The Weight of Our Expectation

Private Lessons (part 4)

Rhythms

Once the lesson was over, they'd rinsed and changed clothes, before sitting on the familiar bench out front, awaiting Kurt.

"You've learned so much already. You're really getting the hang of it," Deniz said. "You're a natural when it comes to a steady rhythm. I swear. I've been telling you that since day one." He paused, both of them looking across the parking lot for something to say next.

"Maybe you should be a drummer. Ever think of that?"

"Don't like rock music," Max said.

"Jazz? Is that more your style? Pretty much every type of music needs someone to keep the beat." He tapped a rhythm on his own chest and thighs, again calling unavoidable attention from a pair of blue eyes. "I bet you could learn drums real easy. I've got a friend. Jeff. Total genius. I bet he'd let you try out his drums, if you want."

"Yeah, maybe? I like classical music. And modern minimalism." He suddenly brightened up. "Do you listen to Philip Glass or Steve Reich?"

"Nope," he said, pulling out his phone and tapping. "But I will before our next lesson."

"Try Metamorphosis, or Einstein on the Beach, maybe" he suggested. "They're easy."

"Will do." He finished adding to his playlist. "I'm impressed, Max. You're really pushing yourself this summer," Deniz said. "Trying new things. Swimming, sharing, maybe drumming. I'm proud of you."

The younger boy felt the warmth of Deniz's words take effect throughout his body. Each word was like gem, something rare and valuable. He felt seen. Appreciated. Understood. In ways he'd never known he needed.

For the first time in his life, Max felt a surge of possibility. He could learn to swim, not just survive the water. He could make a real friend, not just an acquaintance. He could be himself, without shame.

"I'll bet your dad'll be real proud of you, too," he added.

Max's face fell for a second at the mention of his father. But this wasn't about his dad, it was about him and Deniz — that spark of connection, the possibility of friendship. Max allowed himself to imagine it. What it would be like to have a friend like Deniz Kamal?

As the first shadows cast by the tree line hit the edge of the parking lot, Max felt a sense of contentment he'd probably never known before. This was the beginning of something important. He could sense it. He would study it, analyze it, unravel its mysteries until he understood exactly what it was.

He needed to get home, to his room, so he could think.

* * *

Inquisitive Minds

Deniz was full of questions as they continued their twice-weekly lessons. "What kind of books are you reading these days?" he asked once, his tone genuine and curious.

Max, surprised by Deniz's interest, told him about the books he was currently reading — a biography of Leonardo da Vinci, a textbook on astrophysics, and a book about the evolution of the human brain. Next up: basic anatomy.

Deniz listened intently, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Wow, you're really into your studies," Deniz said. "It's not every day you meet a guy who knows the difference between AirPods and a cephalopod." He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes.

Max laughed, inadvertently swallowing some pool water and coughed a little. "I also love art," Max admitted, a little shyly. "I draw. Mainly portraits."

Deniz's eyes widened. "So you said. Would you show me some of your portraits sometime?" He noticed Max stiffen and nudged him with his shoulder. "Unless you mind, of course. I know some people feel awkward showing their art."

"Um, yeah...maybe," Max stammered, his gaze darting around as if seeking an escape route. He wants to see my drawings. The thought sent shockwaves of trepidation and temptation through him.

"Just so you know, I draw too. I'll bring some sketches next time," Deniz added.

If it was possible to be even more impressed by Deniz, Max just got there. "For a class?"

"No, just for fun. I draw buildings, mostly. I like architecture. Probably will major in it."

"That'd be cool," Max said. "I've been drawing a lot lately. Maybe I'll show you some of them."

"I remember when I was in eighth grade, I saw you in the cafeteria a lot, always drawing in a notebook," Deniz said. "One time, I walked behind you to look over your shoulder. It was super detailed. I was like, wow." He grinned, shaking his head in admiration. "It looked totally awesome!"

Heat instantly burned his ears, his cheeks tingled. He ducked his head, avoiding eye contact. "I'm better with details than forms," he mumbled, "Details are important, even for a portrait."

"I bet you're even better these days." Deniz grinned, pleased to see Max enjoying the conversation. "So, who's your favorite subject to draw?"

"Lately I've kind of been drawing toads that live in my backyard," Max said, feeling a rush of heat to his cheeks. "But I prefer drawing portraits of people."

Deniz raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sounds intriguing. So no muse at the moment?"

Max froze at that question and could only nod, feeling flustered. But then he took a big risk. "Maybe," he whispered, hoping Deniz couldn't hear the tremor in his voice.

The urge to draw him was overwhelming — those angles, the curls at his temples, that quick smile. His mind became a camera, clicking frames, storing details: the play of light, the shadow, all waiting to be gloriously translated onto paper.

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