I stop and take off my shoes on the doormat inside, muttering a distant “hello” to my piano teacher. He grins nonstop at my mom, then leads the way to the basement. His feet trudge the ground like a proud warrior, enunciating each step with pride. His head is held high, not looking back. He is walking in his own world, unaware of the events happening next to him. Accidentally dropping my piano books, he continues trudging, arms side to side, swaying wistfully.

He keeps going until he reaches the bottom stair, where the basement opens around him like a stage. Then, at last, he stops. He turns slowly, his grin still stretched across his face, his eyes latched on mine. For one second, everything is silent. Then the silence breaks.

“EVAN!” He booms, the walls nearly breaking on impact. 

“ARE YOU READY?” I flinch, taking a hold of his thunderous voice.

“Yess…” I stammer nervously, flashbacking on the recent week where I haven’t even touched a key yet.

My fingers tremble as they slowly approach their long forgotten rivals. The piano keys. Dr. Pandolfi, my piano teacher, thuds as he drops his boy onto the chair, letting out an oomph sound before watching my hands.

I could feel his eyes lasering holes into my hands. Sweat beads cling on my palms. Middle C, Middle E. The starting of a classic sonata that Dr. Pandolfi could play blindfolded. My head wanders to the mini fridge next to the seat, brimmed with Diet Cokes and iced lemon tea. My mouth waters.

Dr. Pandolfi eyes me looking towards the fridge and smears a smug look on his face. I always think he is jealous, for her wife always sacrifices a can of Coke for me. Dr. Pandolfi craves his precious drinks, stacking more every time I visit.

“Well, you may begin!” Dr. Pandolfi’s voice rings like a gong in my ears. His voice echoes and spins; a ballerina of sound. My head is turned back to the black and white keys. The metronome was ticking a slow beat. My left hand adjusted to the beat and my right hand was dancing unevenly. With one gigantic finish, Dr. Pandolfi scratched his head and his smile creased downwards. This couldn’t be good.

Without talking, his feet started to tap on the pedal, his posture straightened.

“Here. Listen how I bring out the left hand in the second melody.” His hands glide amongst the keys. His pupils seem to enlarge at the harmony he created. Every key he expressed brought the piano to its knees. With one grand chord, his hands swung to his side, forming an oval as he continued. His music changed to the gestures of his body. Pushing a miraculous octave, he waved his body aside.

“You’re almost there,” he added, which I took as encouragement, not realizing I was on the brink of a mental breakdown. I nod my head yes, ready to give out the same energy he did without noticing the harsh reality of my “middle C” scale practicing at home.

I breathe, and wrap myself into the melodic and drastic events of the Pandolfi world.