Hi all,
Mr. Santiago’s lesson yawned with the lazy, August afternoon. Reanna stumbled over the keys as his fingers fluttered beside hers naturally. The ceiling fan shrieked out above them, blowing hot air on their faces.
“I’ve noticed you haven’t been practicing,” Mr. Santiago spoke sternly. He wiped the sweat off his brow as his eyes grew artic and distant. Reanna glanced hard at the floor. Her reflection rippled in the glossy, fluorescent wax.
“May I ask why you are here?” His eyes had softened in the sun, but she didn’t raise her head.
“My mother,” she answered in one incoherent mumble. His gaze was oppressive and exhausting.
“Yes, she was a fine pianist,” he spoke fondly. His eyes danced across the black and white keys reminiscing.
“We were classmates way back when. I marveled at the spark in her eyes whenever she played. She possessed such fierce emotional connection with every note. But you haven‘t inherited it.”
Mr. Santiago stopped playing. His displeasure swept across his face from one end to the other.
“Put your heart into the lesson. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.” His words landed across her face with a cold snap. It raised her from the inescapably hot room. She didn’t raise her head and look at him. The spot on the floor started spinning.
She banged her head against the hot, piano keys. The vibrations purred out long and slow as Mr. Santiago’s footsteps sauntered away. The most beautiful music was peace.
