Short Stories + Contest Entries

Middle C

Inspired by a pianist I once saw in my youth. Enjoy!

"Tell them I'm sick or have a ton of school work to catch up on." I insist, but my mother doesn't seem influenced as she fries up eggs and bacon for me.

If she thinks that making my favorite breakfast is going to calm my nerves, she's dead wrong. The only thing crisp bacon and sunny side-up eggs can calm is my growling stomach, hungry from my long night's sleep.

For days I've been trying to opt out of getting a piano teacher. I don't even want to play the piano! She just came home from work one day and said, "Hey, you're getting a piano teacher!" And she just expects me to be okay with this? Nope, no way!

My mother demands that I learn an instrument. "We already have a full-size piano, why let it collect dust when you can put it to use!?" I've heard her tell me too many times, and since I'm the only child, the responsibility falls on me.

When she doesn't reply, I continue to spew my thoughts at her. "Say I fell down a flight of stairs. Say I died for crip's sake, just get me out of this mess." I cry out in exasperation, and my mother finally looks up from the stove.

"Margaret, we don't even own stairs." Her tone is flat, but at least she's listening to me, that's progress.

"Yeah, but Katie has stairs at her house, it's a perfect plan!" I inform her.

"It doesn't matter. The answer is still no. I told you, you're at least going to try it for a month. If you still aren't interested, I promise to pull you out. It's only once a week on Saturdays for one hour, it's not going to kill you. It might even be fun!" My eye twitches at her optimism, and my head falls on the granite counter in distress. It's useless, after two weeks of trying to butter her up and beg her to reconsider, she won't budge.

"Well, who is this person anyways?" I murmur. What if it's some old crusty lady or a grumpy elderly man who'll make me play Beethoven?

I cringe.

"I talked to him a few times on the phone. I think he's name is, Timothy?" She's uncertain of the knowledge she knows, and hands me a plate of breakfast.

I instantly swallow a chunk of bacon. "That's like an old man's name!" I whine, and she gives me 'the mom' glare.

"Maggie, that's not very nice. He actually sounded quite young when I spoke with him, so who knows?" I roll my eyes and groan.

"Just be washed up and ready by 12:30. He comes over at 12:45." She orders, so I decided to just suck it up, and stuff the rest of breakfast in my face.

When 12:45 rolls by, my mom drags herself and me outside to formally greet this piano teacher. I count the seconds by, holding onto my jacket for dear life. My platinum blond hair covers my neck from the cold, but even my jeans and boots can't save me from this shriveled and raw air. I seriously don't know the point of this!

"Mommy, I'm cold. Can't we wait inside?!" I can't take this weather!

"Oh hush! You're seventeen years old, quit whining like a little baby." She sasses me, and I flare my nostrils in frustration. She either doesn't notice this, or chooses to ignore me.

"Look, I see a car coming this way!" My mother beams and I dread this moment.

A silver Nissan pulls up to our curb, and the engine shuts down. A frown plays on my face, and my mom slaps my arm as if to say, "don't look mean!"

"Smile, silly. Make him feel welcome." She orders me way too much. I fake a smile, and she nods merrily. I guess being fake is the point. What a bust my Saturdays are going to be.