The Music Teacher

“No, No, No!” He yelled shaking his head, “Remember you are in a battle. You are a general. Now fight with pride and attack with certainty!” Gabrielle ignored that bazaar analogy and continued the way she knew how. Her hands felt tired and shaky, perhaps the lesson is almost over, She continued hoping.

“No, No, No!” He shouted again as he began pacing the room and running his aggravated fingers through his charcoal colored hair. “Have you not been listening to what I have been saying? You are a General, play what you know, but do not block out what you do not. Do not let the enemy know what you do not.” He sat down on the stool next to her. “Now, continue!” He ordered.

“But Mr. M-”

“Continue! Now!” He bellowed back. Gabrielle rolled her eyes in frustration, which was very apparent in her music as she continued. Erik Mulheim stood up and paced again. His genius fingers caressed his brow in desperate anger.

“Enough, Enough!” He shouted as he slammed the piano shut so fast it almost closed on Gabrielle’s perfect hands. She jumped backward so fast she almost toppled off the bench. “We shall continue this lesson later when we are better prepared. Now practice shows when you do, if you do it.” He threw in dryly, “Now, I expect you to return and play this piece flawlessly and as a General would. Attacking with certainty and precision.”

“But, Sir, I did practice. . . . It’s just that finals are coming soon and I have so many courses it is just so hard to balance music with it all. Though I do practice for several hours every night still, but maybe, perhaps I could skip practice for just one week, or so, and return with a perfected performance for this piece. I think the break would really enhance my skills if I-”

“Gabrielle, I told you when you began taking these, shall we say, lessons, from me that I would make you the best, and all I asked that you make music your number one priority, and for your complete dedication, which you committed to. Now, I could be helping many more other extremely talented and gifted students who are far more dedicated to their craft. But instead I chose you. Someone who is a little less qualified than them, but who I saw something inside of that I have never seen inside of any other musician I have ever met. So I chose you, and I put my faith in you. And I sincerely hope that I was not foolish enough to have done that all in vain, Gabrielle.”

“No, Sir.” She replied. She felt her cheeks turn red and began to stare at the floor. Mr. Mulheim had this effect on everyone. Though Gabrielle was sure that he did not associate with many people, She had never even seen him even set foot outside his house before.

“You are right Sir. . . . I have forgotten that music is my first priority and I will never forget it again.” She conceded. “Good. . . . I shall expect better from you when you return tomorrow, on time, with a perfected performance ready.” He stated as he opened the door to usher her out. “Now if you will excuse me I have another engagement to attend to.” Another engagement? What could he possibly mean by that? Gabrielle thought. Erik Mulheim is the most renowned recluse in the city. Many don’t even know if he really exists and believe his brilliant musical existence to be a pure myth. He does not even have visitors or friends.

A shiny black car pulled up outside the house. A large man emerged from it dressed completely in black, carrying a large briefcase. He began moving toward Mr. Mulheim’s door as his cold, hard eyes glared directly into Gabrielle’s as she walked past. When the man reached the door he quickly checked his surroundings as if to be sure that no one else has seen him approach. He tapped only once on the door, which mysteriously opened by itself, and walked into the house.

When Gabrielle returned the following afternoon, She was completely exhausted. Last night she spent over four hours doing homework, two hours studying for an exam the next morning, and five hours practicing her piano piece until she thought her fingers might possibly fall off. With dark circles under her burning red eyes, and her hair slightly out of place, She lifted her fatigued arm to knock on Mr. Mulheim’s door.

“Late.” Was all he could say as She entered into his hallway to the entrance to the grand piano room. She approached the bench of the piano and was about to be seated when the unthinkable happened.

“Stop.” She turned to face Mr. Mulheim. “You are not prepared to play this piece.” He stated simply.

“Yes, indeed I am Sir. I have practiced it for several long hours last night and well into the morning. And I came well prepared with a perfected piece.” Was her reply.

“Oh really. Is that so? Well then, by all means attempt to amaze me.” He insisted, allowing her to continue.

Gabrielle sat down very promptly at the bench. Mr. Mulheim, for the first time in their lessons, sat down on a chair across the room and wore a very large, ominous smirk on his face and closed his eyes. Gabrielle cleared her mind, Focus, Focus, Focus! She repeated over and over. You can do this. You know you can. Show him. Show them all. And she began. Only three notes in the very predictable occurred: Mr. Mulheim began to laugh. Gabrielle continued to play despite this and Mr. Mulheim continued to laugh. With each note she played his laughs got louder and more maniacal. This laugh echoed and played over and over in her mind; It reeked of failure and ludicrous aspirations and dreams. She finally stopped, But his laughing did not. She could not even turn to look at him she was so hurt and upset. She tried to remain strong but that did not last long at all, then finally, She gave in. And cried. She would not allow it any further. Who cares if she never had a chance of performing professionally? Who cares if she never got any better at the piano? Who cares if she ever played again? And she left. It was strange though, It sounded faintly, ever so faintly almost like she heard sobs as the door shut loudly behind her.

Secrets Will Always Get You Into Trouble

I keep many secrets, I tell no one:

One is great and terrible;

It would hurt so many and utterly destroy others.

My secrets are hard to keep but they are my own internal burdens to carry.

This personal Pandora’s box will never be unlocked by anyone, not even me.

It is not an easy thing to hold all these untold mysteries in.

But this is my task that I was appointed to.

I was doing so well at herding my flock full of half truths and secrecy

When something happened; And I, Pandora, fell in love.

I now have found something of supreme greatness that I have never before seen or known.

And what I once thought was impossible to attain, is now mine.

This newfound bliss is something that I will hold onto until all time stops and the world ceases to be;

For this is what makes my life livable, and worth dying for to defend.

But then I grow too comfortable with this new found life of mystery and delight,

Then, the secrets do begin to unfold and dispel themselves:

Like giant, poisonous snakes they ensnare their prey,

Then ferociously bite and dispel their deadly toxins on their poor, defenseless, and weakened victim.

Leaving them at the mercy of their sick, sad game of selfish enjoyment.

And now because of my actions this love is now corrupt and beginning to decay.

Before my eyes to my own indescribable horror and pathetic, childish amusement.

Like the remaining autumn leaves that still persist when the seasons change too quickly.

Forgive me for not thinking clearly, and only having selfish motives in keeping you.

Your life should be yours alone, and not mine to hide away and meddle with,

But your own choice to keep, to be, to live and to love to the fullest extent possible.

For the record, I do care, and I do feel, and I do love you.

It may be honest to say, that I do, indeed, more truly more than you may ever know.

As you are a part of my own existence and being;

For you are always there, within me, burning with your intensity and fire for life.

This is the existence that I choose. And of all the places I could be, I still remain by your side.

But now it’s finally time to let go of that life, and to let you free.

So you may choose this incredible life that I have created for us, for yourself.

Your memories will no longer be my own creations to oversee and tamper with.

I set you down and put you right back where I found you so you can see it all so clearly.

And take in all that it is, and all that it is not,

To make your own true and concise choice.

But to my own dismay and terror you’ve had a quick look at what you desire most,

And you have found that it is not me at all…

Now you’ve run away never to return or even glance back.

Left so quickly without even a single thought more it seems;

Even without a proper goodbye you leave me with your tragically, definitive decision.

Is it because you’ve seen all these dark, disturbing secrets that I hold onto so tightly deep within me, or were you planning this all along?

I may never know, But I do know

That I will always miss you, and feel a void where you once inhabited

It will never be the same will it?

And this gaping hole will just grow bigger and only intensify as time moves forward:

While your angelic face will always haunt me with bitter remorse and unsatisfied regret.

Why did you not care to take that chilling, burning face with you as you go?

Is this a punishment for the crime I’ve committed?

I will take it eagerly for it is well deserved.

For this is the just sentence of my secret keeping and secret telling.

For with secrets: They will always get you into trouble.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

The Substitute for Winter

The very hot sun melts the tar

On the very dry, cracked street.

The grass on the lawn won’t stay green

Because of the inhabitable heat.

They say it has to rain soon

Or we’ll all have to run.

From this place we call home

It may be time to find a new one.

The sun still beats down on our red-hot necks

Even after midnight it still won’t quit.

Not till it has burnt this whole land up

And not one place is left to sit.

It’s getting time to go now and

Bubbles form consuming the highway top.

We can’t get out if our way is cut off

Is this bitter Demon-Sun ever going to stop?

The Ballerina

Thin flesh

Groping out toward

The frightened audience

Watched in amusement and horror.

Very dizzy.

A Chance

The rain is a rhythm of mystery and rhyme.

It sings of the pain and weeps tears of hope and rebirth.

It chimes of sensation of splendor, death, despair, anger, confusion; hurt.

It’s crying is like a broken heart that will never be rebuilt and will stay melancholy throughout the eternities even still in purgatory- this long suffering angel of madness shall dwell and haunt, and scream and wail, of another missed opportunity and utterly fail.

Thursday, January 05, 2006