He continues. “I spoke to her a few times about playing again. Apparently it would take a miracle to get her to lift a bow. Praise be the person who gets her to try.” Frank’s words are followed by more silence and I’d kill to see the expression on Asher’s face. “Well . . . needless to say, she’s doing an outstanding job.”
Asher lets out a loud breath accompanied the sound of his chair rubbing against the floor as if he leaned back in his seat. “Let’s hope so.”
I push off the wall I’ve been glued to and make my way down the hall and back up to my office. My teeth are rubbing together fiercely.
Let’s hope so.
Let’s hope I don’t ram his cello up his—you know where I’m going with this. Alexander Asher is making the douche with a flute look like Romeo.
I swing open the heavy stairwell door like it weighs as much as a feather and huff my way into Lisa’s classroom.
She’d asked if I would swing by her beginner’s class; she still hasn’t gotten an intern and it’s starting to cause her problems. Eight kids, all between the ages of seven and nine. It’s even younger than I was when I started to play.
By the time I get to the room, the students are all in their seats. It’s the fifth lesson for them, so they know where to go. Lisa begins by showing each child how to hold the instrument properly. Walking from child to child, she rests the violin on the collarbone, explaining the left hand and the shoulder should support the weight while the head stabilizes the violin on the collarbone.
It’s an awkward posture for a child to hold.
By the time Lisa has gotten to child eight, the first four kids are already losing their proper hold. I can see why she asked for assistance. She instructs them to grab the bow with the right hand and starts to talk about up strokes and down strokes.
I see a young boy struggling with the instrument, squirming in his seat like he has ants in his pants. Walking around to his spot in the room, I take a chair and sidle up next to him.
“Hi,” I whisper.
The young boy just stares at me. His eyes big and brown, darker than mine. I look down at my paper and his seating placement to find out his name. “Are you Charlie?”
Charlie nods. His face is set in a frown.
“My name is Emma. Do you mind if I help you?” My voice is soft, so as not to disrupt the rest of the class. When Charlie nods that it’s okay, I place my hands on the violin, resting it properly on his neck. “Relax your neck. You’re very tense. You’ll hurt yourself this way. Rest your head right here.” I pat down and he rests his head a bit. “Very good, Now, place your left hand right here.” I move his hand in place, noting it’s very stiff. “If you hold your bow up in your right hand, it will help relieve the tension in your left. Does that make sense?”
Charlie nods but I don’t think he entirely gets it. He’s still very young. In time, the instrument will seem like second nature to him. Until then, it will take practice.
He takes the bow, placing his thumb on the base and the other four fingers to rest at the top.
“Good job, buddy.” His finger placement is great except for the pinkie. “Don’t hook your pinkie like that.” I think for a moment, trying to make this lesson relatable to a seven-year-old. “Do you like Peter Pan?”
“Like Jake and the Neverland Pirates?”
Who the hell is that? I look up to Lisa, who is assisting another child. She gives me an assuring nod that this Jake is, in fact ,just like Peter Pan. She would know, she has two children of her own.
“You see this guy?” I pinch Charlie’s pinkie with my thumb and pointer finger. “This is Captain No-Hook. Can you say that?”
Charlie lets out a laugh. “Captain No-Hook.”
A smile crosses my face. “Yeah, Captain No-Hook. Don’t let this guy hook your instrument.”
“Does that mean I’m a pirate?” His eyes light up with the question.
I nod and continue to smile. “Yes. Now don’t let Captain No-Hook hook your violin.”