Short Stories

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Jeff hammered out a full, two-handed chord on the grand piano. Its tensions thundered in the air of the studio until it faded away into weary silence.

"Why can't I ever win in the music festival?" he asked his teacher, Mr. Samuelson. "Or even place? I know I played my piece right, almost perfectly. I hardly missed a note. The winner missed more than I did."

Mr. Samuelson, who had been sitting behind him, stood up and crossed over to the piano. "It is true that your technique is excellent."

"Then why do I keep losing?"

He leaned over Jeff and turned the sheet music to the first page. "Play just the melody line."

Jeff hesitated for a moment as he studied his teacher's face. "Okay." The restless line of single notes drifted through the room.

Mr. Samuelson closed his eyes. When it ended he asked, "How do you characterize that melody?"

"Uh, it's kind of light, almost a dance."

"M-hm. That is not how you played it. You were somewhat heavy."

"I don't understand. What are you getting at?"

Mr. Samuelson turned and faced him. "The judges at the festival do not simply judge technical skill; they also judge artistic merit. I know you have that artistry, but you are afraid of it."

Jeff dropped his hands into his lap and clenched them.

"I know you are not certain if you believe me, and so I will show you something. Play that same melody, but deliberately play it heavily."

"But it won't sound right."

"Of course not. Bear with me."

"Alright." Jeff pulled his hands up and rested them on the keys. After a moment, he began, and notes fired around the studio as though they wanted to break something: windows, vases, anything.

Mr. Samuelson smiled. "Good. Now, continuing to play like that, begin to improvise." When Jeff looked up to protest, he held up his hand. "I am aware that your experience in improvisation is still limited. Do your best."

Jeff let out his breath. The first notes scattered themselves without thought for a little, until a haunting, purposeful melody took over, darting here and there, afraid but defiant.

He began to sway, his eyes closed. Absorbed in the feelings, he let his fingers dance across the keyboard.

Soon high notes were dashing in anger against the walls, bass runs hammering at the door. At the end, the melody faded to a hesitant shadow of itself, scared of what it had done.

The teacher was silent for a moment. "There was artistry in that." He nodded. "You see, when you are not held to the printed score, the melody that is in your heart is free to express itself. You dislike that melody, perhaps even fear it, and consistently choose pieces of music for the festivals with more, shall I say acceptable, melodies. The clash of those melodies with your own is crippling your art."

"So what can I do?"

"If you wish to win at the next festival, you must deal with your heart. You may either embrace your current melody, or release it so that a new one may live. There is no other choice."

Jeff gripped the front edge of the piano bench and started to rock himself, just a bit. "Why do I have that kind of melody in my heart?"

"You would know better than I, if you were willing to admit it. But I could place a gentleman's wager that it has to do with your relationship with your father."

Jeff froze, staring into the distance. "You think so?" His eyes focussed on the piano in front of him. "Hmm. I had no idea." His mouth tightened. "He wants me to get my music degree, go to teachers' college, and teach, just like you. 'Play the sure thing,' he said." He clenched his fists, his arms shaking from the force. "I don't want a ... job! I want to perform."

"Do you truly believe that?"

Jeff considered the question, then started to play another musical line. It stomped around the room for a minute, its bass notes charging at the walls, then sat for a few measures. It then got scared again, its high notes trying to hide behind the bookcase or in the closet. However, it soon resolved itself into a major key and came to a stop.

"Yes, I do. I can't let my fear of him hold me back any more."

"Well." Mr. Samuelson smiled. "I await your new melody."

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