Ten Fingers

A young man walked into a smoky piano bar full of life and the smell of sassafras. Men with turbans and women adorned with golden jewelry sat laughing and drinking merrily.

The young man sat down. People made requests of the pianist on stage as he sat confidently, his penguin coattails hanging behind him. His fingers danced along the piano keys as he sang about a woman's love for apples.

A young waitress with a black mask asked the young man if he wanted a drink. "I'll have an old-fashioned," he said, staring at the piano man.

She looked him over once more and gave a smirk before leaving. The boy didn't mind. Women adorned him every day. He could get any girl in school, but he wanted something else. His mind became engrossed with the pianist's fingers. Tunes danced over the crowd, swirling from ear to ear. People moving with each crescendo, each tempo change.

The lady returned with his drink, but there wasn't a straw. He asked for one, and she replied, "You don't need one for a drink like this."

The boy insisted, hiding his hands deeper into his jacket, feigning a chill.

After several awkward minutes, she came back with a straw. The music started to slow, and the pianist stood up, asking for one last request. He limped on what seemed to be a sprained foot. The boy stood up, "Yes. How about a song of a carnival?" The pianist thought for a moment and said they'd already done one. "Well, what about one with oxidation? Like the rust on a nail or a butcher's knife," the boy asked slowly.

People exchanged confused glances. The pianist fidgeted with the piano keys. "Does anyone else have a request?"

The boy moved closer to the stage, "I would love it if you played a song about a man's magical fingers. They're obviously amazing since you use them every night."

The pianist asked the boy to step into the light and immediately recognized him. The boy pulled out his hands, void of any fingers. "You took my fingers after seeing me perform at the circus. You knew you'd make money!"

The whispers became murmurs, and murmurs became a hubbub as questions spread amongst patrons. The pianist fought his will not to lunge at the boy.