The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

How much pizza can four people eat in a single night?

How much pizza can four people eat in a single night?

Another month went by before I knew it, and I wondered why time went by so quickly like that. Wasn't there some way to slow it down? I wanted to stop and enjoy each moment, but they kept flying past me, like the tiny particles of snow that had become a familiar sight on the Kale campus. At this rate, my life would be over before I knew it, and I would never have a chance to truly reflect on why I was going through life like this.

Throughout that month, the same thing happened day after day. I woke up, went to each of my classes, occasionally attended a Guyliner Club meeting, did my homework, went to the Aubergine early, chatted with Brendon for a while, played the piano, and then went to bed. I never spoke to Patrick, even though we shared the same dorm. Despite the repetitive nature of my daily routine, I loved it. I enjoyed talking and flirting with Brendon every night, and although I missed speaking with Patrick, I had other friends that made up for the loss. My life was going just fine.

In mid-December, finals arrived. Knowing that my mother expected a satisfactory GPA, I tried my best to study as much as I could. However, that was especially difficult in Advanced Piano Studies.

A few days before final exams began, Professor Leopold came into my practice room to check on me. I was working on the set of études that he had assigned me, but he glared at me when he entered the room. "Ryan, what are doing?!" he asked.

"I'm just practicing," I said.

"You are massacring Liszt's great piano études!" Professor Leopold exclaimed. "Are you even reading the music?"

"I'm reading it," I said as I took a closer look at the sheet music. The music was difficult, but I thought that I was playing it correctly.

"Clearly you're not," Professor Leopold said. "Those notes are marked as marcato."

"I'm playing them that way," I said.

"No, you're not," Professor Leopold said. "They need to be more separated."

"Alright," I said. I attempted to play the piece again, tripping over some of the faster notes. Although there were plenty of errors, I did play the étude in the style that my professor wanted.

"Not quite, Ryan," Professor Leopold. "You missed almost every note there, and your articulations still aren't correct."

"Seriously?" I shouted. I played through the piece again, but every time I saw a marcato marking, I played it as long as possible, just to annoy my professor. I just couldn't stand a man like him. Was there any meaning in a tiny dash of ink of a page of sheet music? I didn't think there was, but perhaps I'm not the one who gets to decide things like that. On the other hand, maybe I could decide for myself what a marcato marking meant.

"Are you even trying, Ryan?" Professor Leopold said. "That sounded horrendous. If you played that way on your final, I would have no choice but to fail you."

That was when I picked up my packet of sheet music and threw it across the room. "I'm done with this class!" I screamed. "I'm not taking it again next semester!"

Professor Leopold simply shrugged and left the room, leaving me to deal with my own rage. I did mean what I said, however. I swore that I would never again take a music class. Philosophy was my one true love, not music, so why was I even bothering with a classical piano course? All it was doing was bringing my GPA down.

That day, I stormed back to Flack Hall, still angry at Professor Leopold for his constant criticisms and myself for taking that class in the first place. I crashed down onto my bed and immediately got started on my paper on Leonhard Euler for Great People of Mathematics. A few minutes later, Patrick entered the dorm room, carrying a biology textbook.