I received an email early the next morning informing me I no longer had acting theory and instead would have double lessons with my teacher.
Nearly every night I would go to the music room. I was allowed to not have class on Fridays on the account I needed to rest my voice and memorize the new sheet music for the next lesson. I was to talk very little Fridays and the weekends. I should do vocal warm-ups everyday to keep my voice in check but I should do as little screaming as possible. "I know girls your age enjoy screaming" he smirked.
We went on like this for months, but in November something changed. One day I saw in a newspaper my father's name. It was a good article proclaiming his talent but that there was an up and coming pianist who seemed as good as my father. It was a Saturday and I had no lessons. I decided to go to the music hall and maybe the music room would be open. I felt I needed to play a song for my father reassuring his work was still best. I have never been sure of an afterlife but if there was I wanted him to hear the music he played so he would still know how great he was.
So I gathered some sheet music and made my way. The building was open to my surprise and so was the room. The room was dark except for a skylight that shown down on the piano.
I set my sheet music down and sat at the piano like I was 5 again. My hands were nervous to touch the keys and my feet unsure of the pedals. I had to play.
I decided on a lovely little number called Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again. I began to slowly play the piano and picking up speed. I thought I was feeling confortable with this song but I realized how true it was. Now more then ever I wanted to be home with my father and mother. I wanted to play sing for my dad and prepare for his concert at the Lincoln Center.
I began to sing the lyrics the way Monsieur Ange said to. By the end I was still playing but my voice stopped. I was crying so hard, I gasped out a few words but nothing could stop the tears. Eventually I simply stopped and just cried, I looked up at the skylight and saw the fading light. I was so distraught I barely heard the cough.
"Who's there?" I asked defensively, whipping around.
Coming out of the shadows was my teacher emerged.
"Forgive me. I know I'm not meant to be here," I stammered trying to grab my things and rush out. I could get detention for this and then where would I be?
He reached a hand out to stop me as I jammed my binder of music in my bag.
"No need for apologizing. I often come here to get out when I need music's comfort. I'm not exactly meant to be here either," he laughed softly, "Also, I won't write you up if that's why you're rushing off."
"I must be wasting your time," I said.
"No, you're not. It is my time to do with how I like and I would like to know this cause of this. I do not think leaving now will solve the reason for your tears," he said gently. His voice no longer held the sternness it usually did. He sounded almost comforting.
It was eerie, he sounded like my father. My father never left a situation until he knew everyone was calm and the problem resolved. I could never hide the reason for my tears from my father.
"I'm being foolish," I rushed. I wanted so badly to get out.
"I don't think you are. But if you really do think so you may leave," he said looking me in the eye. It wasn't my place to be baring my soul to my instructor. That was not his job.
"My father, he died a few months ago. I just saw a news article saying some new artist is the new Gustav Daae. I feel I haven't protected his legacy enough and he is slipping away. Becoming 'just' another musician," I sobbed. I tried to keep some composure but it was just so bottled up.
"Shh," he cooed softly. I had never seen him this gentle before. He was always making stern commands. He was like my mother in that way.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be doing this. This isn't your job." I said fleeing. It wasn't my place to fling my problems onto him. He was my teacher and nothing more.