A Bit Flat

1. Last Night

An etude. Last night he was practicing an etude in the living room. Over and over, he was practicing it, in preparation for an upcoming contest. And he was actually doing a very good job: mastering the notes, getting good tone. Except every time he got to a certain note (wouldn't you know: a note held longer than the others), I had to cringe. He was just a smidgen flat.

"Pull your slide in, Ben," I said from the study.

What? he asked. I can't hear you. Speak louder. (The ceiling fan in the living room makes quite a racket at top speed, which he prefers when he's playing.)

The next time he hit that note, I spoke up, Flat!

He kept playing.

So the next time, I yelled, Flat!

It is not, he objected.

And the next time he played the note, it was flat again, and I shouted again, and he objected again. And so it went for quite a while: him in the living room with his trombone, me in the study with my uninvited commentary.

Flat, I would say.

Not, he would respond and then continue playing.

Of course, you can only offer so much feedback. It's their music, after all, not ours. And they need to enjoy playing.

So I let it go.

2. Tonite

And that would have been that, except that tonite he came up to me in the study with his shoulders drooped and his head hung low.

I'm sorry about yesterday, he said.

For what?

I'm sorry about how cranky I was.

You were cranky? I didn't remember him being cranky.

Yes. About the A, he said.

I thought for a moment and then asked, The flat A?

Yes. I'm sorry I was so cranky.

I looked at him. Since when does he apologize for being cranky when he wasn't cranky? It took me just a moment to figure out.

Today was Thursday. On Thursdays, Ben has his weekly trombone lesson with Nathan after school.

Why? I asked. Did Nathan tell you it was flat?

He hung his head in mock shame.

I'm so ashamed, he said.

I laughed very, very loudly.

You're so busted is what you are!

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