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Because of the constant dusk I didn't notice the flaws in the piano, the grayness of the keys, the chipped ivories. I didn't care that it was slightly out of tune. When Mr Wotyla played he blurred everything in a great wash of pedal. When I played he said, 'You're all hunched up. What are you afraid of? These keys won't snap your fingers off. The worst that will happen is a tiny wrong note. Pretend the audience isn't there. It's just you. Alone with the piano in a dark room. You and Chopin.'

None of the Wotyla children took piano lessons. Carole seemed to have the same vaguely contemptuous attitude toward Walter as her mother did. A hulking figure who supported them, ate a huge dinner and then retreated into his private domain behind the concert grand. He didn't seem to notice Carole except to remark how silly some of her preoccupations were, such as our constant singing of '26 miles across the sea/ Santa Catalina is awaiting for me. Santa Catalina, the island of romance, romance, romance romance!'

'One of these days I'm going to bury that thing,' he said, pointing at Carole's pink transistor.

Mr Wotyla asked me about my last report card. I said it was okay. 'What do you mean okay? What grades did you get?' 'Four As and a B.' 'You see?' he said, looking at Carole. 'It is possible.'

I was spending most of my free time at Carole's, and when I did go home, my house seemed like a vacant drafty place where the only noise at times was the hum of the Frigidaire. My younger brothers were seldom home, or they were on their beds, reading, an individual bowl of potato chips at each of their sides. It was what we all did between friends. Grandma was in her room with a dinner tray, watching TV with her double doors closed, my parents were sitting in the kitchen, at the linoleum table, which was the furthest point from Grandma they could have their drinks. They drank from thick tumblers nothing like the tall metallic glasses the Wotylas used on Friday, but crystal ones. I could if I chose eat a second dinner with my parents because they ate at eight thirty or nine. But I usually went upstairs to do homework or occasionally out to the alcove to practice piano. My parents never said 'where were you or why are you spending so much time with the Wotylas? Aren't you imposing on them?' I'd walk into the kitchen while they were having their drinks, and they wouldn't look at me, unless I did something like check the oven to see what was drying out in there, then my mother would say we're going to eat any second now. Occasionally, while we ate Dad might look at me blankly, start with recognition and say, 'Hey there, what do you know?'

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