The Music in My Head

            by Emily Gee

 

“What did you say mom?”

            “I said we should leave soon!  We don’t want to be late!  Did you se that nice outfit I laid out for you?   Honey?  Very professional, which is what they’re expecting…”

            My mom’s voice trailed off as she hurried down the stairs to iron a shirt.  I looked down the stairs tapping my finger on the wooden railing.  I always liked to hit it at different angles to create two different hollow pitches rather than the same one over and over.  What had my mom said?  Something about an outfit…and not being late…?  Hm…she must be ironing my shirt!  I scooted down the stairs in my socks picking up speed as I went to make sure I slid about three feet when I landed off the last stair. 

            “Josh! —Why aren’t you getting dressed? I just said I didn’t want us to be late!” 

            “But mom you have my shirt right?”

            “No! Ugh! Honey PLEASE try to turn the music down when I’m talking to you—I mean, just concentrate on my voice instead of the music, you know what I mean, your outfit is on your bed.  Hurry on now!”   Turn the music down?!  HAH easy for her to say!  I stood there a second asking myself if it was an okay time to get into that argument, but decided to cut my mom some slack, I knew this meant a lot to her.  Let’s see outfit on bed.  Yup definitely heard it this time. 

The French horn would open the piece this time, coming in with a minor melody.  Repeating its first note three times before flowing through and moving down the scale.  Followed by the timpani that would join it softly on the offbeats, it was subtle at first.  An adagio tempo would be right.  Then the strings would come in with harmonizing tremolo, still the accompaniment, back ground to the minor melody of the horn.

            On my bed I found black corduroys, a black belt, and a white polo shirt, all crisply ironed and folded one on top of the other as usual.  Lying next to the pile was the envelope.  THE letter that according to everyone I knew would change my life.  It had come with all the other mail a few weeks ago.  Until then I had absolutely no idea a letter could mean so much!  Even though it had my name on it, my mom had insisted she open it.  She’d gently torn open the top careful to preserve the pretty white label that read a little too clearly “The Conservatory”.  I’ll never forget the look on her face as she read that letter.  Her smile grew like…like the chords in a Dvorak Symphony.  Yeah like in Symphony #8 where the cellos start and then gradually one at a time the other instruments join creating this massive dissonant chord until it finally resolves!  A crazy piece of music that one!   The letter read as follows:

            “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wallace,

After much discussion with the board of directors, it is with great delight that we invite Joshua to an interview on campus.  Because this is a special case, we think it necessary to meet with all of you and discuss our goals as well as your own for Joshua.  We look forward to meeting you all.”

            The tremolo would grow with the horn and all together they stop, leaving a surprisingly major tone hanging in the air.

            A few days after it’d arrived someone from the school had called to set up a meeting.  Today had been chosen, Jan. 14, 2002.  My mom said this would give me time to finish my new composition.  Well, more like finish writing out, my new composition.  I mean it was done a month ago…I knew exactly how it ended, began, flowed sang, it always came all at once, it always had.  I didn’t normally write out every piece of music that went through my head, I would’ve gone crazy by now if I’d tried.  But, Mom had said they wanted a copy of my latest piece so I forced myself the past few weeks to put it on paper.  I’d finished just in time for today and printed it out at the copy store yesterday, all nice, new, and waiting to be played. 

            “Josh! Five minutes till we pull out of the driveway!  I hope you’re listening!” 

            “I hear you Mom!  Loud and clear!”  Shoot!  I whipped off my old t-shirt flinging it off to the side with one arm and grabbing the polo with the other.  Shoving it over my head and folding down the collar before getting to my pants, then belt, socks, shoes.  Ready!  Nope, comb hair, grab music, and finally—

A violin solo would start low and then ring through the silence using arpeggios and as it reached the top the whole orchestra would join in causing the solo to be lost among the new harmonies.  

            The letter. 

            “All ready to go mom” I said reaching the bottom of the stairs. 

            “Then let’s get going my little Mozart!”  I turned and walked out the door towards the car.  I hated when she called me that! 

****

            “Josh you wait right here for me okay?  I’m just going to ask for directions.”  She scurried on through the open door.  I looked at the maps I was holding in my hand.  Lots of different labeled rectangles and squares, pathways, and circles.  Maybe they seemed clear on paper, but who could really follow these? 

            The brass, winds, everyone would join causing dissonant chords, that would make any listener shiver. 

I watched a group of students come out of the classroom across from me.  They reminded me of my baby sitter.  Tall, confident, independent, adult.  I suddenly felt out of place. 

Then gradually the orchestra would decrescendo, and an obo would take a solo.  Again small at first but gradually moving up in arpeggios as though gaining confidence.  This could be the theme of this piece.  The solo melody that the horn timidly started with would be passed around to different instruments, different sections of the orchestra.  Interesting idea…

            “Excuse me, could you tell us how to get to the admissions office?” I heard my mom ask at the desk.

            “Oh, of course.  Just go down this hallway here and down those stairs and it should be the first door on the right.  I think you’ll find it, it’s well labeled for new comers like yourselves.” 

            “Great, well thank you very much.”  “Come on Josh, we better hurry.”  She unfolded my clenched fist and gently pulled me in the direction of the stairs.  “Honey, are you all right?”  She stopped pulling and looked me straight in the eye.  “Your hands are sweaty, honey…” She bent down and placed her hand on my cheek.  “Are you nervous?”

            “Shouldn’t I be? Mom?  I don’t know if I belong here.  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…I don’t know what they’re gonna’ ask me in there…I don’t know how I hear music, mom I can’t explain it, it just happens.  You know this, look at those other students they--”

            “Honey, they don’t care if you can’t explain how it happens…they aren’t down there to give you medical tests on what’s going on in your brain…they want to know what happens, what you hear.  You belong here; it’s your calling…your gift. Trust me.  You’ll be fine.  Now stop joking around…we don’t want to be late.”  And with that she took up my sweaty palm once more and we headed toward the admissions office. 

            When we arrived, we were told to sign in on a clipboard sitting on top of a counter.  Seeing as how the counter was a little tall for me, my mom took care of that part.  I seated myself in a big cushioned chair.  The leather was red and soft.  I smiled at the funny noises my sweaty hands made as they brushed along the wide cushion.  In a way it sort sounded like a low horn. 

Bur-bur-bur, bur-bur-bur…distinct triplets…it fit perfectly under the crescendo of the cello chorale that had entered a few measures before carrying the same melody…yeah actually this was nice…

            “Josh” my mom whispered.  “Stop that!”  I snapped out of my daze, noticing the woman at the desk was staring at me with a small smirk on her face.  I could feel myself blushing a little.

            “Oh…um…sorry…I—“

            “No need to explain.  Joshua Wallace I presume, and of course Mrs. Wallace, it’s such an honor to meet you.  The director has been anticipating this meeting for quite some time.  Please follow me right through here.  Take a seat, the director will be in shortly.”  She glanced at me once more and smiled, then continued out the door.

A circular table took up half the room, with four matching chairs around it.  There were three other chairs scattered in the room, but the other half was mainly occupied by a grand piano.  My eyes went over its shiny black shape and matching shiny black bench.  I walked over to the bench and saw the small printed gold letters “Steinway” hmm…better than a Yamaha.  The piano had been placed on a special rug, even though the room was fully carpeted. 

            “Mom…do you think I could um…you know…play? Just until they come in…to help relax?”  I looked up at her, hoping with all my might that she’d say yes.  I mean, it was a music school right?  They couldn’t actually get mad at me for playing. 

            “Well…I suppose, but be ready to stop they shouldn’t be long.”  A smile grew on my face as I lifted the cover of the piano and moved the bench back.  Ahhhhhh, this feels much better.  The cold smooth keys were relief to my formerly sweaty palms.  I waited a moment, to hear the melody clearly again. 

It was the flute’s turn, starting on a high c…flowing…smooth…delicate…I watched my right hand move along the keys, it was a solo, but not for long.  The first violins would join in a cannon with the flute, I placed my left hand on the keys near my right, and joined the two…it was still simple, but—

A hand on my shoulder startled me.  I turned around to see two men and a woman standing just inside the door. 

            “Joshua, what a pleasure to finally meet you.”  The man said, moving his hand from my shoulder and leading me towards a chair.  The man was older with slightly gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses.  He had a white collared shirt and black pants on that swished as he walked.  After everyone had pulled up a chair around the table he continued, “I’m Professor Charles Caldwell, the admissions director here at The Conservatory”.  After introducing himself he looked at the others implying they do the same. 

            “I’m Professor Catherine Price, I’d be one of your composition teachers, but I’m also the head of the Composition Studies Department.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  She seemed nice enough, smiled at me with her bright red lips.  She had a sharp face and brown eyes that matched her hair. 

            “And I’m Professor Marcus Serper, I’d be your main piano teacher for the first couple of years.”  His voice was stern and flat.  Deep set eyes and noticeable cheekbones.  His appearance however, didn’t match his tone.  His slightly wrinkled polo shirt and navy blue pants seemed relaxed and out of place for a guy with his intensity.      

“So, Joshua, or should I call you Josh?” Professor Caldwell asked me.

            “Oh, yeah um Josh is fine.”       

            “We invited you here today for sort of an informal interview.  We understand that you have some unusual, and extraordinary talents regarding music.  In this school, we believe very strongly that someone’s talent should not be overlooked regardless of their age, and we would like to be involved in helping you develop as a musician and as a composer.  We’d like to ask you some questions regarding this “music in your head” as you described it in your original letter to us.  However, I think we were also curious as to some more general questions, what music is to you, what you love about it, where your ideas for composition come from, where the inspiration for your musical genius starts. How does that sound?”  He reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a pad of paper and pen.  The other two professors did the same.  My mom kept her eyes on me, with a look of expectation, nervousness, and maybe somewhere in there compassion and love, maybe even good luck.  Really though, I knew luck wasn’t a factor here.  I could talk about music.  The other boys at school could talk about Magic cards and sports…I could talk about counterpoint and tri-tones. 

            “Yeah, alright.  Um what would you like me to start with?” I asked looking up at the four faces staring back at me. 

            “Well”, replied Mr. Caldwell.  “How about the basic question of when did you start playing and why?”  This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.  It was really general.

            “Hm, well, see I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t playing.  I feel almost as if”, I paused knowing what I was going to say would sound stupid “as if I was born playing piano, or hearing harmonies and melodies.  I guess, my mom said I started playing when I was three.  But not with lessons, I mean it sounds kinda ridiculous to give piano lessons to a three-year-old right?  So, I didn’t start taking lessons ‘til I was four.”

            Professor Price interrupted me “Sorry, but what did you play until you had lessons?”

            “Oh, well my mom knew how to play a little so she taught me a few simple songs, twinkle twinkle little star, just a few basic songs like that—“ I paused, just long enough for my mom to chime in

            “Well…um if I may add.  He played more than what I taught him.  It was really quite bizarre actually.  I’m not very skilled at piano, I taught him your classic twinkle twinkle little star, melody in the right hand, and simple accompaniment in the left.  I taught it to him in D Major.  The day after I did this, I heard him playing it.  When I looked closer though, I realized he wasn’t playing it in the same key, he was playing it in C Major, then, G Major—“

            “My word!”  Interrupted Professor Price.  “We’ve never heard of such a thing at such a young age.  You must have been thrilled.  Even Mozart didn’t start transposing until age 7.”  She stared at me like she was actually looking at Mozart brought back from the dead right in front of her eyes.  Professor Caldwell mumbled something to her under his breath.  “Oh yes, I’m sorry please continue Ms. Wallace.”

            “Well, let’s see, eventually there were variations, sequences, supporting melodies, I didn’t know what to think!  So, at the age of four I got him a teacher, I figured it was the least I could do.”   The other professors jotted a few things down on their papers. 

 I was feeling sort of uncomfortable with my mom saying all this stuff in front of them.  I didn’t want to tell them everything.  I didn’t like how grown ups treated me after they knew about my “gift”.  The way Professor Price was still staring at me.  Like I was some “poster child”. Everyone always thought it had to be so cool to be me, the boy with the music in his head.  At my school it had taken a while for the other kids to not make a big deal out of it.  It’d be nice some time, to blend in, to not be the different one, the piccolo that could always be heard because it played in completely different octaves than any other instrument in the orchestra.  To be

            “A normal kid—“

            “Excuse me?” stammered Professor Price.  O gosh I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

            “Um I mean, I’m just a little uncomfortable sharing all of this with all of you…I’d rather just play for you, or show you the score I brought with me.” I looked helplessly at my mom, hoping she’d come to my aid in this and realize she should stop.

            “Oh, honey I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to ramble on like that…I know this is your interview.”  We both turned and looked around at the professors they looked a little confused, but still entertained by my mom’s story.  Professor Serper leaned towards Professor Caldwell and whispered something in his ear. 

            “Ms. Wallace, we were wondering actually if we could ask you to step outside for a moment.  We’d just like to talk to Josh on his own for a bit.  No big secrets, just a small conversation.”  What was he doing?  I definitely didn’t see this coming. 

            “Oh” my mom replied a little uncertain.  “Of course, I’ll just be right outside.”  She rubbed my shoulder and got up, walking out of the room. 

            “So Josh” Ms. Price said, “I have one question for you.  What does it feel like when you play music, when you’re just sitting in your room and listening to the “music in your head” as you called it?” 

            “To add to that” added Professor Serper, “what do you hear?  It’s just so fascinating for us to think about you must realize.  We’ve never met anyone like you.  We’d like to try and understand a little better how it all works.  It must be amazing.”

            “Josh”, it was now Professor Caldwell who addressed me.  They all suddenly had a different tone.  No longer chatty and light.  Their voices were all suddenly harsh and rather intimidating.  “Frankly, we believe you have a role here in the music community.  Your gift, this musical genius you’ve been born with must be shared with other musicians.  It’s your duty.  So, now, tell us, what goes on in that head of yours?”

            “Goes on? Feels like?  I dunno…the music in my head…it’s constant.  When I talk to people, I have to tune it out and try not to listen to it in order to focus on the voices rather than the music.  I can’t really describe a certain feeling.”  I held my breath hoping they wouldn’t keep asking these questions.  I wanted so bad to tune them out and allow the melodies to start flooding in, but I couldn’t.  The whole school atmosphere…they were questioning me like I was some exhibit at a museum.  I looked over at the piano.  I’m not sure how I got the courage to just stand up and walk over to it but I was suddenly a lot more at ease.  Sitting down on the bench I started to play.  Starting with the left hand, the melody was there.

            It started with no clear tempo, then an accelerando would lead it into the climax.  The counter melodies were building and the harmonies, dissonances, were growing. 

 I tried to let the music absorb me, but something wasn’t right, something wasn’t fitting.  A duty?  A “musical genius”?  The phrase wasn’t resolving, why couldn’t I find a resolution?  I could feel their eyes still glued on me like I was a God.  It made me sick.  There were too many thoughts in my head.  Tune out the voices, focus on the music.  Why wasn’t it happening?  My melodies always found there way back to the starting chord, but it wasn’t, it just kept going, my fingers kept moving like a broken machine, there were too many notes in my head at one time too many melodies, I didn’t remember where I’d started, the keys kept changing…a nightmare this had to be a nightmare--

            “Josh!”  My hands were flung of the keys and I realized suddenly that tears poured down my face.  I looked up to see my mom crouching next to me.  My hands were shaking, and she put her hands around them tenderly.

            “That’s what it feels like” I said quietly at first, “When I play, when I listen, when I compose…that’s it!”  My breathing was still fast and I spat these words at the professors.  They stood in awe at my impromptu performance, and out break.  They wanted to know what it feels like?  What I hear all the time? 

            “Josh, let’s go,” my mom said quietly.  She led me by the hand my eyes still wet with tears.  But I wanted them to know; I wanted them to know what it felt like. 

            “Dvorak” I said quietly.  “Dvorak, Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, and Beethoven.  All at once.  Try that, try listening to them all at once…tell that to your musical community.  A quote, from your musical genius.”