A drawing of a piano / Courtesy of Oancea Elena

I was in the fourth grade when my parents bought me a piano.

I had been taking lessons for two years and wanted one desperately. When it arrived in the room I shared with my brother, I felt as if I had the whole world. Part of the excitement came from the sense of privilege. Few children in my class had a piano at home, and I suddenly became one of them.

The instrument my parents bought was not new. It was a secondhand upright piano. Yet that hardly mattered to me. What mattered was that I finally had a piano to practice on — and, to be honest, to show off to friends who visited me at home.

That sense of pride stayed with me for years. In fact, the piano remained in my childhood room longer than I did. When I left home for college, it stayed. When I graduated from graduate school and started working, it was still there. In 2008, when I was 28, the piano moved to my aunt's........

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