When My Granddaughter Found Out The Message My Neighbors Left, She Taught Them A Lesson

My final connection to my departed spouse was the music I performed on my piano. But a nasty note left on my wall by ungrateful neighbors dashed that happiness. My granddaughter put things right after learning about it, leaving those conceited neighbors scratching their heads.

“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I inquired quietly, my fingers lifting from the ivory piano keys as the concluding notes of “Clair de Lune” filled my comfortable living room. I stared at the framed picture of Jerry, my late husband. His loving eyes appeared to sparkle in return, as they had done for more than half of our marriage.

My tabby cat, Willie, was curled up next to me and purred happily. I gingerly lifted Jerry’s portrait and felt the old sorrow in my chest as I reached down to scratch behind his ears.

“Darling, I miss you so much. Even though it has been five years, there are moments when it seems like yesterday.”

I gave the chilly glass a soft kiss and mumbled, “It’s dinnertime, my darling. Before you go to bed, I’ll play your favorite song. Like usual, Moon River.”

I could practically hear Jerry laughing warmly as I put the frame back down. He would say, “You spoil me, Bessie,” with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

I padded over to the kitchen, stopping to glance back at the piano—my faithful friend for the last seventy-two years.

“What would I do without you?” As I ran my fingertips over its shiny surface, I whispered.

I said, “Goodnight, Jerry,” as I laid in bed that night and muttered into the night. “I’ll dream about you.”

I was engrossed in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” the following morning when I was startled by a hard knock on my window. My fingers faltered, and the music abruptly stopped.

Through the glass, a man with a flushed face scowled at me. I had a new neighbor in him.

“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”

Startled, I just gazed at him. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stumbled out, despite a little voice in my head objecting. Not one of my other neighbors had ever complained before, and it was hardly 11 a.m.

I was shaking as the man stomped off. I felt as though my haven of peace had been compromised when I shut the piano’s lid.

I shut all the windows the following day before I started playing. I hoped that the muted and restricted music would maintain the tranquility.

Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” was only ten minutes into listening to it when my doorbell began to ring loudly. I answered it with a heavy heart.

A woman scowled at me, her features strained. She spit out, “Listen here, old lady.” “The grave calls, and you continue to hammer on that piano? I’ll report you to the HOA if you don’t quiet down.”

I realized then that she was the wife of my new neighbor.

I had a slap-like feeling. Weakly, “I… I closed all the windows,” was my response.

As she pivoted on her heel, she exclaimed, “Well, it’s not enough!” “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”

I let my head drop against the door frame, tears starting to form. “Oh, Jerry,” I said in a whisper. “What do I do?”

His voice seemed almost too good to be true. “Bessie, you play. You put your all into the game. Never stop, not for anyone.”

However, I was unable to force myself to press down as I sat at the piano, my fingers lingering over the keys.

Days went by, and I made every effort. I covered the windows with cardboard, only sometimes played, and even thought of putting the piano in the basement, where no one would hear it.

However, nothing appeared to please my new neighbors—or the Grinches, as I’d come to refer to them—in my imagination.

My heart hurt to think that I would be separated from my beloved instrument—even by a flight of steps. This piano was more than simply an item; it was a living link to Jerry and our shared life, a manifestation of my spirit.

That evening, as I played the piano, I lost myself in the music and temporarily forgot about those annoying neighbors.

I went outside the following morning to take care of my little herb garden. What I saw instantly stopped me in my tracks.

The nasty words “SHUT UP!” were sprayed in angry red letters on the wall.

I fell to my knees in tears. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”

On that day, I didn’t touch my piano for the first time in decades.

I was sitting in Jerry’s armchair as night fell, holding his picture. “My dear, I’m very sorry. I simply lack the willpower to battle anymore.”

The phone’s loud ring startled me out of my reverie. I scrambled to find the phone.

“Hello?”

“Mum?” My son Jacob’s soothing voice filled the line, “It’s me.” “How are you doing?”

I forced back tears and took a deep breath. “Oh, honey, I’m good. A peaceful day spent at home.”

A pause occurred. “You don’t sound good, Mom. Is everything in order?”

“I groaned, wondering if I should tell him about my problems. Really, it’s nothing. Just a few problems with the newcomers.”

“Problems? What kinds of problems?”

I started leaking everything, including the threats, the complaints, and the destruction.

“Honey, I’m at a loss for what to do right now. I’m really lost.”

“Well, Mom, how come you didn’t tell me earlier? We were able to assist.”

“I didn’t want to cause you concern. You are an individual with your own life and issues.”

“You’re never a burden, Mom. Never. Over the years, so many people have enjoyed your music. All those Christmas gatherings, you remember? The school plays you participated in? You are a treasure rather than a bother.”

“Pay attention; I’m about to call Melissa. She is nearer. She could come see how you’re doing. And let’s work together to resolve this, shall we?” Jacob came to an end.

I had a tiny glimmer of hope when I hung up the phone. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who thought this.

The days passed slowly. Unplayed, my piano gathered dust. It was as though a piece of myself was vanishing.

A loud knock jolted me out of my gloom one evening. My granddaughter Melissa was standing there as I answered the door, a big smile lighting up her face.

She yelled, “Surprise, Nana!” and gave me a strong embrace.

Her horrified eyes widened as she pulled back. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”

I started crying and let the entire narrative come out in between sobs. With every syllable, Melissa’s look grew darker.

“Oh, Nana,” she said softly, leading me to the couch. “How dare they do this to you? Did you report them?”

“I didn’t want to make a fuss. It’s just… it’s been so hard, sweetie. That piano, it’s all I have left of your grandpa.”

Tears filled Melissa’s eyes. “Nana, I am aware. I swear, we’ll make this right.”

“How?” I asked, feeling hopeless. “They hate my music. They hate me.”

Melissa grasped my hands firmly and comfortingly. “Nana, they can stuff their animosity up their bottoms. They have no idea who you are. You’re about to find out what happens when you mess with the wrong pianist by these entitled brats!”

The following day, Melissa was a ball of energy. She called, ordered supplies, and even sought the assistance of some long-time neighbors of mine.

“Nana, we’re going to teach those Grinches a lesson about respect.”

Melissa installed tiny speakers that night all over the Grinches’ property, discretely tucked down beneath their windows in the boxwood shrubs.

She gave me a wink as their car entered the driveway. “Show time, Nana!”

Soft piano music, scarcely heard at first, came from the hidden speakers as soon as the Grinches disappeared inside. They looked perplexed as they hurried out. Abruptly, the sound track shifted to a combination of barking dogs and automobile alarms.

As I watched them scurry around, attempting to locate the source of the noise, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Melissa gave a victorious smile. She remarked, hitting a red button on a gadget that looked like a remote control, “And now, for the grand finale.”

The most absurd collection of fart noises I had ever heard flooded the air. I burst up laughing so hard that tears ran down my cheeks.

“Melissa!” I gasped between giggles. “You’re terrible!”

She gave me a strong hug. “My Nana is untouchable by anyone. Furthermore, it never hurts to get a little harmless retribution.”

I was happy as we watched the Grinches hurriedly looking around their yard. I whispered, “Thank you, sweetheart.” “For reminding me to stand up for myself.”

A crew showed up at my residence early the following morning. I was shocked to see that they were turning my piano room into a cutting-edge, soundproof studio.

“Now, Nana, you can play anytime you want,” Melissa added, holding my hand tightly. “No one will ever tell you to stop again.”

I took a seat at my freshly polished piano as the workers concluded their work. As my fingers touched the keys, they trembled, but once I started playing, it seemed familiar.

I closed my eyes as the well-known strains of “Moon River” flooded the air, and I could feel Jerry’s presence all around me.

“That’s my girl,” I could almost hear him say. “Play on, Bessie. Play on.”

Melissa carried a glass of wine as she danced around the space. Her cheer was, “You rock, Nana!” “Grandpa would be so proud.”

Tears filled my eyes as I turned to face her as the last chords drifted away. “I’m grateful, sweetie. My voice is returned, thanks to you.”

“No, Nana,” Melissa said, kneeling beside me. “You’ve always had your voice. I just helped you remember how to use it.”

It was time for Melissa to go, far too soon. She gave me the device, which looked like a remote control, as we waited for her cab in the driveway.

“Just in case those Grinches act up again,” she winked. “One press, and it’s the farthest city. But I don’t think you’ll need it. The whole neighborhood’s got your back now, Nana!”

I hugged her tightly. “I love you so much, Melissa. Thank you for everything.”

“Nana, I adore you too. Tell me you’ll continue playing regardless of what people say.”

I said, “I promise,” in a firm and confident voice.

As I watched the taxi disappear down the street, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my son: “How are you doing, Mom? Melissa told me everything. I’m so proud of you. Love you. ❤️”

I smiled, tears pricking my eyes as I typed back: “I’m doing better than I have in weeks. Thank you for being there for me. I love you too. 🤗🎼”

As I turned to head back home, I swear I saw Jerry standing with his arms extended, asking me to come play the piano.

I closed the door behind me after wiping away a stray tear of happiness. Nothing was going to stop me from playing the piano this time; it was waiting for me.

My fingers found the keys, and I felt whole once more. The music grew louder, resonating throughout my house and in my soul. I knew that Jerry was out there, smiling, dancing, and listening.

I muttered, “This one’s for you, my love,” and let the tune of our favorite song carry me away. “And for our family, who never gave up on me!”

The sounds of “Moon River” floated into the atmosphere.