I don't know what this is or where it came from--maybe it's a novel, maybe a short story... I don't know. But it's definitely not finished.

When the third one crashed into the artificial turf between the pitcher's mound and third base, it became pretty obvious to Josh Jenkins that it was raining pianos. Not any particular kind or brand-the first had been an old mahogany spinet piano, and the last two black baby grands-but they were definitely pianos, and they were definitely coming from the rather unexpected direction of up.

Those fans who had thought far enough ahead to bring umbrellas, broke them out. Those who hadn't looked up nervously, trying to gauge just how bad the storm would get. Every now and then one ran off screaming about the potentially discomforting side-effects of a gravity-accelerated piano colliding with someone. Beyond that, the most severe consequence of the pianos was that they were stopping the game.

"Ladies and gentleman," announced a feminine voice from the loudspeaker, "please remain in your seats. The weathermen assure us that this storm does not actually exist, or in the off-chance that it does, will be passing over us quickly."

At home plate, which Josh sat directly behind, a congregation of umpires and managers debated whether or not to close the roof. A very vocal stadium technician insisted that raincoats and umbrellas were enough, but the umpires generally agreed that the only real questions were how well the roof could stop a piano shower, and whether they might all be better off just declaring a rain-out and calling it a night. The visiting manager, whose team was coincidentally trailing six-nothing, argued in favor of the latter option.

Oddly enough, it was for just this sort of moment that Josh had been waiting. For five innings, he had been unable to speak an intelligible word to the red-haired woman in the yellow poncho to his right-a problem complicated by the fact that the woman was Josh's girlfriend of two weeks. But now he had the perfect line.

He smiled at her. It was very important that he smiled, thought Josh; nothing like a nice smile to say how cool he was with a few hours of awkward silence, or with having accidentally spilt a cup of coke on her in the first inning. Concerned that it might not be clear to her that he was smiling, he grimaced for a second to illustrate the difference. He did this, oscillating back and forth between smile and grimace for about ten seconds, until it was clear that she was more concerned with looking at the front half of a black baby grand piano, jutting out of the ground along the left field foul line, than with looking at him. He took a deep breath, smiled again, and spoke.

"Go figure. I spent $5,000 dollars on one of those last month. Now they're falling from the sky."

This was not entirely a lie. It was last year, not last month; and it was only $1000-all minor details that Josh would clarify in time.

Meanwhile, a studio piano crashed near the warning track in right center field. The impact flung splinters of wood and ivory keys over the wall and into the bullpen. Neither Josh nor the woman noticed.

"You," the woman started, continuing to stare towards the left field foul line, "have a piano?"

The problem with the woman's reply, thought Jack, was not the words themselves. Those were, in fact, exactly the words he had expected. What he had not anticipated, however, was the manner with which she said the words, being somewhat akin to the way a cocktail waitress might inquire into a patron's claim to have been Winston Churchill in a former life, and thus have a very reliable line of credit.

"Um, yeah," he stuttered, searching for the quickest way possible to return to the conversation he had so carefully mapped out in his mind.

"You... have... a... piano," the woman slowly stated, now staring directly at Josh. She rose and took one step back into the aisle.

A fifth piano-an old English upright model-fell directly on top of first base. A sound much like that of all 88 keys of a piano being struck at once-in fact, that that was exactly the sound-echoed throughout the stadium as snapped strings catapulted into the home team's dugout. The woman heard nothing of this as she pointed at Josh and began laughing.

"What?" asked Josh, over the mechanical click and low hum of the roof, which began to close.

"Like you know how to play the piano," she said between laughs. She looked up.

"But... but..."

The red-haired woman stopped laughing and took a step to her right. Almost immediately after she moved, a small electronic keyboard fell where she had been standing. She examined the scrambled circuits and gray plastic scattered all over the aisle and shrugged. Starting to laugh again, she began climbing the stairs. "Knows how to play a piano," she said. "That's good."

The roof stopped moving. A number of hands and mouths suddenly erupted into motion at home plate. Josh, naturally, sat oblivious to this. He was used to public humiliation and irrational rejection, but the woman's reaction flat-out flabbergasted him. He had just about convinced himself to go follow the woman and ask for an explanation, when a strong hand landed on his left shoulder.

"Tough luck, man," said a bearded head attached to the hand, "I've been there."

The woman was probably too far gone, thought Josh, as he yielded to the hand. As his eyes swept over to the man seated next to him, he caught a glimpse of someone dressed like Liberace running across center field to a concert piano. The piano had somehow landed intact, with its stool, a few seconds ago. The man began playing a song that sounded vaguely like "Piano Man."

The man to Josh's left, whose hand was still resting on his shoulder, nodded as if to offer consolation. His face-the part that wasn't covered by a beard-was red, and he was very obviously drunk. Thus, Josh was all the more surprised when he suddenly felt it necessary to explain himself.

"But I play the piano."

Two security guards rushed from the dugout towards the man dressed as Liberace. The man dressed as Liberace leapt from his stool and ran around the piano as the security guards chased him.

"Look, buddy," said the bearded man, slapping Josh on the back, "no need for that now, you're preaching to the choir here. Heh, heh. Who doesn't play the piano, wink wink, if you know what I mean."

Josh flung his head back, looked up, and rolled his eyes. He noticed the roof closing once again.

"Hey, don't be so down on yourself, it's still a good line. You'll get some girl in the sack with it."

"That was my girlfriend," explained Josh.

Liberace jumped on to the piano and then pile-drove one of the security guards. "Ouch," said the now-sullen bearded man in response to, well, Josh wasn't exactly sure. The two quietly watched the chase, which for a second involved dodging a couple of falling console pianos. The beer man ascended their aisle.

"Here, let me buy you a drink," offered the bearded man.

"I don't drink."

"Two beers," yelled the bearded man, handing the beer man a fiver.

Josh interjected, "No really, I don't drink."

"Oh," said the bearded as he took two beers and passed one to Josh.

Josh sighed, set it in his cup holder, and returned his attention to the field. The man dressed as Liberace had defeated the second security guard with a couple of karate kicks. The audience applauded as he resumed playing the piano. Josh was pretty sure he heard the beginning of "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik."

"Ladies and gentleman," said the announcer, "please do not applaud Liberace, it only encourages him."

Several of the players ran out on the field and began giving Liberace chase again. Meanwhile, a half-dozen more pianos, a xylophone, and a harpsichord had fallen to the field. So far, only the keyboard had fallen into the stands.

"So how do you suppose we score that last run?" the bearded man asked Josh as he tossed aside a very quickly emptied cup.

"What do you mean?" asked Josh.

"You know, when Kent's popup hit the piano and they couldn't find the ball until Kent had already crossed home? An inside-the-park homerun or an error? I'm thinking error."

"Er, I don't know," Josh said. He had been so concerned about figuring out something to say to his apparently now ex-girlfriend, that he actually hadn't even noticed.

"Hey," the bearded man exclaimed, pointing to the beer in Josh's cup-holder. "Can I have yours?"

Josh handed him the beer. He watched in fascination as the bearded man chugged the entire cup. The man wiped his beard and grinned.

"You know, I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner," the man declared after a little while of watching the chase sequence.

"What do you mean?" asked Josh, who was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

"The pianos. They've had centuries to evaporate and build up in the sky." The bearded man stuck his finger up in the air and swirled it as he said this. "All that tension building up, it was only a matter of time before it broke loose."

Josh studied the man's eyes, trying to determine if he was serious, or just drunk.

By now, the roof was entirely shut. Loud thumps could be heard occasionally against the dome roof, but the fans had generally settled down and put away their umbrellas. On the field, several players held down Liberace, who appeared to be singing a selection from "Phantom of the Opera."

Josh had entirely lost interest in it. He stood, said goodbye to the man, and walked to the exit. Only slightly surprised by the notable lack of pianos on the pavement, he strolled through the parking lot to his car. He was amazed by how many great responses to "You play the piano" he could suddenly think up.

As he approached his car, he thought he heard the stadium loudspeaker announce, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please refrain from petting the wooly mammoth."

Joshua Jensen considered himself a fairly organized man. His organizational skills had landed him rather rewarding job as the manager of human resources at a small software company. Rewarding in that he was able to cash in his stock options shortly before the bottom fell out. He was a man who knew where things belonged, like ___ (socks, there's definitely got to be a line about socks here).

As a corollary to this, Joshua was also a man who knew when things were missing. For example, when he walked into the living room of his townhouse that night and saw a patch of unusually clean, white, and fluffy carpet in the corner, he knew something was out of place.

"Ed," he called out.

"Yo, be there in a sec."

Joshua marveled at the outline of the clean carpet against the nice, stale, flat brown carpet that he had become accustomed to. It reminded him of his perpetual farmer's tan, which he had given up on the first summer after he had begun his new job, and which now, in the absence of a job, was consistently a very blistering red. He got a similar sensation as he traced a two by two meter region of white paint on his otherwise gray wall. Behind him, a man in a sombrero and a Mexican poncho, eating an ice cream cone, approached.

"So what was up with the mammoth, anyways?," this man asked. "The news report ...."

"Forget the mammoth, Ed, where the hell is my piano?" Josh's eyes were riveted to the empty corner, so much so that he didn't even turn to see his roommate. The piano that wasn't there was an old, cherry-red studio piano, complete with a dozen or so authentic beer mug rings, all stained into it over its years as a centerpiece at a local gay bar. Josh insisted that its sketchy past gave Ginger-that was its name-more character, at which point Ed would point out that the same past had knocked three grand off the selling price. Well, that and the fact that no matter what you did, the high A note was always out of tune.

In case you doubt his sincerity, Josh wasn't lying when he said he could play the piano. Not well enough to do concerts or anything like that, but well enough to entertain on occasions. He had taken piano lessons for five years when he was growing up, and had replaced his electronic keyboard with the piano just last year.

His now apparently ex-girlfriend, meanwhile, had never seen the piano because she had simply never been in the townhouse. She had the awkward habit of always getting to the doorstep, stopping, and saying, "No, I don't think so." She had other interesting habits, too. Like never calling Josh, overeating at expensive restaurants, and insisting that Josh wear a cap and sunglasses when they were out in public. This behavior had gone on the entire month they had been dating, but Josh hadn't felt it was time yet to press the issue.

Behind him, Ed was in deep thought as he licked his cone. Suddenly, and Josh missed this because of his fixation on the missing piano, his eyes lit up with an "oh yeah, I almost forgot" expression.

"The Parks and Wildlife people took it this morning," he explained. "Had a hell of a time trying to get it out the door."

He then added, "Look, you didn't get a skin sample or something from the mammoth, 'cause I was thinking if we cloned it and..."

"The Parks and Wildlife people?"

"Yeah, you know, brown ranger outfits, charge you outrageous prices for camping in the Grand Canyon and killing bald eagles. Those guys."

The end result of the next few seconds, during which Josh turned sharply around to face his roommate, was the stare of death. Or, at least, supposing that stares could kill, this would have been such a stare.

"They had papers," Ed offered.

"Papers?"

"Yeah. Left them on the coffee table. Along with a bill. I was going to call you, but they said you could sign and fax them tomorrow."

Josh walked over to the coffee table.

"But, about this mammoth...," Ed resumed.

"Screw the mammoth; what the hell does the U.S. Department of Parks and Wildlife Management want with my piano? Huh, did you stop to think about that?"

"Well, I don't know necessarily if they were the U.S. Parks and Wildlife people," he stammered, "I mean, it..."

Ed was interrupted by the "Dukes of Hazard" theme song playing itself out on their doorbell. The roommates continued staring for a second, Ed being unsure of whether it was safe to move, and Josh trying to figure out how he and Ed had become roommates in the first place. After a second ring, Ed very quickly departed into the front room to answer it.

"Greetings, senorita, what can I do for you this evening," he said in a very lousy Spanish accent as he opened the door and bowed to the long-haired brunette on the other side.

The woman, who wore ___(a business suit?), giggled as she walked into the room. She removed her coat, which Ed took for her, and asked, "How you boys doing?"

"Hey, these are blank," they heard from the living room.

Ed pretended not to hear. "It's been a pretty casual day. Tuned my guitar. Shopped for mangos. Read a little Rilke."

"Ah yes, I hear a good number of smart people got their start with that reading thing."

"Ed! Why the hell are these blank?" Josh yelled again.

Ed, still holding the woman's coat, shrugged as if to say, "Sorry, I've gto to get this." He yelled out, "Yeah, I asked them about that while I was fetching the bruskies from the fridge..."

"You gave them my beer?"

Author's interjection: Hey there, how's the reading going? Oh, for twenty points, name the inconsistency I need to fix here.

Ed walked back into the living room.

"Hey, moving a piano works up a bit of a thirst, and anyways, they had a perfectly good explanation for that and..." He looked back into the front room. "Oh hey, Vanessa, where are my manners, c'mon in and have a seat."

"Thanks."

"And...," said Josh.

"And what?"

"The explanation?"

"Oh. You know, I wasn't really paying attention to it." Ed laughed somewhat nervously. "Whoops." He looked at Vanessa, who had taken a seat in an armchair next to, or rather no longer next to the missing piano. "Vanessa, can I get you a beer," he offered.

Vanessa nodded and turned to Josh, "Hey there, kiddo. Have a good day?"

Josh sighed, sat down, and was about to explain when from the kitchen Ed shouted, "So Josh, how big was the mammoth? Like half the distance between bases, or more like half the distance to the pitcher's mound?"

Josh threw his hands up in the air, stood up, and went into the back room.

Vanessa yelled after him, "You saw the mammoth?"

"Hello, police," Vanessa heard him say from the backroom. "Yes, I'd like to report a missing piano."

Ed returned from the kitchen with two cans of beer. "What's up with him?" Vanessa asked, as he handed her one.

Ed sat down and took a swig from his can. "You know," he said. "I'm not sure exactly. I think it's got something to do with Jolene walking out on him during the middle of the game tonight."

"Oh, that's sad," she said as she sipped her beer. "They were so good for each other." Vanessa grabbed a remote from the coffee table and turned on the news. Several clips of piano pieces sprawled out all over a baseball field flashed before their eyes.

From the other room, Josh, was shouting statements like "He said they were Parks and Wildlife people" and "I wasn't at home, you idiot" and "Look, what am I even paying taxes for."

"Jolene?" Vanessa continued. "Wasn't she the one who brought her cats to your New Year's Party?"

Ed paused for a second. "Don't think so. Don't even think I've met her."

"Well, better to have loved and lost..."

"Yes, it's much better that way."

"Anyways, speaking of the game..."

Josh slammed the phone down. He stormed back into the living room, but stopped when he saw the TV replay a clip of the wooly mammoth materialize from thin air at second base. Perhaps, it suddenly occurred to him, he had left the game a little too early.

Ed and Vanessa were no longer paying attention however, and were instead waiting for an explanation from Josh.

"Well," queried Vanessa.

Josh, somewhat tentatively as he was still watching the TV, said "Um, the guy said something like, 'look kid, if I had a dime for every missing piano story I've heard tonight, I'd have four dollars and sixty three cents,' and told me to contact the Parks and Wildlife people."

"That's just not normal," he added, as he watched the mammoth ...

...

Author: So, the general direction of this is that Vanessa (who is a scientist of sorts) and Ed (a "scholar-bum") and a very reluctant Josh, who is obsessed by the loss of his piano, will embark on a quest to find out what's going on, and how this can profit them, and who really knows where this will lead them. Washington D.C., perhaps? Scuba-diving off the coast of Australia? Area 51? Montana? I'm not quite sure myself; but immediately, at least, I think they'll end up back at the stadium to look for evidence on the mammoth. And if you have any ideas on how this all might piece together, I'm all ears.