The Senior Prodigy

Herbert always longed to perform on the classical stage. As a child, he took up the violin. When the neighbors petitioned him to stop, he retorted: "fiddlesticks," but an ordinance was adopted banning his noise and that was that. Now, in late middle age,- or early late age-, he took up the piano. Like one who sets aside an unsolvable crossword puzzle to try again later, thinking that the brain will magically increase in aptitude over time, Herbert thought he could now become a musical wunderkind.

The problem was that he was he was digitally -challenged. He could never play the notes fast enough to keep up with the metronome, no matter how slow he set it. Scales and exercises he practiced for hours a day, but to no avail. Even largo was presto to him. Sometimes, just to triumph over that metronome, he would skip to the last measure of a musical score and wait for the metronome to catch up to him for once. His pet minor bird, and well-known rapper, Trill The Thrill, a/k/a "T-Cubed," would mock him mercilessly about his musical ineptitude, calling him "Ponce," short for Ponce de Leon, meaning, of course, that he played so slowly that time stood still and people no longer aged. And his cats became so non-plussed (pussed?) whenever Herbert played, they temporarily would cease their ongoing furniture deconstruction projects.

Still, the fantasy of performing on stage persisted. What Herbert longed to do most of all was perform at Carnegie Hall. Oh, the Glory! The appearance in the great Hall wearing tails, the bow to the audience, the careful adjustment of the piano seat, the slight hesitation before playing, with drama and expectation increasing, and then the stellar performance, followed by thunderous applause and many many encores.

One day, T-Cubed hopped from her cage onto the piano and knocked ,- or rather, pecked,- - out a stirring rendition of a ragtime piece Herbert was trying unsuccessfully to play and she did so in perfect syncopated time. This was the frozen limit! Herbert leaped at the aggravating avian with the intent to strangle it, but he missed and violently bumped his head on the piano bench. A huge bruise erupted above his temple. Unfortunately, it was after 5 PM, so no doctor was available. He did not want to go to the hospital emergency room, fearing that all the doctors, nurses and staff will be singing. Thinking a bump on the noggin was the same for any animal, Herbert went to a homeopathic veterinarian instead, who prescribed some very strange medicinal brew for him to swallow.

Then a most wondrous thing happened. His body underwent a metamorphosis. Ectoplasm rushed into his head, causing it to enlarge and bursting his E-collar. At the piano he found that he could now play the most demanding musical pieces with complete ease and digital dexterity AND in absolutely perfect rhythm! Soon word of his piano forte spread. Concerts were booked and performed to critical acclaim. A performance of the most difficult Lizst or Chopin etude was but a waltz in the park for him. He became known on the concert circuit as, "the Senior Prodigy." At the fast-clipped pace of a Souzian march, he had conquered the music world and now realized his ultimate dream: Carnegie Hall.

At first, the concert promoters balked when Herbert, in a sarcastic nod to Horowitz, had insisted on playing only on a Sunday afternoon at 3:21 P.M. and on using his spinet piano. However, such was his fame, that Herbert got his way. At 3.21P.M, sharp, on the appointed day, Herbert sauntered onto the stage of the Carnegie Hall to a SRO audience, with T-Cubed atop his shoulder. Rather full of himself, and feeling seized by feelings of generosity and grandiosity, Herbert turned to the audience as he approached the piano and announced that after the performance he would be deeply honored if everyone joined him at the Carnegie Deli where there would be "corned-beef sandwiches for everyone on me." This caused quite an enthusiastic stir.

Encouraged by this, and wanting to please even more with another dramatic gesture, Herbert proceeded to spin his piano seat and jump onto it, planning to spin himself around many times at breakneck speed and then go right into his first number as the piano stool came to rest. But alas, he fell off the seat and once again banged his head.

With this new bonk on the head, all that wonderful ectoplasm left his brain and vaporized, along with his playing skills. All he could muster after this catastrophe was a very very slow version of "Lightly Row." Thoroughly disgusted, T-Cubed flew away into the night, never to be heard from again, although there was talk of a cd-label deal for her. Naturally enough, the audience flew the coop too. Hoping to salvage something of the day, Herbert went over to the Carnegie Deli expecting to be comforted by at least some commiserating audience members, only to be handed a $5000 bill by the maitre de for all the take-out sandwiches.

Alone in his flat later that night, Herbert reflected philosophically about the events of the day. No sense being mordant, he thought, for, after all, he did get to take home dozens of corned beef sandwiches. After consuming a bunch of them he fell asleep blissfully, leaving on his night table his To Do list for the next day: (1) buy submissive pet fish (2) make appt. with vet (3) bang head hard on wall.