem with these hand-crafted things. Hard to disassemble.]

"Who do I know who has really long, thin fingers?"

"Right, 'cause that's a phone call you really want to make: 'Hi, I've noticed you have long, thin fingers, could you fish my phone out of the piano?'"

"I wonder if I can lift it with just my index fingers, if I can get them far enough in and get it from either side."

Sounded like the best idea so far. Having rest the rest of the ideas thus far, you know it's not an overly impressive accomplishment, something like being called the "Best Boy Band at the Grammys" but it had potential.

I slid my hands back towards the Chasm of Cell Phone Doom (remember that I had to also keep the piano key cover door half open/closed). I could barely reach it. If only they were a little longer. (Item 4,138,578 to ask God: "Why did You put the long finger in the middle, rather than next to the thumb where it could be more useful for things like fishing cell phones out of pianos? Just curious, Signed, Me")

I was able to turn the phone so that I could touch the ends of each of the long side, and I slid it into what seemed like a better reacquisition position. I focused my attention, took a deep breath, let it out, and stretched my hands out as wide and as flat as they would go. I inched them closer to the gap, and slid them down. They had not actually reduced any in size, despite any Zen-like aspirations that they would, but I could feel the edges of the phone under my finger tips. I squeezed my hands further into the space, ignoring the at logical but fleeting thought that if you're going to get your hands stuck in a piano and be captive for 17 hours, at least go to the bathroom first. I was not to be denied, I pressed onward and upwards... well, actually, inward.

I lifted both fingers in a concerted effort to keep the phone balanced during its ascent. The wood refused to give, and dug deeper into the back of my hand, but I knew it wasn't going to get easier if I tried again, every so very slowly I lifted. Two fingers were followed by 4, now that I could reach it a little better, and at last I released the captive from the belly of the beast... or at least the side pocket of the beast.

A cheer went up from the assembled crowd of "Inner Dialogians" - even Inner MacGyver was impressed. Inner-Teenager said, "If you hadn't dropped it in there in the first place... whatever.." Don't mind her, it's just a phase.

Within 2 minutes, the phone rang (fortunately it didn't ring during the extraction, or it certainly would have been dropped). It was a message my music instructor, informing me that tonight's class had been cancelled.

You can't make this stuff up.

Actually, I'm relieved the class was cancelled, for entirely unrelated reasons, the day has just been very chaotic, and being given 3 hours this evening is quite a gift. However I don't think I'll use it to practice any more for today. The marks on the backs of my hands have finally faded, and from now on I'll know to just put the phone on the bench next to me.