The Musical Odyssey of An Amateur Pianist

As the final school bell rang, Celeste sprouted up from her seat. Excitement ran its course through her veins, and she couldn’t contain the eager expression on her face as she headed out of her biology class. God, I hate that class, she always thought when she was in the clear to think such a thing. Ms. Smith was evil, according to Celeste and the rest of her grade, and her lack of mind reading powers had yet to be proven.

She couldn’t help but stress over the test they just wrote, the test she likely failed. She had studied what she thought was her best, hours and hours of flashcards and memorizing terms she hadn’t paid enough attention in class to properly retain. She felt like she was forcing herself to remember meaningless words, words she couldn’t care less about. How was it her fault that her mind was slow? And how could she do so terribly? She spiraled into her usual post-academic madness, and landed at the same conclusion she always does: what are her parents going to say? Her eyes love to well up whenever she reaches this notion, and she despises it. But they did, nonetheless.

She shoved all similar thoughts down because she wanted to be happy, and this was getting in the way of her admirable goal. She walked down the hall with her best friend, Olivia, who immediately noticed the extra energy in her steps.

“Celeste, what are you in such a rush for?”

Initially, some time ago, she considered keeping the reason from Olivia. This was her secret, her special something all to herself. She loved visiting and trying and practicing, and she loved that no one knew about it. But Celeste was a smart girl, and she’d learnt from her past failures; you don’t lie to someone when there’s a good chance they can catch you in it. And in this scenario, Olivia would have known she was lying from the second she witnessed her hesitation. Now, her friend is the only person that knows about her secret.

“Don’t you have singing in fifteen minutes? I don’t want you to be late!”

“Oh,” Olivia says as she smiles in realization. “This is about the piano.”

Celeste blushed as they arrived at her locker, as if this was some crush she’d been daydreaming about for months. The piano in question was the one in the studio that resides in the same building as Olivia’s singing classes. For the past two weeks, Celeste has been taking Olivia to her classes and wandering the building. She stumbled across an area separated by soundproof walls for dozens of rooms filled with instruments of all kinds. While the drums attracted the child in her, and the guitar’s potential was tempting, Celeste only sat down at the piano. 

She didn’t know what she was doing, of course, she’d never touched a musical tool in her life. But she also couldn’t explain the attraction towards its black laced keys, just that it felt like the grand piano was calling her name in all but a whisper. Its sleek iron plate and golden bass strings worked in unison to seduce Celeste in a matter of seconds, and soon enough she was gently placing her fingers on the keys.

“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s about the piano.”

“I don’t understand your obsession with it,” Olivia offered. “But if it makes you happy-”

“It’s not about being happy, Ol. There’s something different about it.” Celeste tried to explain. “Like singing for you, only a piano in its place.”

“Ah. Well, when you put it like that, I think I get it. Let’s go.”

*****

Olivia was off to her class. After saying bye to her with a smirk, Celeste happily skipped towards the studio. She had driven here with such efficiency, ever so conveniently going no more than nine kilometres over the speed limit. As she opened the doors to the room filled with pianos of all shapes and sizes, a nervous smile spread across her face as she approached her favourite one.

She took it all in, running her hand across the smooth black ebony. Admiring the maze of strings, the power behind the instrument tucked away behind the wood, she appreciated the true craftsmanship that went into making such an impeccable object. She traced its delicate frame and basked in its beauty, from the keys up to the embellishments of the lid.

She’d been using the books for beginners in the studio, targeted towards kids a lot younger than her, which stung enough. Celeste didn’t like feeling like a failure, perhaps because it was the most common emotion she felt- that she was a disappointment to everyone, and herself. Stooping to a level lower than she wanted to be at felt like giving up, even though she knew deep down it took a little bit of courage to try something new. 

As soon as she had that thought, the tiniest bit of reassurance, she ignored it like it never entered her mind in the first place. Who cares about that? She likes it, so she’s giving it a try. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that simple fact.

She gently laid her fingers on the keys, a simple C chord which was the only thing she could never forget. She played it, ever so lightly, and felt a splash of childlike joy enter her chest, the way it always does when she first touches the instrument. She began the melody of her favourite song, something she’d been working on for the past week after getting the basics down as well as she could.

As she continued with the piece, she closed her eyes and sunk into it. Engulfed in emotion, she shut off her mind and let herself feel it all in one big wave. The notes carried her away into oblivion, allowing her to float around a quaint, special space. She embraced the alluring chords, and felt herself smile as she thought to herself, everything is gone, I am at absolute peace and-

Wrong note.

She opened her eyes jarringly, annoyed more than anything. She despised the disruption, especially that she was the cause behind it. Sighing in moderate dismay, she knew she messed up and that bothered her oh so much. But not enough to overcome her need to play it again. It was nowhere near her determination to master this piece.

So, she began from the start again. Within seconds, she found herself back to the same entranced place she was at before, but visibly more cautious. She kept up at the same pace she was at prior, only she was thinking about every note with much more strategy this time. She was imagining future keys before having to touch them, while simultaneously dissecting every previous one.

Wrong note.

Celeste laughed it off like she was an evil villain on her last straw, glaring at the piano as her eyes welled up. She decided to try again after angrily sighing, but it was too late. She knew her frustration was seeping into her ability, she was overthinking every note and couldn’t focus any more. She was suddenly very aware of every bone in all ten of her fingers, and what each of them were working towards: failure. The thought lingered as she tried to press on, and she knew she couldn’t go back. This has been happening for the past two weeks, and every time, her playing only worsens the more attempts she makes.

Wrong note.

Celeste wiped two tears from her face as she smashed the keys of the piano. It seemed silly that not being able to play a simple song frustrated her so much that she was minutes away from taking a hammer to the instrument. But she wanted this, she wanted it so bad. More than anything, more than school, more than pleasing her parents or impressing her peers or putting a smile on other people’s faces. This was for her. She wanted it for herself.

“Play it as you hear it.”

Celeste turned around, confused as to whether she was losing her mind over this and imagining voices. Instead, she saw a lady with kind eyes standing across the room. Celeste immediately felt a rush of embarrassment, how much had this woman witnessed? Merely her foolish breakdown, or, even worse, her failed attempt at a simple piece? 

“Pardon?” Celeste mustered with what shattered dignity remained in her bones.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t help it. I know the feeling of being oh so close but not quite there yet. It can be a… disappointing endeavour.”

“I suppose so,” Celeste tried to chuckle. “I’m sorry your ears had to deal with my-”

“My dear, please don’t apologize.” The woman waved her off as she took a few steps forward. “We all start somewhere.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think I’m made to progress on from this somewhere.” Under her breath, Celeste mutters, “I don’t deserve to achieve it.”

“We all deserve to hear beautiful music, of course, but even more so the feeling of satisfaction when we create it.” It seemed the woman heard her.

Celeste thought about her statement. Was this true? She looked at the world as a place where you had to earn the things you wanted, whether it be respect or happiness. Is music something we all deserve, without earning? Fading off, Celeste reminisced on the first time she heard Olivia sing. It was three years ago, she’d come to watch one of Olivia’s shows. She was singing a sad song that made the room float away, the lights dim, and leave Celeste in absolute awe. She couldn’t take her eyes off of her or stop listening. When it ended, she thought about how much it made her feel. How if she could feel that way all the time, she would.

“Well then, could you help me?” Celeste snapped out of her dreams.

The woman slowly approached her, silently asking if it was okay to sit down next to Celeste on the black bench. After a nod, she joined her in front of the piano. Celeste noticed a particular twinkle in her eyes, as if reconnecting with a long lost memory. She thought she saw the slightest smirk at the edge of her lips, but it was gone as fast as it was discovered. The woman took a deep breath in, out, and turned to her.

“Play it as you hear it,” the woman said, as she began playing the exact song Celeste was trying to learn effortlessly. “Don’t memorize the location of the keys, or which number of black keys to the left you have to play after however many seconds.” She continued playing, improvising beautifully on her own while maintaining the integrity and authenticity of the piece. “Hear it.”

“I don’t know the whole thing, though-” Celeste attempted, too afraid to tell the lady she was wrong. She’d never get this.

“Go in small sections of the melody, not all at once. Once that’s perfected, tune the harmony in for the bits that you feel need it and master one section at a time like that.”

“I’ve been trying to do that, but I can’t seem to…” Celeste struggled for the words.

“Slow yourself down?” The woman asked, smiling now. “I understand, but don’t overwhelm yourself with the big picture. Take your time, look at the strokes individually first.”

Celeste looked confused, and she could tell her new mentor noticed. It was like the woman threw herself right into her mind, reading it like a book. How did she know exactly how her process worked? How did she know exactly how to fix it? Celeste immediately felt the need to start again from the top, and take her advice.

The woman stopped playing the piano. “Please,” she gestured towards it with encouragement.

Celeste placed her hands once again on the instrument. She took a deep breath in and out, following the woman’s routine. Slowly and steadily, she began once again. She went slow, with the intention of stopping when she reached the sixth bar of the piece. She had a new sense of hope, with the comfort of her helper beside her. She was all but nervous, until she had the realization that she now had an audience. And that’s when it happened.

Wrong note.

The urge to smash the keys until they popped out of the wood rushed through Celeste’s brain immediately, contained only by the fact that she wasn’t alone. She didn’t do anything but apologize, flustered.

“Don’t say sorry,” the woman spoke softly. “You can try-”

“Look, I’m sorry, but I should go.” Celeste stood up abruptly, tears forming. “Thanks. Bye.”

*****

Celeste had been avoiding dropping Olivia to singing for the past week, and when she did, she wouldn’t exit the car. She was upset, embarrassed, and disappointed. She felt foolish for even trying to take on such a difficult task, but she mainly thought about how stupid she must be to not be able to play a simple song, when so many others can so easily. She was less than, she was worthless. She was untalented and dumb, and couldn’t succeed in anything but failure.

This time, before she had the chance to drive away, she saw a familiar face at the door.

“Why aren’t you coming inside?” The lady from a week ago asked with a mischievous smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you gave up so soon!”

Celeste was taken aback by the woman’s sudden change in tone, an aggressive switch from before. She felt bad, walking away from her so rudely that time, but she didn’t feel bad enough to indulge her in more pathetic attempts.

“I’m sorry about last week. But I can’t come in today.”

“Today, or ever?” She stared into Celeste’s soul and smiled, sadly. “I sure hope not.”

She entered the building, and Celeste drove away.

*****

Celeste was receiving back her biology test, and she wanted to grab a knife to stab in her chest right then and there as Ms. Smith approached her with an expressionless face. Anxiety always flooded her body in moments like this, and she hated it. Nonetheless, she couldn’t control it, so she was in absolute fear when her test was laid face down on her desk. She flipped the paper.

It was an 82. She was happy for herself, because she figured she did worse, but was terrified at the thought of her parents seeing this number. She felt Olivia’s caring eyes on her, ready to give her a pep talk at any given moment because no one understood Celeste’s mind like Olivia did. Except this time, she didn’t want it. An 82. Was that bad? Her expectations of herself had blended into a blurry range over the course of the semester, and she herself wasn’t even sure what made her satisfied anymore. 

Celeste tuned into what Ms. Smith was saying rather than listen to her nagging thoughts. Ms. Smith said it was tough, the worst one of the year and the only one that was in the same conversation as their future exam. She said the class average lowered significantly because of this test, that even those who studied with all they had didn’t necessarily do well. She looked at Celeste when making this comment.

Celeste needed silence. She couldn’t think. She knew exactly what would happen when she told her parents the grade, but she also knew she wasn’t ashamed of it this time. This was an improvement from the last, much better than the last, so why couldn’t she be happy with progress alone? Why did it need to be overnight success, could it not be a slow rise with bumps along the way? As a long list of questions raced through her mind, Celeste couldn’t help but wonder: why was her mindset changing now? She needed silence.

But she thought back to the piano, the music she swore to never attempt again. She yearned for it, for a second chance. She felt its pull in that moment, and couldn’t resist it anymore. She didn’t need silence, she needed music. She needed to hear it. She had to try again. And whether she succeeded or not, she would keep going and keep trying.

After the bell, she drove straight to her favourite place.

*****

Sitting down at the piano, she felt an immediate return of connection. And old and welcoming warmth embraced her as she adjusted the bench, and memories flooded her mind as if this was her oldest friend. She hesitantly allowed her fingers to float above the keys, and took a deep breath in and out. Before she could play, she felt a familiar presence, and turned around.

“I wanted to try again,” Celeste said, unsure as she said the words out loud. “Could you help?”

The woman beamed. “I’m glad. But you don’t need me.”

“I-”

“No, sweet girl. You don’t.” She smiled. “One note at a time.”

Celeste smiled nervously and whispered to herself, “play it as you hear it.” 

She could almost feel the woman’s pride from behind her when she played the first chord. Before she knew it, Celeste was playing the piece slowly and beautifully. She wasn’t thinking about where her fingers were going, or how fast she was going. She wasn’t thinking about the small mistakes she made along the way, she merely listened to the harmony. She just felt the weight of the keys, the pedal, and the music she was so lucky to be able to create. As the final chord faded into stillness, Celeste smiled harder than she had in a very long time. She was happy. Truly, truly happy. Her very first piece.

She turned around to thank the woman, but she was nowhere to be found.