OYM Day 53: The Piano Teacher
Her name was Melody and that is not a joke. She and her husband and 2 children lived directly behind us. They were good. They hung their clothes on the line instead of incinerating them in the dryer. When I would go to their house to play with their daughter, Kate, Melody would remind me to please not bang against the mug with my spoon as I stirred my hot chocolate. Right, right… I would say, maneuvering my wrist just so, in the tiniest circles. It almost hurt.
In my eyes, this was sophistication. Kate’s parents were strict, which also seemed sophisticated, seeing parents care so much about their children’s lives and schedules. They didn’t watch TV. They ate dinner together every night, as a family. They were always dressed neatly. They all played instruments and studied foreign languages.
I was not sophisticated. I was also maybe 7 at the time, but still. In fact, it was often hard for me to look Melody in the eyes, because the previous summer, while they hosted a backyard family gathering, I had hung upside down from the swing set in my own backyard that faced theirs, and mooned the entire party. I had also drawn an eye on each butt cheek, but I think they were too small for anyone to see, so maybe they just looked like weird moles. My sisters and I were always running wild. I often wondered if Melody wanted to tear down the fence between our yards and just colonize us.
My mother made arrangements for Melody to teach me how to play the piano. I can’t remember if I asked for lessons or if my mom asked me if I wanted to learn, but soon enough I would report directly to Melodys house, once a week, after elementary school. I was given a few music books and would fiddle with the pages nervously as I waited for my lesson. She taught a handful of children and I always worried I may be the worst, or the child she dreaded to teach. I could barely stir a hot chocolate without sounding like a full blown drum circle!
One snowy day, as I walked home from school, I came to the conclusion that I just wanted to sit at home and watch Tv. Maybe nuke a can of chicken noodle soup and marvel at the Christmas decorations in our house. I didn’t want a stupid piano lesson that I didn’t stupid practice for at stupid Melody’s stupid house. I tried the front door of my house but it was locked. I tried the backdoor, but before I could wiggle the handle, there she was. Melody, calling from her back porch to come to my lesson. I trudged through the snow to her house and began to take off my snow covered boots. Her house was warm and smelled of soap. It was immaculate and foreign to me. I hated this house. I started to cry. I told her that my mom excused me from my lesson today and that I’d rather go home. She told me she couldn’t let me do that and it was her responsibility to watch me until my mother got home from work. Great. My mother had pawned me off on this woman and now I was stuck here?! I continued to sob and refused to sit at the piano. I refused to take off my coat or my snow pants. I crossed my arms as best I could through all the layers of nylon and fell asleep on her sofa.
Melody woke me up an hour later telling me my mother was home and I could go now. I had cried myself to sleep in the home of the enemy?! How embarrassing. I didn’t say a word, hurried on my snow boots, and hopped back to my house. I didn’t go back for lessons after that.
The next summer, Melody and her family just up and moved to England. They rented their house to a few women in college and returned a few years later with thick English accents.
As if they could get anymore sophisticated…
