NOVEMBER 23RD, 1983

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Colin rushed into the tiny room, throwing his coat onto his chair. "Did you warm up, yet?" he asked hastily, pulling out a reed.
"No, I've just let my reed sit in water," I said, pointing to the little orange prescription cup. He pieced his instrument together.
"Let's tune."
We played a simple Bb. I couldn't tell the difference, but Colin called me flat. I push the cork in, making sure not to break it.
I played a Bb again, waiting for him to join me. When he does, he announces we're in tune and should warm up with a simple Bb scale.
I get out my scale sheet quickly. I practiced this scale so many times.
"One, two, ready, and. . ."
Bb...C...D...Eb...F...
I squinted at the higher notes and increased my air flow.
G...A...Bb...
We come down slurred. Colin looks satisfied.
"Great job!" he tells me, "Let's try it staccato."
"Staccato?" I repeat, the word feeling different on my mouth.
"It means to be separated. Not necessarily short, but separated."
I nod, placing my reed on my tongue. Colin counts us off again.
Playing it staccato was fun, especially hearing it from an oboe made it sound funny. It wasn't as hard as I expected it to be.
"Play again, just by yourself," he says. I hesitate, but play the scale once more, trying to tap my foot with the rhythm like I see Colin do sometimes.
"You need more tongue. I hear a "thethethe" sound. Make them separate "ta, ta, ta" ."
Colin plays the first few notes, and I hear the difference opposed to when I play it. I try again, making sure every note sounds like his.
I look at him when I'm done. He didn't seem to be paying any attention.
"Okay, good. Let's move on."
"You weren't even looking to see if the notes are right," I said. He looks at me, smiling.
"In a major scale, you can easily tell whether a note is off."
"You can?"
"Here, listen."
He plays a scale that sounded similar to Bb, but not quite. It sounded smooth, until her played a note flat, but kept going.
"It sounded ugly," I answered truthfully.
"It did. But do you know what I'm talking about now?" I nod my head. There was only fifteen minutes of class left and I haven't played a real song.
He pulls out a music book from the cabinet and flips open to a random page.
"Number forty two."
I study the notes, but the rhythm looked very familiar. When I began to play, I already knew exactly what this song was.
Clair de Lune. . .