Unfold

Unfold

In the last week of August, Noah was sitting in the ensemble room of his school together with the rest of his class. Marie was telling them that, as they all knew, they would be granted private lessons this year funded by the school, and how the next two years would require more work and effort from all of them. It had been nearly three years since Noah’s last private lesson. He could still vividly remember his last two private teachers. Neither had employed the greatest teaching methods, with one thinking that exclusively practising scales for a month was a useful way to spend lesson time, while the other was adamant on teaching a 12-year-old children’s songs. Admittedly, he sort of knew the man who was to become his private teacher already: Henry was one of the teachers in charge of both the ensemble and improvisation classes at the school, together with Marie. This meant Noah had him as his teacher the previous year, but as Noah did his best to not speak in front of a group, he had never willingly uttered a word to the teacher.

As he walked up to Henry’s office the following Thursday, Noah was nearly at the point of hyperventilating. He was ten minutes early and unaware of whether he should knock on the door when it was time or wait out in the corridor for Henry to open the door. In an attempt to calm his nerves and kill time, Noah sat down on the floor, pulled out a ballpoint pen and started doodling on the paper folder every student had been given to keep their sheet music in. Clearly, he had achieved his goal, as eight minutes later a student from the year above came out of the room and Henry’s head popped out.

“Whatchu drawing there?” he asked as Noah scrambled to his feet, hastily grabbing his book bag and folder, stuffing the pen back inside his pocket. He kept his head bent forward and eyes low, nerves climbing back up.

“Oh, er, nothing, just doodling,” Noah mumbled with an apologetic twitch of his lips, tilting the folder in Henry’s direction for a split second as evidence as Henry motioned for Noah to take a seat in the empty chair. The room was tiny; it felt even smaller than the practice rooms occupying the rest of the corridor that were open for the students.

“Looks good, though,” Henry replied. “Marie loves handing out those folders for every project in every course, so I expect to see them all decorated like that,” he quipped, pointing to the drawing. Noah ducked his head to hide the involuntary grin creeping onto his face. Henry took down one of the guitars hanging on the wall and handed it to Noah, and as he grabbed the guitar behind his own chair, they started going through the songs Noah’s group had chosen for ensemble.

Thursday the following week saw Noah on the floor opposite Henry’s room 15 minutes before their lesson was supposed to start, working on an intricate flower pattern on another one of the folders. As promised, each one of his classmates now had four folders each, and not nearly enough papers to warrant four folders. When the previous student gave a half-shouted goodbye to Henry on his way out of the office, Noah was already on his feet. He gave an awkward half-smile and the compulsory second of eye contact as a greeting before returning his gaze to the floor.

“What are we doodling today, then?” Henry asked as Noah came into the room, motioning for him to take a seat. Noah tilted the folder again, careful to not let Henry get too good of a look. As Henry waited for Noah to pull out the right sheet music, he made valiant attempts at small talk, asking how he was settling into the new classes, any projects they had started on, only getting stuttered single-claused sentences in response. After the correct papers had been fished out of the folder, they got to work on the assignments.

The next week, as Noah came into the room and had dutifully shown what he had been drawing, Henry asked, “Do you like Nicholas Cage?” before Noah had even sat down. Surprised, he opened his mouth to form a response, but apparently the question had been rhetorical. “He’s a very strange man, I can’t figure out whether I like him or not. He’s certainly done some great movies. He’s also done some not-so-great movies…” Henry frowned, gaze falling to the floor. Noah sat in shock, staring at his teacher, oblivious as to what he should do. He vaguely wondered if he should say something, but he had no clue as to what. Then Henry suddenly jumped back into his normal position, animatedly exclaiming, “Anyhow, Nicholas Cage doesn’t actually have anything to do with what I’m gonna talk about, except that his surname is Cage, and if you add a D to ‘cage’ you get ‘caged’, and those are all the chords that work as bar chords across the entire fretboard. See?” he said, quickly demonstrating what he meant. Noah let out a startled laugh and Henry immediately grinned.

Henry had clearly decided that conveying information in a blitz-like manner worked well because during the next lesson, he said they would be working on improvised jazz solos. As soon as Henry mentioned it, Noah felt his anxiety rise, but it seemed Henry had seen it coming. “And if you don’t want to improvise you can always just start playing Pink Floyd instead.” Noah’s brows furrowed in confusion, looking at Henry for answers. Henry then grabbed the note stand in front of him and swivelled it so Noah could see the papers on it. Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2. Still needing to explain himself, Henry continued, “It doesn’t apply to all of it, but a big part of the solo just follows a minor pentatonic scale, so if you know this one, you can play a solo in pretty much any jazz song because they’re all in minor anyway.”

“Huh,” Noah let out. “Like the finale of Comfortably Numb.” He looked to Henry for affirmation. “It’s the same there, not- not applicable to the whole solo, but parts of it,” he added hastily. Henry looked outright proud, and Noah ducked his head, but he found himself unable to wipe the grin off his face.

The months passed by with Henry cracking jokes, and Noah started to retort with witty comebacks and puns, but as the winter holidays drew nearer, he felt his anxiety start to climb again. The holidays were always been a source of anxiety, social events and gatherings even more so. Over the past few years, staying home had him growing frustrated, and the picture of a good son had become harder to maintain. It had always been easy to simply agree with whatever his parents proposed when he was younger, but the more he grew, the more he was expected to have opinions and make decisions, and he was aware of how overtly those opinions differed to those of his parents.

“You excited for Christmas?” Henry asked while they were getting their things in order at the end of the lesson. It was the last lesson of the year and Noah felt guilty for not partaking in the usual banter like before, leaving Henry to carry the conversations on his own.

Noah fiddled with the clasps on his bag, not looking up. “Well, yeah, presents are always nice, right?” He cringed at how false he sounded. In an attempt to drive his point home, he met Henry’s eye and gave a feigned smile. If Henry spotted the blatant lie, he never mentioned it.

“Take care, alright?”

He gave a slight nod and a twitch of his lips in response, not knowing what to say.

——

Noah had had to work for it, forcing himself back into a jesting mood in order to deploy valid retorts to Henry’s jokes, but two weeks after the winter holidays had ended, he found himself comfortable again, the anxiety finally easing its hold on him.

A week into February found Noah sitting on the floor of the corridor outside Henry’s office again, fiddling with the strap keeping his folder together. As the door to the small room opened and Henry appeared, Noah registered a remark about not drawing today and gave a non-committal response.

Once they were both back inside the small room, Henry asked lightly, “Everything good?” with his back turned to rifle through papers on his desk. “Social studies before lunch, right? What did you get up to?”

Noah was keeping his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall opposite him where a chair or a note stand had scratched some of the paint off. “We, er, watched a movie,” he said absently, still fiddling with the folder in his lap.

Henry turned back to face him. “Yeah? Was it any good?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was…” Noah paused for a moment, trying to decide how to continue. “It was about this family where one of the kids had a drug problem and the dad was trying to keep his family together.” He paused again. “It just sort of drew a lot of… It hit a bit too close to home,” he finished, averting his eyes even further to look out the window instead.

“Are you… Are there drug problems in your family?” Henry asked, an alien awkwardness making its way into his voice.

Noah furrowed his brow, giving a slight shake of his head. “Not exactly. Not voluntarily, at least.” He bowed his head, adamant to not look his teacher in the eyes. “But it turns out drug addicts and institutionalised kids share most of their behaviour.”

“Did you-” Henry started but Noah’s eyes immediately flew up to meet his, fervently shaking his head.

“No-” he started, louder than intended, cringing at himself while trying to decide how to get out of the hole had just dug for himself. “No, it’s my sister, I’ve- I’ve never been admitted or anything,” he rushed, eager to convey the message.

Henry seemed to relax a bit at that. “Family relations are never easy, really. There’s always more to them than what first appears.” It was Henry’s turn to pause and contemplate his next words. He had lost the awkwardness of earlier, but the gleeful expression he perpetually wore around students was still missing. Noah found himself unable to look away, but Henry was the one now staring out the window. This was new territory; the lesson would always start with Noah not knowing what would come out of it, but this went beyond his sphere of speculation. “When I was younger, my brother used to get into trouble. My mother would try to fix his behaviour, and… and what I’m saying is it’s probably pretty similar,” he finished, turning back to face his pupil. His usual confidence found its way back into his voice as he straightened his back. “And the society we have right now obviously doesn’t have a good way of dealing with it.”

“Otherwise we wouldn’t have these problems,” Noah added meekly, both grateful for the severed intimacy and mourning the lost connection. They kept the discussion going, both making sure to steer clear of any matters too personal. When Henry finally said it was time to go, the lesson had ended nearly half an hour ago.

The coming week they spent the lesson talking about how the education system allows no space for mental illness and how teachers are unprepared to deal with it, Noah staying behind an extra half-hour again to get any practice done. The week after that followed the same routine, only this time the topic of discussion was how the education system favoured a certain type of person, placing everyone else at a disadvantage. The rest of the school year was spent in the same manner; every week Noah entered Henry’s office knowing there was a philosophical discussion brewing, and the lesson would end with going through whatever needed work from the other music classes.

Noah felt the usual dread take its hold of him as summer approached. Apart from the usual routine of trying to avoid his family as much as he could without causing offence, there was the added unease of knowing next year was the last before his graduation. Whenever there was silence between them, his mother had taken to asking Noah about his plans for the future. As he expressed his continued uncertainty, hinting at what he really wanted but never saying it, he was met with remarks about how it was immature of him not to take charge. His mother would then persist in the fact that the local university had a good reputation they would give him a ‘proper’ education.

——

“Had a good summer?” was the first thing Henry said to him as Noah made his way back into the small office. He was aware of how poorly he looked. It was too warm for multiple layers of clothing, leaving him feeling exposed, and adding to the lost weight and bags under his eyes, he felt observed everywhere he went, slouching in a feeble attempt to cover up.

“Could be worse.” He grinned despite himself. “You ever noticed the sign above your door saying you’re only allowed to have three people in here?”

They quickly fell back into routine, discussing religious fanaticism at length. With the new schedule, Noah’s private lessons were now just before lunch, then followed by a free period. The lessons increased in length as the months passed by, and the weekly discussions grew more intimate. Henry started sharing personal anecdotes in relation to more sensitive topics, and after each one, there would be a lull in the conversation. It was an invitation for Noah to divulge himself, something he found himself craving but uncertain as to how.

——

Noah knew what he wanted to do in the future, but he also knew exactly how it would be interpreted by his parents. Noah was his mother’s replacement for her lost daughter, and she was choking him. The more independent he became, the firmer grasp she tried to keep on him, ensuring he would stay with her. He knew the reason behind it, but he still loathed it.

A few days after Christmas, he finally cracked. Noah told his parents he wanted to move away, that he wanted to start his own life.

“You’re clearly not mature enough for that kind of decision.”

It was hypocritical of them to ask what his plans were, only to immediately shoot them down.

“It’s better if you stay close to home where you can always fall back on us if anything goes wrong.”

It had sounded logical at first, kind even. He was unsure of whether or not it had been intentional, but as he replayed the argument in his head, he saw how manipulative it was.

——

It was the first week back from the winter holidays and not a word had been spoken between Noah and his parents since their fight. The wall he had spent years behind was back, separating him from the rest of the world, and Noah was intent on having it stay that way. Henry had been talking about how people were sometimes unable to change their minds, leaving stale and severed relationships in their wake, with Noah not contributing much to the conversation. After a long tangent, Henry suddenly changed his tone.

“After my brother moved out, my mother and I started getting into these fights.” Noah moved his eyes to the floor, desperate for a chance to hide; he could practically feel Henry prodding at his mind.

This is too much.

“I didn’t like how she had handled the situation, how she had driven him so far away that he left without a word, not contacting any of us for over two years.” The air in the room was so thick that Noah could hardly breathe. “I blamed her for it, part of me still does. He was an adult, but she drove him away. And she drove the rest of us away, too. She’d complain to me about my brother, about how my father wasn’t taking enough responsibility, saying they were treating her unfairly.”

Please, just stop.

Henry was keeping his voice soft and unwavering. “As I grew older, she said I was just like them.” He knew exactly what the story was doing to Noah. The facade of keeping the conversation impersonal had been stripped away. Noah could feel his own mask cracking. He had remained completely motionless for minutes, refusing to move lest his body betray him, but betrayed him nonetheless. His breathing started to hitch and his hands were shaking where they were hidden inside the sleeves of his jumper. “She would tell me she loved me, but it was always followed by how I would never betray her like my brother had, or my father had.”

Please.

Tears were falling onto his jeans. Before he could think, Noah dragged his sleeve across his face, trying desperately to wipe away the evidence of his emotions, knowing his efforts were futile. He tried to regain some semblance of composure, but the tears kept coming. Instead, he held his breath in a last attempt to keep it all at bay, his whole body shaking with emotion.

Suddenly there were hands on his arms, gently lifting him out of the chair and pulling him into an embrace. The dam broke and the wave Noah had so desperately been trying to keep at bay washed over him in an instant. Henry remained silent, holding Noah in place as he let out everything that had been building inside of him for years, letting all of the guilt and sorrow and blame unfold in the safety of his friend.