North Star

17 | manoa

2009

"That was good!" Lyanna said with a smile. "This part right here, though," she pointed at the sheet, "it's meant to evoke jealousy. Fury. A scorned lover. You want to really puncture these notes out like you're so angry you keep punching the wall. Can we try it again?"

My tutor was a fan of pushing me out of my comfort zone when it came to our lessons. As a fan of romantic composers who tended to stray toward a more whimsical and mythical dance, I needed work when it came to pieces that evoked something harder.

In general, I wasn't loud or strong in the way I operated. Anger wasn't an emotion I felt I had much of a grip on, not the explosive kind that seemed to have a mind of its own. It wasn't that I didn't understand it or experience it ever. Me punching Lake Williams in the face last year was evidence of that. When pushed to the edge, I knew I could topple over. But getting there felt so unnatural to me that even when I did, I couldn't truly process my thoughts. Drifting slowly underneath the surface came more naturally to me. As if my anger was something that bubbled beneath the surface; a pot of water someone stared at so I never reached a rolling boil.

Lyanna helped a lot with it. Even when I stumbled more than a handful of times since I wasn't playing the oboe every day anymore, she went easy on me. Not just because my parents were paying for these lessons. She understood how vulnerable it could be to open up to something seemingly innocent. And she didn't make me feel bad when I didn't know how to play something or when I needed her to show me how it was done.

Once every two weeks, I caught the bus down to Manoa and met up with Lyanna on campus where she was able to reserve a private room for our lessons. I had to bring my own reeds with me, but I was able to use one of UH's oboes for practice, which worked out since I didn't own one myself.

Although I was grateful for the opportunity to play again after quitting band, it wasn't the same and I was still trying to figure out if that was a good or bad thing. It felt good more often than bad. I worked at my own pace and could ask Lyanna to teach me certain things that interested me. There was no pressure. If I wanted to cancel a lesson at the last minute because my anxiety was flaring up, Lyanna understood.

But it was an exchange more than something organically collaborative. As well as Lyanna and I got along, we were still here as part of a business transaction. When that ended, I would go back to sitting in my room and staring up at the ceiling, wishing I could be dedicated enough to make something I was passionate about into a career that worked for me.

"You're doing really well, Hoku," Lyanna said as I packed up my things at the end of our session. "I think if you practice a little more, you'll be able to finish this by the next time we meet."

Flushed, I shrugged. "Thanks but I don't have anything to play at home so I just read over the sheet music between lessons."

She glanced around the room even though we were the only ones in it. "Look, I asked and they said it's okay if you want to take it home every once in a while. Just make sure I can reach you in case they need it for something."

I stared at her. "It's okay?"

"Sure."

Bullshit. "Then why do you look like you're afraid of getting caught?"

"'Cause I'm afraid of getting caught." Quickly, she closed the case for me, almost snapping it on my fingers in the process, and shoved it against my chest. "But it's okay. Everyone that works here is old and doesn't know what's happening around them half the time. It'll be fine. Just make sure you check your texts in case I need to do an emergency drive-by for it. Okay?"

As much as I didn't want Lyanna getting in trouble, the prospect of being able to play by myself was too tempting to turn down and I found myself clutching onto it like it was my baby. "Thanks, Lyanna."