Big Hands, Small Hands(Carlos Salinas) The funeral had been a week ago and David still felt as if his world had ended. Nothing made sense or mattered; school was a drawn out lecture in a language he didn’t care to understand, his friends were just bothersome, and everything he cared about before seemed pointless.

His grandfather approached him one evening when he was staring blankly out of the window.
“I know you miss your mom, I miss my daughter, I want you know that life goes on, and you can be happy again.”
David’s eyes watered from both grief and fury. Why would I feel happy again? I lost the most important person in my life. And why isn’t Grandpa sadder than he is? The guilt from the thought of smiling, regardless of how long after the funeral it was, was a terrible weight to carry, especially on the shoulders of a 10-year-old boy.
“I have an idea of what may help ease your pain,” his grandfather said as he sat at the piano. David had seen him tuning it earlier that week. “The soothing sound and feeling of playing will help distract your mind and soothe your heart.”
David did not want to be disrespectful, as his mother always told him to mind his manners. He sat next to his grandfather on the bench, watching as the old man’s fingers danced effortlessly over the keys.
After a short demonstration, the grandfather asked him to imitate his finger movements. David grew frustrated after failing for the fifth time.
“I can’t—I can’t!” David cried helplessly.
“Sure you can, just keep trying.”
“I don’t want to. My hands are too small; you can do it because you have big hands!”
The grandfather sat there looking at the keys and thinking about David’s frustration. “You know, a few years ago I had a little girl who wanted to learn piano but always complained that her hands were too small. After hours and hours of practice she was finally able to do that little thing I just showed you. If she can, you can, too,” he smiled.
Frustrated, David shot up from the piano bench and ran out to ride his bike down the street. He left in such a hurry and pedaled so fast that the driver had no time to react and swerve out of the way. The small car collided with David’s bike and sent the small boy flying for several feet.



II

The bright white light pierced David’s eyes when he awoke. He heard beeping, plastic objects being moved around, and people speaking indistinctly. Finally a nurse walked over to him and looked down on him.
“You’re going to be fine, but you gave us quite a scare,” she spoke softly and in a sweet tone.
“What happened?” David only remembered the piano lesson and being on his bike.
“You had an accident on your bike, but you will be fine. Just a small fracture in your ulna, but it will heal very quickly because you are so young. You’ll be playing baseball in no time.”
“I don’t play baseball.”
“Well, what do you do?”
“I don’t like sports, really. My grandfather wants me to learn piano.”
“I love playing the piano; it’s very calming,” she spoke as she checked his injured arm. “A long time ago, I had a great teacher for piano; he’s the reason I can play well. He never gave up on me even though I always told him that I couldn’t play because my hands were too small.”

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