Letting Go.

   He wanted that piano real bad.    It took him over two years to find just the right one,  and then finnagle the financing so it wouldn't put him in the poorhouse, but he worked extra hard for a couple of months and paid for the fucking thing and had it delivered on a Saturday.

   After the delivery guys dropped it off, set it up and left him with a voucher  for a discounted tuning he sat in front of the gigantic thing, it's keys exposed like teeth, and began to poke about cautiously, not expecting the instrument to sound as nice as it did.    After a few minutes, he was comfortable and hammering hard on the keys, making a lot of noise in the big room.

  He loved it, that piano.   One of his favorite possessions, EVER.  He especially enjoyed rubbing the wood with lemon scented furniture polish and paying attention to each key, hinge, nook and cranny.  It would take him an entire afternoon to clean the piano.   He felt he knew it well.

   So, it was with some sorrow he decided to sell it along with everything else and set himself free, and push off and out once again.   Once his mind was made up, it actually became easy to let it all go.   He had garage sales,  he donated things to the local charities,  he left boxes and bags  of books and clothes anonymously in parking lots, on porches,  in yards.