I still remember that day when our family walked into the piano store and there we saw numerous pianos. They were lined up row upon row like dark soldiers standing in a line waiting for inspection. I saw many pianos; there were upright ones, grand pianos, concert pianos, and electric pianos. At that time, I was foolish and I was thinking about our family’s financial situation, so I told my parents that I wanted an upright piano because it was cheaper and it took up less room in our small home. Now, I regret that decision and if I could go back in time, I would definitely ask for a grand piano. Every day now, I take the bus down Broadway and I see the showcase piano store and I gaze in awe at the magnificent pianos that they sold there. I press my face against the frosty window of the bus like how a child presses his face against the glass of a candy shop. Many times I have stopped near the store and stepped in to take a peek and many times I ran my hand along the smooth black wood and tapped a delicate song with my ten long musicians, yet every time I stepped out of that room, I would bury my head in my arms as cold, silent droplets of water rolled down my cheeks.