Deux histoires sans noms

Two recent practices.1

Placing herself neatly on the piano bench, Julia observed, “Nothing to revive the soul like a little Rachmaninoff, really.” I partially agreed with her. I though there was nothing much better than listening to Julia play Rachmaninoff. To her, I suppose, they were pretty much the same thing – but then again she couldn't see, or hear, rather, the unmistakable flair she gave her music. And I like to think no one besides myself could – and who knows? I may have been right.2

In any case, my job in our whole ordeal was to provide her with learning material. Presently, she was practicing a pretty little prelude, but I preferred it a little less prim and proper. The ironic part is that that's who she was: always polite, but never very passionate – until she placed herself neatly on the piano bench.3

That, to me, is how one can identify an artist – someone whose personality changes completely once they so much as think about whatever form of they art they immerse themselves in. And, by that definition, Julia was a true artist, and for me one of the joys of being her – manager, if you will – was watching her, in just a moment, transform herself. It was another aspect of her persona – and though she didn't know it – her persona was the one I was interested in the most.4

Were it up to me, I would've been more than just her manager, more than just her teacher. Somehow she was convinced that I knew more than her – even so, I wanted to know everything she knew.5

But I digress – we had work to do.6

---7

“The trouble with autumn,” John always told me, “is that those pretty leaves fly in your eye.” The first time I heard him say that was on my fifteenth birthday, when were talking our way through the paths in the forest near where I lived.8

Normally, when John starts going on about some insignificant thing, like the problems with autumn or whatever else he feels like talking about, I let it slide. This time, though, I couldn't help myself.9

“But there's no leaves in anyone's eye.” He stopped walking for a minute, and even without turning myself round and looking, I could tell that he was looking at me, and wondering why I'd chosen to respond. For someone who didn't think before he said anything, John thought about me a lot.10

“True enough,” he said after a few moments of, apparently, regarding the canopy. Then he regarded me. “Still, though, wouldn't it annoy you if a leaf randomly flew in your eye?” I turned back around and started walking again.11

“Sure, John, sure it would.” We walked for a few minutes, each of us mulling over whatever problems we had. We walked for a few minutes more, and then I remembered my question.12

“Hey, John, when do I get my present?” He chuckled, and I stopped dead.13

“You did get me one, right?” He kept walking, right on past me, and now I began to worry. I ran in front of him, to stop him.14

“Right?” At this point I was more than worried, and was starting to get a little annoyed. At first he chuckled, then he started laughing.15

“You really think I forgot, huh? Well, don't worry. It's coming to you.” I didn't know what he meant by that, but really I shouldn't have dwelled on it for as long as I did.16

“Now just what does that mean? It's 'coming to' me?”17

“Yeah, sure, why not?” He let out a sigh. “You want the truth? Yeah, I couldn't get you a present. Satisfied?”18

I was not satisfied. But he didn't have anything more to say. He kept walking. I had half a mind to walk the other way. But was I going to let him get away with this?19

I yelled after him, probably a little too loudly, “Yeah, well, why couldn't you?” 20

Without so much as looking back, he shouted, “Just... never mind.” Now it was time to run up to him.21

“You expect me to accept that? You've known today was coming for eight months, and you still couldn't get me anything? Couldn't even walk down the road and get me a soda? Nothing?”22

Now he turned around. “Well, I didn't forget, alright? I wanted to get you something, but dang it, nothing I saw was good enough for you.” This was the second time he stopped me dead.23

“Nothing?”24

I wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or an excuse. He stepped just a little closer to me. Clearly, he had something significant to say.25

“Do you really think going down the street and getting you a soda would be enough to say, 'I care about you'? Do you think that'd be enough to make today a good one? Would you just want some empty gesture so I could just write off your birthday and forget about it forever?”26

“You care about me?” 27

No, this wasn't the best time to hear this for the first time, but I guess it was my birthday.28

“Do you think I would've spent weeks trying to get something for you if I didn't?” He was trying to defend himself, but he was failing- and turning just a little red. No problem, though. Right then, so was I.29

A breeze picked up, and sent some leaves flying – and one of them flew right into my eye.30

“Aah!” I shrieked, and brushed it off. John chuckled again, saying, “See?”, and I laughed back.31

And though it was a little awkward at first, I stepped up to him, and hugged him. “We'll call that leaf my gift.”