There was the Christmas we got the blue organ; my mother, like all of her siblings and most of my cousins, had taken piano lessons, but we hadn’t yet ours. I remember playing it, poking it. Turning it on and the hum through my fingers, invading my ears; the minute or two it took just to warm up. It sat in the corner of the living room a long time, and then quietly disappeared. Where did it go?
It was there and as suddenly, gone. Or did it linger for years catching dust, simply falling out of my recollection through months of disuse?
house: a (tiny) memoir
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