I’m typing this desperately on my laptop, locked in the back of one of the practice rooms with loud bangs interrupting every word I input. Ah… I’m sorry. I won’t bore you with what’s happening now. Let me explain.
I’m an international transfer student who recently joined a boarding school this year. I’m into all sorts of music, so, naturally, I joined the school’s band program. I’ve always been the quiet type, so making casual conversations are generally something that never comes to mind. Growing up, I was always into music. I was mainly a piano player, but unfortunately, that wasn’t an option in the school’s concert band. Our band teacher that I won’t name for the sake of anonymity, was a middle-aged man with an eccentric sense of humor. Of course, I still wanted to play in the school band, so I talked to said band teacher about instrument options. We eventually agreed on me learning a brand new instrument, the double bass.
Rehearsals started off rocky, due to me not knowing how the double bass worked, and string instruments being completely new to me. My social awkwardness did absolutely nothing to help my situation. So, my band teacher would always take me to one of the practice rooms to do private work with me. “Watch your technique, make sure you’re digging in with the bow.” I’d always found it hard to make eye contact with people, but whenever I looked up from my bowing hand and at my teacher, there would always be this face between a grin and a smile, eyes wide open. It was uncomfortable, really, but I shrugged it off as him being nice. After all, it was my first month in this country as a whole. I’m not one to criticize how people here do things.
Eventually, I had made enough progress to play with the rest of the band, joining them for rehearsals in the larger music room. I was always the first to arrive to rehearsals, due to the fact that I had to take the double bass from the storage room to my spot in the music room. There would always be that awkward exchange between me and my band teacher that would usually go as follows:
“Hi, Jake. How’s your day been?”
“F-Fine, how about you, sir?”
“Oh, I’ve been doing wonderful, thanks for asking!”
The smile did not help making eye contact. It was like some sort of twisted amusement, the type of smile predators make when they’re toying with their prey. I’d always avoid any other conversation, partly out of fear, and simply set up and get ready. Needless to say, I didn’t make much, or any, friends at all. And before I knew it, the winter concert was fast approaching. After rehearsal one day, I was packing my things up, about to put the large instrument away until a voice stopped me.
“Jake, are you busy right now?”
I was a boarding student, so not much was on schedule. I said yes, of course, not knowing what else to say. Oh, how I wish I said no.
“N-No, sir. Is there something I can do?”
“OK. While I believe you’ve made outstanding progress and improvement for an instrument you’ve only started this year, I still don’t think you’ve reached the standard to play on stage.”
“Y-Yes, sir. I understand.”
“So, if it’s fine with you, can we have a session where we can work on your technique and intonation?”
“Right now?”
I should’ve noticed the red flags. My teacher never stopped smiling, the Cheshire cat grin that showed teeth whiter than the moon in the night sky.
“Yes, it that is fine with you.”
I hate how compliant I was back then.
“O-OK.”
I quickly picked the bass up, as my teacher opened the door to the practice room, holding it open for me to enter. After all, the bass was quite a heavy instrument. So, after walking in, I watched my teacher lock the door. Setting the music stand up and placing my sheet music on it, I waited for what to do next.
“Please take out ‘Prelude and Fugue’, and go to bar 87 where the bassoon solo starts.”
“S-Sir, I don’t play until bar 91, four measures after the solo.”
There was a brief glimpse of anger in his eyes, but that quickly quieted down when he looked at my sheet music. I did really have four measures of rests.
“OK then. You can start there.”
I picked my bow up, and started playing. I did make some pitch accuracy errors here and there, but I made sure to “dig in with the bow” like he had requested.
“That’s a B-flat. First position.”
I nodded, moving my left hand up a slight bit, making sure not to stare at the imposing smile. It really was getting to me, but I had to keep calm. Maybe I was just overreacting.
“You can stop now. Just make sure the B-flat in first position is more clearer.”
“Understood.”
“It’d be a good idea to practice tonight.”
I nodded, putting my sheet music into my bag and placing the bass on the stand against the wall.
“You’re dismissed, by the way.”
I left promptly that afternoon, a feeling of wrongness in me. I don’t normally let anything get to me on a sunny Friday afternoon, but getting this off my mind was easier said than done for some reason that day. I forgot to mention to you guys reading this that the dorms of the boarding house I live in aren’t quite far from the school, only a five-minute walk, less than that if you’re fast.
Tucking myself into my bed, I took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling. My roommate, Erwin, had already fallen asleep, the other side of the room. How he falls asleep so fast intrigues me. My thoughts replayed through my head, about the winter concert tomorrow, and about the incident today. I still don’t know why the school arranges concerts on weekends. Letting the silence take over me, I turned on my side.
Except there wasn’t silence.
Heavy breathing on my window followed by frenzied tapping had me jump out of bed instantly, as I looked at the source of the noise.
I will never forget what I saw.
My band teacher, staring at me from the window, his breath fogging up the window as he tapped the window repeatedly. I didn’t know if it was to get my attention, but I didn’t care. He had my attention alright. Many things ran through my mind. Why was he here? What did I do? What should I do now?
Reaching for my watch, I looked at the monitor on its digital screen. 2:02 AM shone brightly in neon green as I quickly put it on, contemplating my options. I couldn’t find anyone for help, as the staff on duty had already left. Sure, I could run, but where could I go? As I thought about what to do, I unconsciously stared at the window. The smirk on my band teacher’s face grew wider, his breaths now coming faster. His eyes drifted upwards. The night air was still, except for his breathing. And his eyes.
And so, I waited. Nothing was going to put me to sleep that night. Screw the concert. If I mess up, I don’t care. I had more dire things at stake here.
I did not sleep one wink that night.
Now, I’m early as always, in the practice room next to the music room, the school concert band set to happen in a few hours. If something happens to me, at least you guys have this to refer to. The repeated banging does not help. Now I just have to wait and see.