Eight>>>Bad Uncle Taylor
Arley and I are sitting on the floor together. She’s got a whole Fisherprice Little People scene set up next to her. I’ve got a beer in one hand and a remote in the other. We all need our pottery days, and we all need our football days.
The Kansas City Chiefs are winning just like they should be. This is already a good morning for me. I discovered earlier that I gained 2 pounds, which for me, that is a good thing. I also finished a novel I was reading during breakfast. If KC were to win the game this could perhaps be the best day I’ve had in a few weeks.
“Arley sit down, I can’t see the tv.”
“I’m thirsty.”
I look at my niece and sigh. I gave her some juice a few hours ago. What the hell is she thirsty for.
“Yeah, what the hell >are you thirsty for? C’mon. Let’s go get something.” I lift her up and carry her into the kitchen, checking the clock. “Your daddy is late, you know that?”
“How come?”
“Because it’s all part of his evil plan to ruin my life even more.” I get out some orange juice and rinse her cup.
“How come?”
I set her on the counter and start filling up her cup, handing it over to her once the top is screwed on tight.
“Drink your juice.”
I glance at the newspaper while she drinks and flip to the advertisements and things in the back. Jedidiah has been saying he’s wanted to buy a new car for months. Since he won’t actually look for one himself, I’ll see what I can find.
“1998 Audi,” I say out loud, “He wishes he could afford that.”
“How come?”
I study her face for a second to see if she’s just trying to pull my leg or if she’s really asking. She seems genuine.
“Because he’s broke!” I look up as I hear the front door open. “Daddy’s home! Ike get in here and claim your child!”
He walks in and picks her up, swinging her around.
“Hey Ar. I’m sorry I left you with bad old Uncle Taylor.” He smirks at me. Have you ever met a more clever man? I know I haven’t.
I roll my eyes at him and browse through the classifieds. I pause. “Piano instructor needed” I read. Okay I’ll be honest. I read it out loud. I’m one of those people who reads everything out loud. Mom says I just like to hear the sound of my own voice.
I tuck the classifieds into my back pocket and go back into the living room to finish the game.
I use the spoon to stir my coffee and look at Zac’s face.
“So I found something to do with my life.” I tell him.
He raises an eyebrow suspiciously.
“Yeah really. I’m going to be teaching piano.”
He smirks and takes a bite of his burger. “Someone is paying you to teach? You have to be the worst teacher in the world.”
I frown at him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you have zero patience!”
“I have patience!” I defend myself. And I do! “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So who are you teaching?”
I sip my coffee to stall, finally admitting, “Well I don’t have the job yet. But I’m applying for it. And I’ve been playing the piano for years.”
“When was that last time you played?”
“About 6 months ago.”
“It’s amazing how much you can forget in 6 months you know.”
My brothers are no good. They do nothing but bring me down.
I finish my coffee and get up. “You know what Zac? I’d like to prove you wrong.” I crush the cup in my hand and toss it to the garbage, missing.
Zac looks at my crushed cup laying on the ground and only grins to himself, shaking his head. When did both of my brothers turn into such pompous jackasses anyway?
I have spent the last 3 days going through every piece of classical music I own. I’ve perfected every piece. I’ve made Mom give me two fake interviews. Yet as I walk through the door of the community center, I can feel a dark cloud of failure hanging over my head. I walk over to the front desk.
“Hi, I’m Taylor Hanson. I’m here for the interview…uhhh…audition? Whatever they called it.”
The lady behind the counter uses her napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth and holds up her finger, telling me to hang on. She swallows and takes the coffee cake on a plate off her lap, setting it on the desk. I wait for her to recover. And I wait. Some more. Finally, she clears her throat.
“Taylor Hanson?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Go right down that hallway and go into room 103.”
On my walk down I make sure to concentrate to my breathing. When I used to be goalie for soccer I used to get so nervous. As the players were coming down the field at me I would freeze up and panic. Mom told me I had to breathe. And concentrate on the in and out of it all. I step into the room.
An older man is sitting at a piano practicing some music and looks up at me. He takes his glasses off, sets them on the piano and puts his hand out.
“Good to meet you! You must be Taylor.”
I can’t really say I shook his hand, because what actually happened is he shook mine, and he shook it furiously. Aren’t pianists supposed to be delicate? Maybe Mom’s just been telling me that all my life in order to brainwash me. He tells me to sit down and play something I’ve prepared for him.
This is easy. Without any sheet music I play the piano parts to Billy Joel’s classic, Vienna, and wait for his approval.
“Nice job. Now I’ll give you a piece you don’t know yet and see how you site read it.”
Now I’m nervous. I wipe my palms on my pants and focus on my breathing again. It’s been a long time since I had to try out for something. He gives me a piece of Chopin music and I study it for a second, noticing the key signature and the various tricky parts before I play. I close my eyes for a brief second to cool down.
The man chuckles. “You’re so good you can play new music with your eyes closed huh?”