Eggs were all over my front door. The white paint was wet with thick, yellow yolks that fell like tears. Broken shells stuck to the wood and crunched under my shoes as I got closer.
On my porch, there was trash all over the place, like crumpled paper, an empty drink can, and even a banana peel. When the smell hit me, I almost threw up. The smell of trash going bad mixed with raw eggs.
Right away, I put my hand to my nose and took a few steps toward the road to get a better look at what was going on. For a moment, I did nothing but stand there and stare in shock. Who would do this?
Why would someone do that? After that, I saw something. Broken eggshells made a thin path across the yard, over the flower bed I planted last spring, and all the way to Kevin’s porch.
As soon as I knew what that meant, my stomach dropped. Is it possible that he did this? Over the piano?
I wanted to think there was a mistake or a different reason. It might have been teens. It could have been a joke gone wrong.
But I knew the truth deep down. As the anger in my chest grew, I stood there for one more minute and just breathed. After putting my coffee cup on the porch railing, I slowly crossed the yard to Kevin’s door.
My heart was beating fast in my chest. I knocked three times with my hand up. I looked at the worn-out welcome mat under my feet as I stood on his porch.
My hands were shaking. The door finally opened after what seemed like a long time. Kevin held a coffee mug and stood there in jeans and an old t-shirt that were all wrinkly.
He looked like he was angry about the world right after getting out of bed. His face was blank, his eyes were tired, and his hair was a mess. “Kevin,” I said first.
“Do you know anything about what happened to my front door?”
He drank his coffee slowly. He didn’t even move. He just looked at me like I was worrying him over nothing.
Then, with just a little smile on his face, he said, “Yeah. I did it.”
I thought I had heard him wrong for a second. It was too much for my brain to handle.
“You threw eggs at my door?”
He gave a shrug. In fact, they smiled. As if it didn’t happen.
“Well, yeah. You play that piano every single day, and I’m sick of it. Maybe now you’ll finally get the message.”
My throat dried out and my chest got tight.
“You could’ve just talked to me!” I told you. “You could’ve knocked on my door and asked me to stop, or to play at a different time. I would’ve listened, Kevin.
I would’ve worked something out with you.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. There was still that smile. “Lady, I’m not gonna waste my time going door to door, asking people to behave.
This was quicker. Consider it a lesson. Trust me, you’ll remember it.”
Then he stepped back and slammed the door in my face without saying a word.
As I stood there, I couldn’t believe this man could throw eggs at my door and not feel bad about it. I slowly turned around and walked back to my house, being careful to avoid the broken shells and trash that were still lying on my porch. I could smell it again, and it made my stomach turn.
I got a bucket from the garage, put soapy water in it, and got down on my knees on the door steps. The rag felt rough and heavy in my hand as I began to scrub the door. The white paint had yellow lines all over it.
Shell pieces stuck to the wood like glue. As I scrubbed, tears began to fall from my eyes. Even though my front door and steps looked awful, I didn’t cry.
Someone could be so mean about something as harmless as a piano and a song I played to remember my husband. It made me cry. As I tried to get myself together, I kept cleaning and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
After that, I heard a car pull into the driveway. When I looked up, my daughter Sarah was getting out of her car. She had a bag of groceries in her hand and was smiling.
It had been a week since she said she would be coming to visit today, but I had forgotten all about it. When she saw me, her smile went away. She ran over and dropped the bag on the ground.
“Mom? What on earth happened here?”
I felt bad as I tried to stand up. I pushed a piece of hair out of my face and tried to smile.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s nothing. Just a little mess I need to clean up.”
First she looked at the door, then the bucket, and finally at me. In less than two seconds, her face went from being confused to being angry.
“That’s not nothing. Someone threw eggs at your house!”
I let out a sigh and waved it off. “It’s fine, Sarah.
Really. It’s over now.”
She didn’t believe it, though. She got on her knees next to me and looked at my face.
“Mom. Tell me who did this.”
I was unsure. I didn’t want to make things worse.
I didn’t want trouble. But Sarah had that look on her face when she knows I’m not telling her the truth. That’s what I told her.
She heard about Kevin and how much he hated it when I played the piano. I told her how he admitted it with no remorse and then slammed the door in my face. She just looked at me for a long time.
“He did what?”
I tried to stop her, but she got up, took her phone out of her pocket, and walked down the street. “Sarah, wait—”
“You sit down, Mom. I’ll take care of this.”
After that, she was gone.
From the window in my kitchen, I saw Sarah start to knock on doors. First she talked to Mrs. Miller, then George across the street, and finally the Johnsons.
As she talked about what happened, her hands flew around. Lots of people stood on their steps, shook their heads, and looked at Kevin’s house. After a short time, Sarah came back inside.
She was out of breath but determined. “Mom,” she said, her voice strong, “everyone is furious. Do you know what most of them told me?
Your piano doesn’t disturb them at all. If anything, they enjoy the soft tunes you play.”
I asked, “Really?”
She said yes. “Mrs.
Miller said your music reminds her of her mother. She actually loves hearing it. George across the street?
He told me his kids fall asleep more easily when you play. And Mr. Robinson opens his window every afternoon just to listen to you.”
My chest got tight.
I felt bad about myself all morning, like I did something wrong. All of a sudden, I felt like I was seen. Sarah put her arms around herself.
“So no, Mom. You’re not the problem here. He is.”
I could hear people talking from the outside.
I went back to the window and saw people standing on the curb next to me. They waved at me and said something nice to cheer me up. “We love your music, Martha!”
“Don’t let that grump get to you!”
After that, George smiled and said something funny.
“You know what? Maybe it’s time we show Kevin what loud really sounds like.”
At first, everyone laughed. But then, one by one, they began to nod.
Mrs. Miller said she still had her old college guitar. Her husband said he would get his harmonica out.
“I’ve got my drum set!” yelled Little Ben from next door. Sarah smiled at me with a sly look on her face. “Mom, you might want to make some room on the porch.
The neighborhood orchestra’s about to have its first performance.”
It made me laugh. It seemed impossible after such a bad morning, but now everything was different. There was now love where there had been shame.
It was no longer cruel where there was togetherness. Right then, the quiet street where I had felt so small started to come alive again. After our last-minute street show, things went back to normal in the area after a few days.
Kids rode their bikes, dogs barked, and far away, sprinklers hissed. One thing had stayed the same, though. Since then, I hadn’t seen Kevin.
His car didn’t move, his blinds stayed shut, and his house was dead quiet. Then, one afternoon as I was watering my flowers, I heard someone walking on the dirt path. He was there when I turned around.
Kevin stood by the fence with his hands in his pockets and an awkward look on his face. He didn’t have a coffee mug with him this time. A small brown bag.
He said in a low voice, “Mrs. Turner.”
I gave a nod and waited. “I came to apologize.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment.
His face turned red as he moved on his feet. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was childish and cruel.
I don’t know what had gotten into me.” He exhaled heavily. “If I damaged your door or your porch, I’ll pay to fix it. Or I can do the work myself, if you’d prefer.”
I smiled at him a little.
“Thank you, Kevin. That means a lot. The door’s fine now.
I already cleaned it up.”
He looked at the ground and nodded. “Good. I, uh, I heard you playing the other day.
It’s actually nice. Peaceful.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m glad you think so.
I promise I’ll keep my concerts short.”
He was happy about that. Once more, he waved and turned around to go back to his house. His shoulders were a little less heavy than before.
A short time later, I went back inside, sat down at George’s old piano, and played the keys again. The warm, golden light of late afternoon came in through the window and danced on the ivory. And as I played “Moon River,” I understood a simple but true truth.
Even the hardest hearts need a tune every once in a while to remember how to be human again.
