It grated on me how Savannah continuously challenged me in class. I would never have tolerated it from any other student. Ever. But I’d watched her for the previous two years, and she was an accomplished musician and incredible student. That required some special consideration, but my patience only went so far.
Not to mention that her behavior encouraged others to do the same. Nathan hung onto her every word, apparently enamored with her radiance, and he’d followed her into challenging me in class earlier this week.
Nathan was unlikely to question me again. He left defeated at the end of class, tight-lipped and angry after showing up to our intellectual gunfight with a knife. But the fact was, they were both in for much tougher challenges than me if they intended to be successful. It was my job to help them prepare. I wasn’t enthusiastic about teaching this course, but I’d agreed to it, and I intended to do my best.
Savannah though ... she was impressive. Two weeks ago I had assigned the class a difficult challenge: to compose a four-minute strict canon. She had followed the assignment to the letter, but then turned it completely upside down, by composing an accompanied canon in contrary motion. Complex. Layered. Exquisite. One of my cello students, Marcia, accompanied her, a flute and cello duet which captured all the complexity of some of the best Baroque music, but also expressed a longing, and a depth of emotion I rarely felt hearing students play.
Her music, even her movements, were imbued with an inherent grace, a beauty I’d seen a hint of during her audition, but had pushed to the back of my mind. I’d never encountered an undergraduate with such depth of skill. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the music blaring from the speakers in the restaurant, instead focusing on the string of notes she’d played.
“Are you even listening to me?”
My eyes flew open. Karin—my date—stared across the table at me, her face twisted in annoyance.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about something that happened in class.”
I spotted our waiter, a poorly shaven young man. He had a tiny brown spot on his shirt. I waved him down. “Excuse me. Perhaps someone could shut off the ghastly noise coming from the speakers?”
The waiter stood there, dumbstruck. I jerked a finger at the speaker for emphasis, and he said, “I’ll, uh ... talk to the manager.”
Karin said in a teasing voice, “The girls at the office are right ... you really are insufferable sometimes.”
I shrugged. “Hardly. This noise is awful.”
She shook her head, a grin on her face. “You think any music written since the 18th century is awful.”
“No, that is not true. There are a number of 20th-century symphonies I absolutely love. But this?” I mock shuddered.
Karin went back to her story. And the truth was, I wasn’t terribly interested. James had insisted on setting us up for this date, sure that Karin and I would hit it off. She was attractive enough. Blonde hair, and an attractive body. But she knew little about music. How she could possibly work for the conservatory and not actually care about music? She might as well be a heathen who just happened to work in a cathedral. She went on for quite some time about the politics of the school administration, something that I cared exactly nothing about.
But I knew I was expected to say something. “That sounds ... terrible.”
She gave me a look as if she knew my words weren’t sincere. Then she gave up.
“What about you?” she asked. “When you aren’t busy with the orchestra, or teaching, what do you like to do?”
I felt my eyebrows move toward each other. “Practice. Or go to the symphony, or the occasional ballet. I’d love to see the Bolshoi someday.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Movies? Do you golf?”
I flexed my hand defensively. “Sports don’t interest me. Especially any that could injure my hands.”
She shook her head. “So really ... it’s all about the music with you?”
I gave her a long look. “It is ... all about the music.”
I studied her. It seemed I already knew an inordinate amount about her, because she’d talked quite a lot so far during dinner. She graduated with a BA in Economics from Tufts, somehow ending up at the New England Conservatory, managing, among other things, the sizeable endowment for the school. Of course I was fully aware the endowment was essential to the functioning of the school, and that financial matters must be attended to. But in truth, I’d rarely paid any attention to such things. My focus was always the music. Other things were of limited importance by comparison.
At least my student, Savannah, understood that. While her opinions were often maddening, there was no question in my mind that she got it. When she talked about music her face glowed, highlighting excited brown eyes. Although, in truth, I was concerned she might be prone to flights of fancy, and I worried far too much about her future.
Frankly, it disturbed me that I thought about her at all once class ended for the day. Never in my career had a student antagonized me as much as she did. For one crazy second, though, I wished it were her sitting across from me at the table. I wanted to hear the sweet pitch of her voice as she argued her ridiculous opinions about musical freedom, so I could argue back. That would be far more interesting than a dissertation on office politics and who on the faculty was sleeping with whom.
It was intriguing. I hadn’t intended to teach music theory at all this semester, instead concentrating on cello students exclusively. But Madeline White was injured and personally asked me to take the class. A decade ago, we’d attended the conservatory together, and had been friends ever since. She often said I was too rigid. And I, in turn, often told her she was far too freewheeling. But the respect between friends was important to me. So I took on the class. And the very first day I walked in, I didn’t miss the expression on Savannah Marshall’s face, nor that of her hyperactive boyfriend, Nathan. Both of them—the entire class, in fact—appeared horrified to see me.