Everyday afterward, the same guy would arrive in that little music room. It soon became a habit that we’d share it. If I was in the music room first, then I’d leave once he arrived. If he was there first, he would do the same. We never talked to each other, except for maybe the occasional “Hello” and “Goodbye”, not that it really mattered anyway. I wasn’t going to that music room to flirt with guys, after all. I was only going to practice, and I guessed that it must have been the same for him. I was only glad that Lindsey had no idea that I was sharing my precious music room with some stranger, and a boy at that. She’d tease me for life, especially since I never wanted anyone around when I practiced. That was the main reason I never enjoyed practicing on my keyboard at home. Well, that and I think my playing sounds a lot better on an actual piano.
I don’t know how it happened, but one day when I had only gotten about five minutes into my practicing, the same boy came in again. I sighed. I hadn’t gotten much practice yet and he was already there. Just as I was putting my sheet music back in its folder, the boy said, “I was thinking. We should each have forty-five minutes of practice. Whoever gets here first could have the first forty-five minutes, and whoever gets here second would have to wait until their turn.”
I must have been staring at him as if he’d grown a second head, because he suddenly looked really uncomfortable, shrugged, and said, “That way it would be equal.”
Silence filled the room, and I figured it must have been my turn to speak. My eyes glanced toward the sheet music in my hand, and I replied, “Would you take the first turn, then?”
His turn to stare at me as if I was a freak. “You don’t want the first turn?”
No, no, no! One hundred times no! If I had the first turn, he’d have to listen to me play, and there was no way I’d ever want that to happen. I didn’t like anyone listening to me play. It was my own, private enjoyment. Not meant for anyone else.
“Not really.” I shrugged. “You can have the first turn every day if you want.” Say yes. Please say yes! If he doesn’t say yes, I’ll be sure to make every passing day in the music room a living nightmare!
“Sure, but why? I thought that you’d be racing here every day just so you wouldn’t have to wait on me.”
Huh, that was true. It would be troublesome to have to wait on him every day. It would still be worth it, I tried convincing myself. As long as he didn’t listen to me play, the natural balance of the world would remain in peace.
“I just have a lot of stuff to take care of after school,” I lied. “Besides, I might want to take more than forty-five minutes when practicing.” That part was true. Sometimes I would practice for as long as two hours, and I hated being rushed. It seemed like a believable explanation, and it’s not like he could refuse. The boy – whatever his name is – still didn’t seem convinced, but he accepted it anyway. I mentally cheered of joy.
From then on, it went on like that. I would wait forty-five minutes, until he’d leave and I’d be able to practice in peace. I usually worked on homework while I waited, but many times I’d be left with nothing to do. I soon learned to start bringing books along with me. I hadn’t been a big book person before, but now it must have seemed that I lived and breathed off the stuff. The boy’s playing was amazing, though I already knew that, but every day he seemed to get a little better than the day before. This was just another reason that he couldn’t ever hear me play. I still had a long way to go.
Whenever it was my turn, I would stall my time by packing as slowly as possible, and then spend a few minutes looking for my sheet music. Sometimes I would suddenly “have to use the bathroom” and would purposely take an exceptionally long time in there. Anything to make sure that he left before I started playing, without looking too suspicious about it. I was doing a pretty good job of it, if I must say so myself.
One day he had to stick around. I did everything I could to stall: I packed my homework books especially slowly, used the bathroom, and even pretended like I couldn’t find my sheet music, even though I knew exactly where it was in my folder. The boy must have noticed there was something suspicious, and offered to help look. Within a minute’s worth of time, he pulled it out from its place in my folder, and asked, “Is this what you were looking for?” All I could do was solemnly thank him and take it from his hand.
Trying to stall even more, I asked, “So, what are you waiting for?”
“My car broke down last night, so I’m having someone take me home today. It’ll probably be a while though, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? No! Me, minding about something like that? Impossible! I’ve only been working hard all this time to keep him from hearing me play the piano.
I quickly decided to role with it. Maybe, I could just talk to him for the entire time that he’s here? Yeah, that could work. All I’d have to do is keep the discussion going, and he might not notice a thing.
“Nah, I don’t mind,” I lied, making sure to give him an innocent look. “Stuff happens.”
“Yeah,” he said weakly. “Well, you can begin practicing if you want. I won’t bother you.”
No way is that going to happen.
I pretended like I didn’t hear, and asked, “Hey, what’s your name? I don’t think we’ve ever introduced ourselves. I’m Carrie, by the way.” Yeah, it’s not exactly the way I usually talk, but at least it gets the job done.
“Carrie? I’m Mark,” he said. I was thinking that he’d say something more, but he didn’t. At least now I wouldn’t have to keep thinking of him as “that boy”.
I hurried and thought of something more to say. “Mark? That’s… a cool name. I really like it!” Wow, never thought I’d sound like a five-year-old again. Mark was probably thinking I had the IQ of 75 now.
He gave me a strange look, which I was kind of expecting. Hey, if I was him I’d do the same too. “Uh, thanks? I like yours too.” For some reason, I had a feeling he didn’t really mean it.
Scrapping my brain for more ideas, I asked, “So, what song were you just playing a moment ago? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
Mark’s expression seemed to soften a bit. Good, good. I guess music is his weak spot.
“Actually, it’s something I made up myself. I’d been working on perfecting it for a while now, and I think I almost have it completed.” Ah, so not only was he a good player, but he had to be a composer too? How come everyone else had to have all the talent?
“Really? You made that up yourself?” I said, talking in a sugar-coated voice. “It’s really good! What’s its name?”
Mark scratched the back of his head. “I haven’t come up with a name yet. I’m still trying to figure it out, but I’m trying to call it something that will make people wonder what the real meaning of the song is.”
“And what is the real meaning?”
Mark paused for a second, before saying, “I haven’t figured that out either.”
We continued talking for probably another ten minutes or so. We went from talking about his song, to when he first started piano (which when he was six), to when I first started (which is when I was nine), to any other instruments we know how to play (Me: none/ Mark: sax and guitar), and finally to school. It turns out that the principal of this school is actually Mark’s uncle, and he recently moved in with him because his parents were having issues. He didn’t say exactly what those issues were, but I knew enough not to press anymore questions on him about it. That’s when he had to ask probably the last thing I wanted to hear.
“So, are you going to join music competition they’re going to hold pretty soon?”
I inwardly sighed. First Lindsey presses me on this, and now Mark? What was with this cruel, cruel world?
“I don’t think so. Are you?” I asked, trying my best not to show any bitterness I had suppressed inside of me.
“Yeah, I’ve already signed up. I think you should try it too,” he said.
“Well, I’m pretty busy with schoolwork and everything, so-” I started, but was cut off.
“It only lasts one day, and it’s on a Saturday. It won’t take up too much time.”
“I know, but still,” I said weakly. He continued to press on about it. Turns out that Mark participated in it in the previous years. He hadn’t won anything, but he said it was a really good experience. I continued to deny it, but it soon became exhausting. He was almost as annoying as Lindsey! Almost.
“Fine, fine! I’ll try it!”
I really wish I hadn’t said that.
I don’t know how it happened, but one day when I had only gotten about five minutes into my practicing, the same boy came in again. I sighed. I hadn’t gotten much practice yet and he was already there. Just as I was putting my sheet music back in its folder, the boy said, “I was thinking. We should each have forty-five minutes of practice. Whoever gets here first could have the first forty-five minutes, and whoever gets here second would have to wait until their turn.”
I must have been staring at him as if he’d grown a second head, because he suddenly looked really uncomfortable, shrugged, and said, “That way it would be equal.”
Silence filled the room, and I figured it must have been my turn to speak. My eyes glanced toward the sheet music in my hand, and I replied, “Would you take the first turn, then?”
His turn to stare at me as if I was a freak. “You don’t want the first turn?”
No, no, no! One hundred times no! If I had the first turn, he’d have to listen to me play, and there was no way I’d ever want that to happen. I didn’t like anyone listening to me play. It was my own, private enjoyment. Not meant for anyone else.
“Not really.” I shrugged. “You can have the first turn every day if you want.” Say yes. Please say yes! If he doesn’t say yes, I’ll be sure to make every passing day in the music room a living nightmare!
“Sure, but why? I thought that you’d be racing here every day just so you wouldn’t have to wait on me.”
Huh, that was true. It would be troublesome to have to wait on him every day. It would still be worth it, I tried convincing myself. As long as he didn’t listen to me play, the natural balance of the world would remain in peace.
“I just have a lot of stuff to take care of after school,” I lied. “Besides, I might want to take more than forty-five minutes when practicing.” That part was true. Sometimes I would practice for as long as two hours, and I hated being rushed. It seemed like a believable explanation, and it’s not like he could refuse. The boy – whatever his name is – still didn’t seem convinced, but he accepted it anyway. I mentally cheered of joy.
From then on, it went on like that. I would wait forty-five minutes, until he’d leave and I’d be able to practice in peace. I usually worked on homework while I waited, but many times I’d be left with nothing to do. I soon learned to start bringing books along with me. I hadn’t been a big book person before, but now it must have seemed that I lived and breathed off the stuff. The boy’s playing was amazing, though I already knew that, but every day he seemed to get a little better than the day before. This was just another reason that he couldn’t ever hear me play. I still had a long way to go.
Whenever it was my turn, I would stall my time by packing as slowly as possible, and then spend a few minutes looking for my sheet music. Sometimes I would suddenly “have to use the bathroom” and would purposely take an exceptionally long time in there. Anything to make sure that he left before I started playing, without looking too suspicious about it. I was doing a pretty good job of it, if I must say so myself.
One day he had to stick around. I did everything I could to stall: I packed my homework books especially slowly, used the bathroom, and even pretended like I couldn’t find my sheet music, even though I knew exactly where it was in my folder. The boy must have noticed there was something suspicious, and offered to help look. Within a minute’s worth of time, he pulled it out from its place in my folder, and asked, “Is this what you were looking for?” All I could do was solemnly thank him and take it from his hand.
Trying to stall even more, I asked, “So, what are you waiting for?”
“My car broke down last night, so I’m having someone take me home today. It’ll probably be a while though, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? No! Me, minding about something like that? Impossible! I’ve only been working hard all this time to keep him from hearing me play the piano.
I quickly decided to role with it. Maybe, I could just talk to him for the entire time that he’s here? Yeah, that could work. All I’d have to do is keep the discussion going, and he might not notice a thing.
“Nah, I don’t mind,” I lied, making sure to give him an innocent look. “Stuff happens.”
“Yeah,” he said weakly. “Well, you can begin practicing if you want. I won’t bother you.”
No way is that going to happen.
I pretended like I didn’t hear, and asked, “Hey, what’s your name? I don’t think we’ve ever introduced ourselves. I’m Carrie, by the way.” Yeah, it’s not exactly the way I usually talk, but at least it gets the job done.
“Carrie? I’m Mark,” he said. I was thinking that he’d say something more, but he didn’t. At least now I wouldn’t have to keep thinking of him as “that boy”.
I hurried and thought of something more to say. “Mark? That’s… a cool name. I really like it!” Wow, never thought I’d sound like a five-year-old again. Mark was probably thinking I had the IQ of 75 now.
He gave me a strange look, which I was kind of expecting. Hey, if I was him I’d do the same too. “Uh, thanks? I like yours too.” For some reason, I had a feeling he didn’t really mean it.
Scrapping my brain for more ideas, I asked, “So, what song were you just playing a moment ago? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
Mark’s expression seemed to soften a bit. Good, good. I guess music is his weak spot.
“Actually, it’s something I made up myself. I’d been working on perfecting it for a while now, and I think I almost have it completed.” Ah, so not only was he a good player, but he had to be a composer too? How come everyone else had to have all the talent?
“Really? You made that up yourself?” I said, talking in a sugar-coated voice. “It’s really good! What’s its name?”
Mark scratched the back of his head. “I haven’t come up with a name yet. I’m still trying to figure it out, but I’m trying to call it something that will make people wonder what the real meaning of the song is.”
“And what is the real meaning?”
Mark paused for a second, before saying, “I haven’t figured that out either.”
We continued talking for probably another ten minutes or so. We went from talking about his song, to when he first started piano (which when he was six), to when I first started (which is when I was nine), to any other instruments we know how to play (Me: none/ Mark: sax and guitar), and finally to school. It turns out that the principal of this school is actually Mark’s uncle, and he recently moved in with him because his parents were having issues. He didn’t say exactly what those issues were, but I knew enough not to press anymore questions on him about it. That’s when he had to ask probably the last thing I wanted to hear.
“So, are you going to join music competition they’re going to hold pretty soon?”
I inwardly sighed. First Lindsey presses me on this, and now Mark? What was with this cruel, cruel world?
“I don’t think so. Are you?” I asked, trying my best not to show any bitterness I had suppressed inside of me.
“Yeah, I’ve already signed up. I think you should try it too,” he said.
“Well, I’m pretty busy with schoolwork and everything, so-” I started, but was cut off.
“It only lasts one day, and it’s on a Saturday. It won’t take up too much time.”
“I know, but still,” I said weakly. He continued to press on about it. Turns out that Mark participated in it in the previous years. He hadn’t won anything, but he said it was a really good experience. I continued to deny it, but it soon became exhausting. He was almost as annoying as Lindsey! Almost.
“Fine, fine! I’ll try it!”
I really wish I hadn’t said that.
Zavery_
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