November 21, 2001
   When I see a piano, I can't help but play. Just imagining my fingers gliding over the keys sends an invigorating chill down my spine. I'll sit, close my eyes, and play. For hours I could play. No one bothered me. I was so in love with music, the piano, and everyone knew it.
   My brother's, Isaac and Zac, and I have been into music since we could talk. Toddler birthday presents were mini banjos and colorful keyboards. One day a brilliant idea just seemed to hit all three of us at the same time.
   "We want to start a band," Isaac told my dad. I'm sure that he looked at us in sheer bewilderment at first. A nine-year-old, seven-year-old, and four-year-old standing in front of him with toothless smiles and anticipating eyes didn't give him much of a thrill. But after a while, he realized that we really wanted it.
   Over time, we developed a sense for instruments, harmony, and song writing and began getting serious. Seven years later, our album, Hanson's Middle of Nowhere, was on the shelves in every city, state, providence, and country. We were blown away at how fast our dreams became reality. Seven years seemed like a few days.
   We hit number one on the charts, rising to be the most beloved boy band in the universe. Or so many fans had said. Zac was only eleven and girls were proposing to him! Instead of starting high school, I was touring the world. Instead of making his junior prom, Isaac was making the music for the occasion. Life was crazy and all of us enjoyed every minute.
   We made a live album, went on tour for that, and then a Christmas album was released. Afterwards, we laid low for a while to make another album. It turned out perfect and "This Time Around" blew away the fans. We went on tour for that, did some promotional TV work and radio shows and then decided to hide out again and go at it again.
   Well, our newest album is coming along great. We've been working hard with Michelle Branch and other surprise guests. Fans will be extremely pleased with this one. We've been in the studio in Florida for months on end. Zac's getting restless and Isaac's met some girl who's distracting him. I don't have much to bring me down so I have no reason to complain but a break did look very tantalizing.
   So, our dad and our manager, Chris, both agreed to give us two weeks to go our separate ways and then come back to finish the album. Zac, just recently issued his driver's license, took off to Orlando Studios with our thirteen-year-old sister, Jessica, six-year-old brother, Mackenzie and his best friend, Matt. Isaac and his girlfriend, Renae, flew to New York City to help campaign for the World Trade Center tower attack, now into its second month of work. And I didn't know what to do.
   The rest of my family were planning on an expensive resort in the Everglades and asked if I wanted to come. As relaxing as it sounded, I didn't think that was where I was supposed to be. So, I lagged behind and did some extra in the studio before I drove my car to anywhere.
   It was raining and thundering when I stopped at an old hotel somewhere in Georgia. I'd been driving all day. The hotel seemed deserted but a kindly old woman at the front desk prompted me to stay. She didn't say anything but the smile on her face gave me the benefit of a doubt that I should stay here.
   My room was on the first floor, with seven cable channels and hot water. A pizza parlor was next door and a bar across the street. I never cared much for beer. As I clutched the key in my hand, I barely looked up to see a door open displaying a beautiful ballroom.
   The grand piano across the polished floor, made me drop my things and I literally almost waltzed inside. I felt as if a million butterflies were prancing inside my stomach. The piano was closer now and I could feel the vibes. This is weird I know, but I was born for music.
   I sat at the soft cushioned bench, running my fingers over the dusty piano lid and gently lifted it up. Holding my breath, I began to play a soft melody. I didn't know what it was it just flowed. I closed my eyes and kept playing.
   It seemed like hours I played; though I knew it was hardly twenty minutes. I became lost in the music, the feel, the soul. I took a deep breath, let go of the last key and smiled gently, opening my eyes.
   I looked up only to see the smiling face of the old woman in the doorway. She slowly came toward me, hunched over. I could smell her perfume, as if it came straight from France. She had on light make-up and her white hair was pulled into a thick braid. She leaned against the piano and looked right into my eyes.
   "My husband died playing this piano. Night and day he sat here. At least so it seemed. He had written more than a million songs. Beautiful serenades about love, loss, and friendship. Even with his arthritis he played. Guests would dance in the lobby where the piano had been."
   "I laughed when he told me he wanted to build a ballroom. I thought he was a crazy old man. We barely had any guests, let alone enough to build an expensive ballroom. But he persisted and eventually I gave in. It was built in less than a year and he moved the piano to this very place. And he played. Non-stop. Needless to say, his music brought guests of all kinds to stay. Even the people who lived here would come to dance."
   "But then people began to fade away. Our annual income was at an ultimate low. But that didn't seem to bother Charles. No, he just kept on playing the piano. And the morning that the hotel was to be shut down, I found him at the piano, a smile on his face, head on the keys, eyes closed, and dead. He just died. Right there where you are sitting. Charles, the Piano Man, as he was often referred to, died playing the piano."
   I felt a small smile curl at the corners of his lips. What a story. Charles, this Piano Man, was a legend. And my new hero. As I sat there, dreaming, she placed her soft, wrinkled hand on my cheek.
   "He was such a handsome young man, like you. And I can see his talent in you. And his determination may just as well be the same as yours. His passion for the piano was strong. And I admire him for that."
   I smiled, gently and played a simple measure.
   "The Piano Man shall live on," I said. She smiled.
   "Oh, he really never died. At least not in this room. His soul still plays on. I can hear him sometimes in my sleep. And he plays my most favorite song," she said. Taking her hand, I gently led her to sit beside me.
   "What song would that be?" I asked. I liked this old woman.
   "Pachabel's Canon," she said. And without a word I began to play for her. A sweet, lovely melody as the Piano Man played through my fingers and settled into her heart.