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My piano lesson |
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My parents wanted me to learn the piano. No matter how much I protested, they
eventually found and hired a tutor to coach my playing. From then on, a regular
lesson schedule was implemented with the tutor, Mrs. Johnson, coming in on
Friday afternoons at around three o'clock. This was my daily nap time, and I was
always grumbling about having to forgo it every Friday. The tutor was very
strict in the first few months, forcing me to repeat a problematic piece several
times until she was satisfied. Mrs. Johnson was a good tutor, despite her
strictness, and her explanations were very clear and simple. Soon, I could play
several tunes adequately, and Mrs. Johnson decided to sign me up for a music
examination.
The examination was about eight months away, a long time to me, but Mrs. Johnson
made me work hard, giving me increasingly difficult pieces. I could not
understand why I was being made to practise so hard. Every time I protested, my
tutor told me very firmly that I was to strive to achieve success. Naturally, I
was forced to continue struggling with increasingly complex chord progressions
and often felt deep-seated resentment towards the glossy piano that sat in our
living room. Towards the fourth month, however, things began to change. Mrs.
Johnson began to skip lessons occasionally, and when she did turn up, she was
very often rather late. I was usually much too frustrated to take notice of the
dark circles growing around her eyes.
One day, she asked me to play two examination pieces, which I grudgingly did. I
started with the first one, nervously pushing at the keys with my fingers. I
ended up missing several chords and hitting the wrong keys, and stopped at the
end in anticipation of a scolding. Nothing. Without looking at Mrs. Johnson, I
began to repeat the first piece, certain that she wanted me to. This time, my
fingers flowed easily over the keyboard, and I made no mistakes. However, Mrs.
Johnson remained absolutely silent. I found it very strange, since she was
usually either scolding me or praising me. After a moment, I launched into the
second piece. As I was playing it, I noticed her nodding out of the corner of my
eye. I assumed that she was acknowledging my skilful playing and I played on,
heartened. Gradually, however, the nods became more and more pronounced, and my
hands began to waver. Finally, Mrs. Johnson gave a rough grunt, and I jumped
slightly. This was too much for me, and I turned to look at my tutor. She was
bent over the keys, fast asleep.
I stared at her half-open mouth, mesmerized, but eventually snapped out of it.
Turning back to the musical sheet, I slowly lifted my hands and began playing
the second piece from the beginning. I kept glancing round at her and could see
that Mrs. Johnson was continuing to enjoy her nap. It was a warm afternoon, and
the more I looked at her, the sleepier I became. Soon, my hands began to slow,
and I fell into a deep slumber. Suddenly, someone was tugging at my sleeve, and
I sat upright, rubbing my eyes vigorously. "You must be tired," my tutor said.
"You fell asleep during the lesson. Nobody falls asleep during a music lesson,
understand?"
I was tempted to tell her what I had seen, but I did not want her to tell Mother
that I had fallen asleep, so I obediently echoed, "Yes, Mrs. Johnson. Nobody
falls asleep during a music lesson. |
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