I yawned and stretched, leaning back in my chair. Nearly done for the day, I thought to myself, glancing at my watch. After a full day of teaching piano lessons, I'd just sent my second-to-last student out to her parents and was ready to be finished. Glancing again at my watch, I decided I had a few moments and padded down the hall to the kitchen for something to drink while I waited for my last student of the day.
A failed concert pianist, I'd spent the better part of a decade as a guest artist for small orchestras and the like, until at 32 I'd finally realized that my talent - while by no means insignificant - had reached its limit and was ultimately not quite high enough to make it as a performing professional. After that, I abandoned my travel schedules and decided instead to make my living teaching private lessons. I bought a modest 2-bedroom house in the suburbs and - after my nine-foot grand piano was delivered and installed in the front room - I hung out my shingle (and there was no shortage of stay-at-home moms that would pay well for piano lessons for their kids in nearby upper class neighborhoods.) It was a good living, albeit not particularly exciting, and I was comfortable.
I made my way back to the music room just as the doorbell rang, and my last student of the day let herself in. A senior in high school and nearing graduation, Alyssa was one of my most gifted pupils. As dedicated as she was cheerful, she had blossomed in her music and was my favorite student by far...I enjoyed her lessons, the hour always seeming to fly by. If I'm honest, her loveliness probably contributed to that, and I couldn't help but be aware of it. Green, almond-shaped eyes peered happily out of a heart-shaped face, framed by long auburn hair that shone in the sunlight from the front windows. Her lips always seemed curved in a small smile, as though she knew something I didn't. She was altogether enchanting, and I'll admit that at times my thoughts wandered to her in idle moments.
Normally cheerful and bright, Alyssa's shoulders were slumped as she sat down at the bench, and she was unusually quiet. Sensing she was in a mood, I decided to forego the usual chitchat at the beginning of the lesson and we went ahead with the lesson. After ten minutes, during which she missed more notes than she got right and was clearly mentally elsewhere, I stopped her halfway through an exercise and leaned back in my chair. She refused to meet my eyes, focusing instead on a tear in the knee of her jeans.
After an uncomfortable moment in which neither of us spoke, I broke the silence.
"What's up?" She shrugged.
"You're a thousand miles away today, something on your mind?"
She hesitated. "Kind of."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really," she shook her head.
I waited another moment before I responded, in case she felt the need to expound. She didn't, and I sat up. "Alright, well let's take it from the top of page two, shall we?"
She started again, but after a few minutes stopped herself and sighed as if resigned, her hands squeezing the bench. Turning to face me, she continued not to meet my eyes and instead seemed to be focusing on the buttons of my shirt.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm just not feeling myself today."
"I can tell," I replied. "Anything I can do?"
"It's just..." She stopped, as if searching for the right words. "I've been seeing this guy - he's a freshman at the university the next town over - and since I turned eighteen last month, he's been...asking for things." She shifted uncomfortably, and I nearly did the same.
Great, I thought. Boy problems. I was the last guy she needed to be talking to about this. I'm her piano teacher, not her parent, and most certainly not a counselor.
I cleared my throat. "Right, okay...well, have you talked to your parents about it?" She shook her head emphatically.
"No way, they don't even know I've been seeing him. They'd be furious, especially if they found out that we..." She trailed off, her eyes still finding any place to look but me.