We were seated in the recital hall, most everyone having assembled into groups so they could chat while we waited. When he walked out onto the stage toward the podium the hall instantly became silent, as all eyes were on the gray haired gentleman who was about to address us.
“Welcome to freshman orientation,” he started. “I’m Dean Hamilton, the head administrator here at the conservatory. If you have any problems during your time here, come to my office and I or one of my associates will help you find a solution.” He picked up the microphone and came around in front of the podium, finally coming to rest as he sat down on the edge of the stage.
“I’m not going to lie to you. The fact is, very few of you will become famous soloists. For every great musician who becomes famous, there are at least a hundred equally great ones who make a living in more or less anonymity. And for each one of them, there are a hundred who never make a dime as a musician, and wind up earning their living in another field entirely. This is the world you are all anxiously waiting to enter.” He paused for a moment to look around the hall at all the young faces staring up at him.
“I’m going to be blunt here. Most of you will wind up making a living in music teaching, playing in orchestras, singing in choruses, or any one of a myriad of other jobs. Some of you will leave here and go to work in the business world, and maybe…just maybe…a couple of you will go on to become famous virtuoso soloists. If you don’t like these odds as I’ve presented them to you, then I’d suggest marching right over to the registrar’s office and changing to another branch of the university.”
He then jumped down off the edge of the stage and took a few steps toward us, “But, if you came here because you have a burning desire to become the best musician you can be, period; then you’ve come to the right place.”
After turning off the microphone and setting it back down on the edge of the stage, he walked straight up the aisle looking at all the kids sitting there brimming with enthusiasm, and left the auditorium. We all sat there in silence for a couple of minutes before the cacophony of all the disparate conversations again rose from the seats to fill the air.
I should probably introduce myself. My name is Kyle Bronson, and I’m here to become a concert pianist, or at least that’s my goal. I’m also here because my parents couldn’t afford to pay for me to go to Julliard, which was my first choice of schools. Being attached to a large Midwestern state university, tuition plus room and board are less than half what they would have cost to study in New York, and while this school doesn’t have quite the pedigree of my first choice, the conservatory has been educating great musicians for about a hundred years. People who grew up taking piano lessons as kids might remember studying out of the John Thompson series of books? John Thompson had once been Dean of this conservatory.
Once we filed out of the recital hall all of us were taken downstairs to the practice rooms and told to line up for testing. Every student in this school is required to pass what they call a piano proficiency test, which consists of sight-reading, scales, and accompaniment skills. I was surprised just how many of those assembled were worried about passing the test. I mean, what’s the big deal? If you don’t pass it, you take a class every semester until you do. It’s as simple as that. Of course, maybe I’d have been a little more concerned myself if it weren’t for the fact that I already knew I could pass it without breaking a sweat.
When it was finally my turn to face the music, as it were, I went straight in and sat down at the piano. It turned out Dr. Anita Caroll, Piano Department Chair and head of my admissions jury the previous Spring, was giving the examination. “Kyle, isn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“I remember your audition. You have a very feminine touch for a boy.”
What was I supposed to say to that? In the end I just shrugged.
“Why don’t you start with the sight-reading page in front of you?”
I whipped through it without so much as a hiccup.
“Now, F sharp harmonic minor scale, both hands, three octaves.”
Easily enough done. I was starting to think I would breeze through this for sure. Once done with that she placed another sheet in front of me that looked like a page out of what’s called a ‘fake book’, which basically has the melody line for songs with chord symbols printed above it.
“One more thing. Try improvising an accompaniment for this.”
I stumbled through it for about thirty seconds before I figured out what needed to be done. After playing through it a second time, it was sounding all right.
“A little weak, but nothing four semesters of Theory classes won’t cure,” she said as she smiled at some inner thought. “Since you’re a piano major I’ll pass you, but I’m going to recommend to your private teacher that this last bit could stand some attention as part of your studies.”
She marked my name as ‘passed’ on her roster and I was on my way. Next on the agenda was division meetings, which meant all the piano majors, string majors, woodwind majors, and so on got together with that division’s faculty to be assigned private teachers and schedule lesson times.
I started thinking there was something up when it came my turn and Dr. Caroll volunteered to take me. She just smiled, and we then scheduled two one hour sessions a week, which I made sure were in the late afternoons to make scheduling the rest of my classes easier.
After a visit to the student union cafeteria for our first experience with university food, it was time to sit down with the advisors to determine the rest of our class schedules. When it got to be my turn and there sat Dr. Caroll again, I was really becoming suspicious. She made sure I got all my requirements scheduled while still having plenty of time for practice and after a few computer keystrokes my class schedule was set and my first day as a college student was over.
Being a large urban school with little or no dorm space, the university had contract agreements with several apartment complexes close by, and I had been assigned a studio apartment about two blocks away from the Performing Arts Center. I found my way there and finished the unpacking I had begun that morning before heading out for my first day of orientation.
That task completed, I sat down with my digital piano, slipped on my headphones, and began practicing. I must have lost all track of time, because the next thing I knew it was well after midnight. I shut down the keyboard, crawled into bed, and was out before my head hit the pillow.
Day two of my college career was spent mostly waiting in line. First I waited in line at the bookstore to get my textbooks. Three hours and nearly $500 later I found myself in line again, this time at the cashier’s office to settle up my tuition bill for the semester. Another three plus hours later, the bank account my folks had set up for my school expenses was much lighter of funds, but I was officially ready for my first day of classes come Monday morning.
I spent most of the weekend with headphones on practicing Chopin, but I did take a break long enough to discover that my building had WiFi service, so I got my laptop set up on the network and surfed a little bit.
Monday morning started with Music Theory, then I had English and Political Science before my lunch break. After another encounter with the university’s cafeteria, I was off to choir practice before time for my first private lesson with Dr. Caroll.
I was sitting on the floor outside her teaching studio when the door opened and out came the professor. “Kyle, are you ready to get started?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said as I got up off the floor and entered her corner of the universe.
After I took a seat at the grand piano, which had been crammed into this tiny closet of an office, Dr. Caroll said, “Why don’t you just start by playing a little something to warm up?”
Realizing this was more instruction than request, I started in with one of my favorite short pieces, the Chopin E minor prelude.
Once through the piece, she said, “I can see I was right last week. You do have a lovely feminine touch to your playing. We’ll have to see if we can bring that out more and develop it.”
I just looked at her, unsure how to respond. I mean, I am a guy after all. Certainly not the most macho in the world, but I do at least have a Y chromosome. And being told that I play like a girl isn’t exactly something I’d be prone to take as a compliment.
We spent the next forty-five or fifty minutes running scale after scale as she tested my technical level. As we were wrapping up the lesson, she said, “As you may already know, my students are required to perform in at least one recital per month. We have midday concerts every day so everyone can meet this requirement, and I have you scheduled for your first appearance two weeks from today.
“Since this is somewhat short notice, I’m going to allow you to play something you already know. But since the program has to be turned in to the printers at least a week ahead of time, I’d like for you to think about your selection and let me know when you come back Thursday for your lesson. In the meantime, I’d like for you to work on Chopin’s Opus 10 C Major etude. Now shoo,” she said, laughing as she did so.
(Author’s note: etude (n.) Music A piece composed for the development of a specific point of technique. Etude (n.) Music A composition featuring a point of technique but performed because of its artistic merit.)
I grabbed my things and was out the door quickly, glad that I could play something I already knew for this first performance, and also that I’d been assigned to work on an etude which I’d already started practicing over the weekend.
After dinner at the cafeteria, I headed back home where I again spent most of the evening deep in headphone practice. By the time I turned in, I had pretty much memorized the assigned etude and was fairly sure of what I wanted to play on the recital. When I did turn in, I was again out very quickly.
Thursday afternoon I was sitting at the piano in Dr. Caroll’s office having just finished playing through the assigned etude when she said, “Feminine, but powerful. Very nice.”
“Excuse me ma’am, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean when you say I play with a feminine touch?”
She looked me in the eye for a moment before responding, “I believe that the ultimate piano performance is completely androgynous, featuring both feminine and masculine attributes. Some people might choose to think of them as grace and power, if you’re more comfortable with those terms.
“When I say you have a feminine touch I mean that you play with a grace and gentleness that is rare in male students. Most men think that all they need is power to be great pianists, but the truly great ones combine that power with grace and beauty.”
“So you’re saying this is a good thing?”
“Definitely. Now, have you given any thought to what you’d like to play on the recital?”
I sat there pretending to think, even though I entered the room knowing exactly what I was going to say. “The Chopin Opus 41 Mazurkas, I think,” I stated.
“Good choice. I’ll get that on the program then. How long has it been since you played them last?”
“Maybe a month.”
“Play them for me now please.” While she included a please, there was no question what she meant, so I played. I breezed through the first one, made one error in the second, and was halfway through the third Mazurka when Dr. Caroll stopped me.
“You played the first brilliantly, and did a fine job on the second. But, the third one? What happened?”
“What do you mean ma’am?”
“The moment you started the third Mazurka, the feminine aspect was nearly gone from your playing. All I could hear was the masculine,” she said, once again losing me completely.
I stared at her for a moment before something came to me. I closed my eyes to focus, then began playing the third Mazurka again. I could hear the difference immediately, and was thrilled with the sounds emanating from the piano. Once the third was finished, I went directly into the fourth Mazurka without pausing more than a breath. When the fourth and final piece was finished, I looked up at Dr. Caroll for the first time since I had started playing again. The pleased look on her face told me everything I needed to know.
“What did you think about?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Nothing is embarrassing between a teacher and student.” As she said it, I couldn’t suppress the thought that nothing could be further from the truth.
“I, um, pictured myself as a girl playing.”
“Well, it worked. That’s by far the best you’ve ever played. Good work.”
Feeling embarrassed despite her encouragement I said, “Thank you”
“Now for next week, I’d like you to work on the second etude in A minor. Also, I think you should try to figure out a way to maintain that same approach to playing that gave such good results today. I’ll see you at the noon recital tomorrow, and also on Monday.”
I once again gathered up my things and was out the door. All the way back to my apartment, I couldn’t stop thinking about that ‘assignment’. It was a little strange picturing yourself as a girl and I had no idea how to go about keeping that picture in my mind for as long as I would need it to get through most concert pieces.
Here are some addresses to recordings of the pieces mentioned in this chapter:
Chopin Prelude No. 4 in E minor, Opus 28
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-28-4-stahlb...
Chopin Etude in C Major, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
Chopin Etude in A minor, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 1 in C# minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 2 in E minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 3 in B Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 4 in Ab Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Notes:
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As I entered the lobby of my building I was called over to a group of my neighbors who were getting ready to order pizzas. “Wanna join us?” asked the girl I recognized as my next-door neighbor.
“Sure,” I replied as I took a seat on the couch next to her. “By the way, I’m Kyle.”
“Cindy,” she said as she offered me her hand. “I’m a Psychology major. How about you?”
“Piano performance,” I replied. “So do you all order pizza often?”
“Whenever we can scrape together the cash. It sure beats the food over at the union.”
“No arguments from me on that one.” I was trying not to stare at Cindy, but in the process I’m sure I was looking rather shifty considering I was constantly changing my eyes focus.
“You seem rather preoccupied. Anything in particular?”
I tried to ignore the question, but the look in her eyes assured me she was a persistent sort. “Yeah, but it’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah, it can.”
One of the other girls jumped in, “Come on, maybe we can help?”
I looked at the group of them and realized for the first time that I was sitting there with a group of girls and I was the only guy. “I mean it when I say it’s embarrassing.”
Cindy said, “Now I’m really intrigued.”
I looked at her for a moment longer before finally blurting out, “It’s kind of strange.”
The other girl said, “That’s the best kind.”
“My piano teacher is on me about displaying what she calls both masculine and feminine characteristics in my playing. Basically in her theory masculine means power, while feminine is grace and delicacy. I can give her what she wants in short bursts, but I don’t have any clue how to maintain it.”
“What is ‘it’?” Cindy asked.
“Okay, she was on me this afternoon about losing my ‘feminine’ focus in the middle of the piece I’ve been working on. She stopped me, and I decided to try and picture myself as a girl to see if that would help, and it did. Maybe a bit too well, because she said it was the best I’ve ever played.
“She wants me to figure out how to maintain that focus over a longer period of time so I can get through longer concert pieces without losing it in the middle.” As I finished, I felt drained somehow.
“So, do you have any idea how to make this happen?” Cindy asked.
I shook my head as I said, “Not a clue.”
“You know…” the other girl offered. “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. Sorry, I’m Cheryl. I was going to say, there’s a really easy way for you to keep that feminine image in your mind.”
“How’s that?” I asked in spite of feeling an overpowering sensation that told me I didn’t really want to hear her answer.
“Wear women’s clothes,” she said flatly.
I stared at her for what felt like an eternity. It was Cindy who broke the silence when she said, “That’s not a bad idea.”
I shook my head to pull myself out of my trance and said, “Not a bad idea? Are you on drugs?”
Cindy tried not to laugh as she looked at me, but eventually gave in to the temptation and before long everyone in the lobby was rolling on the floor. After longer than I would have liked, given that I was the target of said laughter, things finally began to calm back down. About the time the pizza was delivered, everyone was finally back to normal.
After the food had all been consumed, Cindy got up from the sofa and after taking my hand and pulling me along with her, led me toward the elevators.
On our way up to our floor I asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“Just a little psychological experiment,” she said with what looked like an evil twinkle in her eye.
She dragged me past my apartment and into hers where she told me to wait while she got something. Then she led me back to my place. Once inside she said, “Okay, put these on.” These were a pair of panties.
“Why?” was all I could think to say.
“To see if my idea works,” she replied as she stuck them in my hand and pushed me toward the bathroom to change.
I stood in there looking at the little piece of nylon and Lycra for several minutes, unsure what I was going to do. Cindy knocked on the bathroom door and shouted, “Hurry up in there. I want to see if it works.”
I finally said to myself, “What the hell,” and took off my jeans and jockey shorts, replacing them with the panties. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that they were a lot more comfortable than my old shorts, in large part because of the softness of the fabric and the way it hugged the skin without pinching in any way. I put my jeans back on and opened the door.
Cindy was standing there waiting for me. She asked, “Well? Did you?”
I looked at her and replied, “I have them on.”
“How do they feel?”
“I wish to take advantage of the rights granted me by the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America,” I said, thinking it was clever.
“That good, eh?” she said in response.
I turned a brighter red than you’d find on the flag and fought off a smile. I didn’t really have to say anything; that told her everything she needed to know.
“Why don’t you play a little bit,” she said pointing toward my digital piano, “and see if it helps?”
I took a seat at my keyboard and unplugged the headphones so the sound would come out the built in speakers. I started to play my recital pieces and I could tell a difference.
As I made my way through the C# minor it sounded more complete to my ear than I had ever managed before. There was the masculine power that the piece needed, but tinged with a delicacy that could only be described as feminine. I then went into the E minor, where that delicate grace shone through making the piece feel like a completely different work than I had ever played before.
Throughout the B Major I found myself starting to understand just exactly what Dr. Caroll had been saying. Anyone could play this piece with all out ‘hit it hard’ power strokes, but they lose so much of the beauty of the composition when they do so. When finally I began the Ab Major Mazurka, I was a complete convert.
I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I had to admit that not only did Cindy and Cheryl’s idea have merit, it had proven to be a rousing success. My playing sounded even better than it had when I was imagining myself as a girl, even though I had thought I’d never be able to top that in this lifetime. I found this enthralling and terrifying at the same time.
By the time I finished the last of the four Mazurkas, I looked up to see that Cindy was just sat there speechless, staring at me. I stared back for a moment before clearing my throat and asking, “Well?”
She continued to stare for a moment longer before shaking her head, blinking a couple of times, and refocusing on the present. “I don’t know how well you played the other way, but that…” she allowed the thought to fade rather than complete it. All I could do was nod my head in agreement.
As midday Friday arrived I was entering the recital hall. This was one of the things that seemed different about studying at the conservatory. All students were required to take this class called “Music Listening Lab” which basically was required recital attendance. Each student was required to attend at least 16 recitals per semester, as tracked by a count of signed and turned in programs. Additionally Dr. Caroll had informed all of her students that she considered attendance in support of our fellow students as paramount in her grading for our private instrument study. Translation? I had grades in five credit hours worth of courses depending at least in part on me being here today, and at all of Dr. Caroll’s student appearances in the future. At least I didn’t have to write a term paper.
I took a seat about halfway back, toward the middle of the auditorium thinking this would afford me the best sound. I’d barely sat down when Dr. Caroll herself came up and sat beside me. Neither of us said anything for a moment, until just before the first performer came out on stage when she whispered, “Pay special attention. I’d like you to tell me what you think of the performance when we have our lesson on Monday.”
Before I could reply, the house lights faded and a hush came over the crowd. A moment or two later, the performer began playing.
It turned out there were four pianists on the program, all of them students of Dr. Caroll. Since I already knew she was expecting a thought out review of each performance, I tried to pay very close attention to the performances.
This first performer was a senior by the name of James Tilden. From what little I’d managed to discern so far at the school he was considered one of the top pianists in the school. He’d even already secured a spot for next year as a graduate teaching assistant here at the conservatory. Needless to say, I was expecting magic.
Unfortunately, James didn’t really deliver the goods in my estimation. He performed Franz Liszt’s 2 Concert Etudes, S.145, and as would be expected he had the power down cold. But then, cold was the problem. There was no grace or beauty in his playing. It was all technique and bombast, and by the time he left the stage I could very easily have forgotten all about his performance.
Next up was a Junior by the name of Candace Kane…I kid you not. I’d met Candy a time or two and she seemed a nice enough girl. She was playing Claude Debussy’s Reverie, and she played it beautifully. She of course had the whole feminine grace thing working perfectly and had a surprising amount of power for such a small girl. I quickly decided she was going to be one for which I would need to keep an eye out.
Next on the program was a fellow freshman named Suzie Friedman. I sort of knew her…well at least more than the others…and found myself really hoping she’d be able to put on a show. She was playing Eric Satie’s Trois Gymnopedies, which unfortunately fell rather flat. It sounded mechanical and had little or no power to the playing at all. I felt guilty for having thoughts like this, but I found myself wishing this thing would just be over.
The final performer on the program was a graduate student by the name of Gary Harper. Gary was in fact the total package in that not only was he the best of Dr. Caroll’s many students, he combined that talent with movie star good looks. He was already well on his way toward establishing his performing career, and his appearance here was as much as anything a tune up for a series of solo recitals he had scheduled over the next few weeks.
He played Beethoven’s Sonata No.8, sometimes called the “Pathetique”. His performance was absolutely perfect. In fact, I was a bit in awe of it. I found myself having one of my rare moments of self-doubt. Dean Hamilton had talked about there maybe being one or two from my class who might become successful soloists? Gary was the one from his class.
I turned in my signed program on my way out the door so I would get credit for attending, and headed back to my apartment. Since I wound up not having anything that afternoon, I was looking forward to beginning my weekend a little early. When I arrived at the apartment building Cindy grabbed me on my way in the front door and dragged me to the elevator and up to our floor.
As we exited the elevator she said, “We need to go get you some panties of your own.”
I was taken aback by that and it took me a moment to collect my thoughts enough to speak, “Why do I need my own panties?”
“Well you didn’t think I was just going to keep loaning you mine, did you?”
The truth is I hadn’t given it any thought one way or the other, but once I did I had to concede that she had a point. The evidence was in and it told me that this would help me with my playing…though why exactly this was I couldn’t even begin to tell you.
I dumped my messenger bag full of school stuff inside my apartment and joined Cindy in heading back downstairs, where we met up with Cheryl who was going to drive us all to the mall and my first experience with buying lingerie.
I felt like a deer caught in the headlights as they dragged me first across the parking lot, then directly into Victoria’s Secret. I’m sure I was turning a permanent shade of crimson from the embarrassment of being led from one display to another as my escorts sorted through panties looking for just the right ones for me.
It turned out they picked out a half dozen pairs, all very soft pastels in silk. I was so far beyond simply being embarrassed at that point that I just went catatonic as they added a couple of bras to the pile before leading me toward the cashier.
“Did you find everything all right?” the older lady working behind the counter asked.
I was completely gone at that point, unable to utter even guttural sounds, but my companions were having no such problems. Cheryl was first to respond, “Yes, thanks. I think we found everything we needed.” The last bit was said while looking directly at me. I wanted to shrivel up and disappear at that moment.
“That’ll be Fifty-seven sixty-eight,” said the cashier as she rang up the last item in the stack.
Cindy just turned to me without saying a word. I reached into my pocket to retrieve my wallet, pulled out my debit card, and handed it to the lady at the register. She looked at me for a moment before finally just passing the card through the reader and waiting for a moment for the approval to come through.
I signed the receipt, still without having said a word to anyone involved before following the girls out of the store and back across the lot toward Cheryl’s car. Once we were outside the building, Cindy spoke up, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I looked at her for a moment as if she had three heads before finally admitting, “Not so bad.”
As we piled into the car, the girls began giggling incessantly. I eventually gave up and joined in.
Other than joining everyone in the lobby Saturday night for a movie on the big screen TV, I spent my entire weekend practicing. By the time I returned to class on Monday morning, I felt I was playing my selections for the recital about as well as they could be played.
It was during Music Theory on Monday that I found myself completely unable to concentrate. Dr. Pogemiller was addressing the class when he walked over to the piano and played something. “Mr. Bronson, can you identify that cadence?”
I sat there completely embarrassed because I had not studied all my listening assignments over the weekend, and I think he knew it. “Um, I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening in that way, but I know I like the way it sounds.” Showers of laughter came pouring my direction for a moment before Dr. P decided to rescue me.
“Class!” he said a bit more forcefully than his normal teaching voice. Once the laughter had died down he said, “Now, Mr. Bronson,” and played it again.
“Plagal,” I replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over me knowing that I’d gotten it right.
“Very good,” Dr. Pogemiller said. “But Mr. Bronson has inadvertently brought up a point that is far too often ignored in this and most other schools.” He walked away from the piano, back toward the chalkboard. “Too often we spend so much time analyzing the nuts and bolts of music that we forget that it’s a form of emotional communication. All of us need to try to remember to shut off the analyzing part of our brain and just listen because we like it once in a while. If we can all remember to do that, I think we’ll all become better musicians.”
As everyone exited the classroom following that morning’s lesson, my classmates were divided in their take on what the professor had said. Some thought he was loony while others, myself included, were certain he had just proven that he was possibly the most brilliant musician any of us had ever met.
Monday afternoon I was again seated at Dr. Caroll’s piano, having just completed playing my recital pieces straight through. “Excellent work. I’m glad to see you’ve figured out how to maintain your focus so well.”
“Thank you ma’am,” I replied feeling somewhat embarrassed because I knew exactly how that aforementioned focus was being maintained.
“I’d say at this point your primary goal with the Chopin is just to maintain a freshness to your playing. I’d like you to play through them a couple of times each day, just to make sure you don’t forget anything and then I’d like you to work on this,” she said as she placed a book in front of me. “I usually don’t assign this to freshmen, but I think you just might be up to the challenge.”
Turns out, ‘this’ was Rachmaninov’s second sonata in Bb minor. I spent the better part of the rest of my lesson time stumbling through the first two movements before being sent home with Dr. Caroll’s parting words to me. “I’m hoping this will let you spread your wings a bit more. I have you scheduled to play this three weeks from today on the noon recital.” With that I was ushered out of her office and sent on my merry way.
As I made my way home I was beginning to grasp the significance of what had just happened. In one week I was performing Chopin, followed by Rachmaninov two weeks after that. To say I had my hands full considering I was an eighteen-year-old college freshman would be a drastic understatement. I just hoped I’d prove to be up to the challenge.
Between classes and practicing for both of my upcoming recital appearances, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed for the next several days. I had taken to wearing those panties every day and could tell a real difference in the way I played. I still had no clue why that would be the case, but since the consensus was that it was very much a positive change I decided not to complain.
The day of my first performance arrived and like every other Monday my day began with Dr. Pogemiller’s music theory class. He always liked to start us off with some little tidbit of philosophical advice, and this day was no different. He entered the classroom, walking straight to the chalkboard where he proceeded to write, ‘There are no wrong notes. Only passing tones.”
He turned to face the class and was hit by a room full of blank faces who were trying to figure out just exactly what it was he had just written on the board. He went over to the piano and took a seat before he spoke, “Who can tell me what a passing tone is?”
A couple of hands shot up in the air and he finally chose to hear from Terry Thompson, a composition major who was just a little too far out in left field for my tastes. “A passing tone is a transitional device used to bridge movement from one harmonically correct note to another by way of a note or notes that are not harmonically compatible.”
Dr. P looked at him for a moment before replying, “Not exactly how I would have said it, but basically, yes. A passing tone, or appoggiatura in Italian, is a note of embellishment. It can dress up a melody, or as you said serve as a transition from one point to another.” He then proceeded to play for a minute or two; being sure to insert extra notes into melodies we were all familiar as examples of passing tones in use.
Just after noon I was standing backstage in the recital hall, suddenly very aware that I was in fact wearing panties under my suit and tie. I actually had to start counting my breaths to make sure I didn’t start hyperventilating when it was almost my turn to go on stage.
As I reached center stage and took my seat at the piano, I went completely blank. I couldn’t remember how to play “Mary Had A Little Lamb”, let alone the Chopin Mazurkas. I sat there staring at the keyboard for what felt like an eternity but I was later assured was actually only a few seconds before I closed my eyes, raised my hands to the keys, and began to play.
I felt very detached from what was going on. The truth is, I couldn’t tell you whether I played my pieces correctly or not, but I was forced to assume that for the most part I had done a decent job, given the far warmer than expected reaction I got from the audience when I finished the fourth.
I floated off stage and as soon as I was out of earshot, Dr. Caroll came up to me and said, “Outstanding job, Kyle! We’ll review your performance from the recording this afternoon, then start work on the Rachmaninov.” She then turned away from me to refocus her attention on the next of her students on the program.
I took a few moments to bask in the glory of what everyone seemed to think was an outstanding performance. I just wish I could remember something of it.
Recordings of selections mentioned in this chapter:
Frederic Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 1 in C# minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
Frederic Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 2 in E minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
Frederic Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 3 in B Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
Frederic Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 4 in Ab Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Franz Liszt Concert Etudes, S.145
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-abirato-hell...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-un-sospiro-m...
Claude Debussy, Reverie
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/debussy-reverie-mc...
Eric Satie, Trois Gymnopedies
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/satie-gymnopedie1-...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/satie-gymnopedie2-...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/satie-gymnopedie3-...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Sonata No. 8 “Pathetique” — recording of second Movement only
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-13-2-sim...
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Notes:
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Dr. Caroll clicked the stop icon on her laptop to end the playback. We’d just been listening to the recording of my recital performance and it was better than I expected, to tell the truth. After she turned back toward me she said, “Well done, Kyle. Ordinarily we would use this time to dissect the performance making note of areas where more work is needed, but frankly in this case, there really aren’t that many things we need to address.”
“It’s a pity I can’t remember playing it. If I could I might be able to recreate the performance,” I commented.
“So what happened when you walked out on stage?”
“I’m not sure. I was very nervous as I walked toward the piano. When I sat down, I looked at the keyboard and my mind went completely blank. I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to be doing; I couldn’t even remember my own name. Nothing. I closed my eyes trying to think and suddenly as if on their own, my hands raised up to the keyboard and I started playing. I can’t remember anything after lifting my hands.”
She looked at me for a moment before speaking, “There’s a reason to be concerned, but you can’t really argue with the end result. Now, over in the student union I noticed they’re organizing a Yoga class. I’ve had some students in the past that had problems with nerves who found that it helped them control their fear on stage. I’d like you to give it a try, just to see if it might help.”
“When is it?”
“The first meeting is this evening at 6, in the student union. If you try it and don’t think it’ll help, then all you’re out is an evening. If it helps, then it’s time well spent. Now, how’re you coming along with the Rachmoninov?”
I started playing, but less than a minute into the Allegro Agitato, Dr. Caroll stopped me. “Where is the grace, Kyle? All I can hear is power. Anyone can play Rachmoninov with power. You’re better than that. Go back and try again.”
This time I remembered to picture myself as a girl and played all the way through the first movement before she stopped me. “Much better. Now remember that. Continue.”
As I ploughed through the Non Allegro second movement, I knew there were moments where my concentration lapsed and felt certain she was going to mention it when I was done.
“I don’t know what you need to do to maintain your focus, but it was in and out during that movement. Remember to stay focused.”
I looked down at my hands and replied, “Yes ma’am. I know I can do this.”
“I know you can as well. I’ve heard it. If you can master this focus problem, you’ll have a great career ahead of you. I know it. Now concentrate.”
Again I closed my eyes and envisioned myself as a girl before continuing with the Allegro Molto third movement. Surprisingly, I was able to play most of the movement without even opening my eyes, as I appeared to have already memorized it. This made it much easier for me to maintain the focus Dr. Caroll was after me about and I could tell from the look on her face as I finished that I had managed to play it successfully.
“If you can play the entire thing like that last movement, you’ll be ready. I knew you had something special the first time I heard you play, back when you auditioned last spring. I knew then that if we could smooth out the few rough edges in your playing, you had the ability to be truly great. Keep it up.”
She looked down at a pad of paper, which she always seemed to have in front of her and made a note before continuing, “Now for Thursday, I’d like you to complete the memorization and work on the focus. Oh, and while you’re at it take a look at the Chopin E Major etude. See you then.” I was ushered out of her office, as it seems we had run overtime and her next student was waiting outside for her turn. I gathered up my things and headed out the door and toward the student union to grab a bite of early dinner before this Yoga class Dr. Caroll suggested I check out.
When I arrived at the room for the yoga class I discovered that basically what we were doing was working out with a Wai Lana yoga tape. There were maybe twenty students present, most of whom apparently had done this before. Just knowing that was almost enough to make me leave right then, but eventually I convinced myself that I should give it a try.
As I looked around the room, I saw Cindy toward the back of the room and decided to head her way. “Hey Cindy, what you doin’ here?”
“Kyle! I saw your recital today. You were fantastic!” Shifting her attention to the class, she then said, “I thought it looked like it might be fun. What about you?”
“Dr. Caroll suggested I give it a try to help with my relaxation techniques.”
“You seemed pretty well relaxed on stage today.”
“Yeah, so relaxed that I can’t remember playing at all.”
“Really?”
Just then someone toward the front of the room clapped their hands and shouted, “Attention, please!”
We all quieted down and turned our attention toward the voice, which came from a lady standing next to the big screen TV. “Thank you. We’re going to work out with this yoga tape this evening.” She pushed the recording into the player and the screen flickered to life.
As Wai Lana appeared on screen and led us through a series of exercises, I had to admit that I started to feel much more relaxed than I had before we started. Maybe there was something to this whole yoga thing?
When the tape ended, the person who had spoken to the group earlier stood up again, turning off the TV before turning to address us again. “I hope you all have enjoyed spending time with us this evening. We’ll be meeting every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening at 6 if any of you would like to join us again. I hope to see you Wednesday.”
I turned to Cindy, “What did you think?”
“I can think of worse ways of spending a half hour,” she grinned as she spoke.
“Me too,” I replied. We walked together back to our apartment building and rode the elevator up to our floor, parting only when we reached my door. “Good night, Cin,” I said.
“Yeah, good night Ky’,” she said, leaning close and kissing me on the cheek. She backed away from me and we waved at each other, not taking our eyes off the other until we were both ready to go into our apartments. I then went inside, closing the door behind me and leaning back against it, releasing an audible sigh in the process.
It occurred to me that I had some homework that needed my attention before I could start practicing, so I settled in with my psychology textbook for some ‘light’ reading. We were studying the effects of hormones on the brain, which I found fascinating. For a brief moment I found myself wondering if prenatal hormone levels had anything to do with my apparent affinity for the feminine? I knew I didn’t really have time to chase that particular rabbit at that moment, so I filed the thought away for later reflection and finished off the chapter.
Next came a little Algebra, followed by English. By the time I’d finished off my homework, it was drawing near 10pm. I considered not practicing, but quickly dropped that notion. “How can you become a concert pianist if you don’t even practice every day?”
I sat down at my keyboard and started working on the Rachmaninov. Just like in Dr. Caroll’s office earlier, I was having a great deal of difficulty maintaining my focus, which left spots where my playing sounded a lot like everyone else’s…lots of power and pomp, but little real beauty.
I got up from the keyboard and wandered around the room for a few minutes thinking. “What can I do to maintain my focus?” I kept asking myself that question, but wasn’t having much luck with the answer.
I wandered over to my dresser and started digging through its contents until I came out with one of the bras the girls had picked out for me. “What am I doing? Am I nuts?” I asked myself as I stood there holding that bit of lace. “Why exactly did they buy this for me?”
“Let’s think for a moment here. I started wearing panties and my ability to maintain my focus on playing gracefully improved. Now I need to take the next step. But what is that next step?”
I stood there staring at that bra for the longest time before finally I said to myself, “What the hell,” and stripped off my shirt. I pulled the bra straps up my arms and watched as the cups settled in front of my nonexistent breasts before reaching around and struggling to fasten the garment just as I’d seen my mother do so many times.
Once I had it fastened, I pulled my shirt back on over it and sat at the keyboard. To say that the sensation was distracting would be an exercise in drastic understatement, but I wasn’t sure this was going to be the answer I was seeking. I decided to record my practice like I do sometimes, just so I knew exactly how it sounded in case I found it difficult to listen objectively. That said, once I started playing I had to admit to myself that although I couldn’t begin to fathom why, that contraption of straps and lace seemed to be doing something. Exactly what I couldn’t say, but as I played I was so busy thinking about the bra…my bra…that I wasn’t thinking about playing.
When I finished I decided to play back the recording to see if I’d gotten the results I was after. It didn’t take long to determine that I had found my answer. Had I not known better, I might have thought I was listening to Horowitz or Barenboim but no, it was little ol’ me…Kyle Bronson, cross-dressing pianist.
Having solved that dilemma, I decided to go ahead and put in a little time on the E Major etude. When I say a little, what I really mean is that I practiced until I was falling asleep mid-phrase and my head hit the keyboard, sending a clanging sound through my headphones that woke me up just enough to know it was time to go to bed. I almost didn’t even bother undressing, but then remembered the bra and didn’t think I’d find sleeping in it all that appealing.
The next few days saw me start to fall into a routine of sorts. On days when I had either a lesson or a performance, I wore the bra. The rest of the time, I left it off. I had a couple of different reasons for this. First, I hadn’t found anything about wearing it that struck me as appealing in the least and second, I decided that if I didn’t wear it every day I was less likely to get so used to it that it ceased to do what I needed.
I finally got a handle on the recital scheduling. Dr. Caroll’s students did the midday recitals on Mondays and Fridays, and she had all of us on a rotating schedule, which basically meant we all had to play one about every two weeks. Funny, I would have sworn she told me about once a month, but I guess she changed her mind.
Cindy and I did the Wednesday evening Yoga class, where again we worked out along with a video for about a half hour before class broke up. I don’t know if it was going to help with my nerves or not, but it sure helped me relax at the time. I think Cindy was enjoying it as well. I was really enjoying becoming closer with this beautiful young woman.
Thursday’s lesson went incredibly smoothly. So much so in fact that I was afraid she was going to give me a hug and discover the bra under my sweatshirt. I don’t think I would have been up to explaining that yet, so I considered myself lucky when she resisted the urge.
With Cindy, however, I wasn’t quite so lucky. Thursday after my lesson I headed back to the apartment to take off the bra and ran into her in the lobby on my way in. She decided to take the elevator up with me and came into my apartment while I went to change. I don’t know if she was snooping, or if I wasn’t being as careful as I thought when I was removing the bra, but when I came out of the bathroom after taking it off, she said, “When did you start wearing that?”
I stammered for a moment before answering, “I was having some trouble with the Rachmaninov and decided to try it just to see if it helped. It did, though I can’t for the life of me tell you why. So now, when I have to either have a lesson or a performance, I wear it to help with the focus.”
As I was saying all this, Cindy was slowly walking toward me, until when I was done she was standing very close. She stood there almost touching me for what felt like an eternity before leaning over to my ear and whispering, “I thought it was kind of sexy.” She then pulled back to where she had been before she spoke and looked into my eyes.
Unsure how to respond, I just stood there staring back at her with a silly lopsided grin on my face until she smiled back and then walked over to the sofa and plopped down. She then looked back at me and asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“Um…” I said intelligently.
“Come on Kyle. How can you expect me to be your girlfriend if you don’t at least occasionally buy me dinner?” she said in all seriousness.
I shook my head to clear it before responding, “I didn’t know you were my girlfriend.”
“Well if you don’t want me to be…”
I jumped in, cutting her off before she could continue, “I didn’t say that. You just sort of surprised me.”
She got up from the sofa and started toward the door. “Good. Then where are you taking me?”
I started after her, following her onto the elevator before saying, “The student union cafeteria isn’t really that great a choice. How about we hit Minsky’s?”
“Good choice, boyfriend. I’m guessing we’re walking?”
We got out of the elevator and started toward the front door. “Well, since neither of us have a car…”
“That’s what I thought,” she said as I opened the door to let her out first, following right behind and once clear of the building catching up so I could walk alongside her.
As we walked toward the pizza place, she looped her left arm around my right and snuggled close. I finally found my brain about halfway there and asked, “So, what prompted this? I mean us?”
“I really like you. You’re nice, friendly, intelligent, funny…and sort of sexy in a quirky way that I really like.”
I began to blush again as she rattled off that list and when I finally regained some control over myself I responded, “I’d be a fool to not be interested in you. You’re gorgeous, smart, confident…I actually feel a little inadequate when I’m around you.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve heard you say. Here you are, the great artiste. Able to speak to others’ souls with the flick of a finger, and you feel inadequate?”
We slowed our pace a bit so we could talk more seriously. “I may be able to play piano fairly well, but you? You’re like a model, only brilliant.”
“Oh, Kyle!” she said, actually blushing herself. She then leaned toward my cheek and gave me a kiss as we drew near the restaurant. Once inside, we took a table and sat facing each other, waiting to order. As we sat there, she asked, “So, the bra. Was that the only reason why?”
“Yeah. I mean, I like the panties, to tell you the truth. They’re way more comfortable than jockey shorts, but the bra? I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to wear one.”
“But you did wear it?”
“And I told you why. Basically, I think the tug of the straps and scratch of the lace distracts me so I don’t think too much about what I’m doing, that’s all. If I think too much about my playing, it becomes more mechanical. So in this case, distraction is good.”
She looked at me devilishly for a moment before saying, “Is there anything I could do to distract you?”
I grinned evilly and said, “I’m pretty sure I could think of something you could do.” I was able to hold the laugh in for a second, but then we both broke out in a fit of giggles that lasted long enough that we undoubtedly drew the attention of some of our fellow patrons, although no one said anything.
Once we were finished with our dinner, we walked back to the apartment building, again arm in arm and returned to my apartment. I had barely closed the door when Cindy asked, “Do I get to hear the difference?”
“Oh, I suppose,” I said, trying to sound like I didn’t want to play when the truth was just the opposite. I sat down at the keyboard, turned it on and unplugged the headphones so she could hear, and just before I started playing I said, “This first time will be without, then I’ll go put it back on so you can hear the difference.”
I started playing the sonata’s first movement and when I was done, I looked at Cindy and she looked rather impressed and said so, “That was without? It sounded great to me!”
“One moment,” I said as I got up and went to retrieve the bra and put it back on, then again pulled my shirt on over it because it seemed just too weird to run around in front of her with just the bra on. I returned to the keyboard and played the same movement again, this time feeling completely satisfied that I was achieving the balance of power and grace that a perfect performance demanded.
When I looked up at the end of the movement, Cindy was silent with tears slowly crawling down her cheek. I got up and went to her, sitting beside her on the sofa and taking her in my arms. “What’s wrong?” I asked, confused as to why she was crying.
She replied, “It was so beautiful. I couldn’t help but cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to comfort her.
“Don’t be. It was perfect.” She then turned her face to mine and kissed me on the lips. Like any red-blooded male in a similar situation, I returned the kiss in kind, slowly intensifying it until we were probing each other with our tongues.
After several minutes of activity, she broke the embrace and said, “Maybe we should stop for now?”
While part of me felt a little hurt by this intrusion of reason and I felt certain she could tell, another part knew she was right, and I said so, “You’re probably right, Cin. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
I walked her to the door and down the hall to her apartment, where I kissed her again and said, “Goodnight. Want to go to the midday recital with me tomorrow? We could catch a bite of lunch at the U after?”
“Sure. I’ll see ya at the recital hall at noon, okay?” she said, giving me one last kiss goodnight before entering her apartment and closing the door. I then found my way back to mine and found sleep waiting for me.
I floated through Friday morning on autopilot, not really taking in much of anything in my classes. Come midday, I was eagerly waiting outside the recital hall for Cindy. Truth be told, she was the first girl I could ever say was my “girlfriend”. I’d had a few dates in high school, but never more than a couple with any one girl and none of them could really be considered a “relationship”. After all, I was the geeky wanna be musician and most of the girls chased after the athletes, so I was considered the bottom guy on the totem pole.
Now I could say I had a beautiful girlfriend and I had no intentions of screwing the relationship up. She came running in the building about two minutes before they were going to close the hall doors and start, so we rushed in and found seats toward the back, settling in just as the house lights dimmed and the first victim…I mean performer…came out on stage.
Roughly an hour later we were exiting the hall after the last performer had played, though I couldn’t tell who had played, what they had played, or how well they played it, because I spent the entire hour staring at Cindy. She would look at me every couple of minutes and smile, then return her attention to the music while I was off in a world that had only her and I. I guess you could say I was falling hard.
From that point on we were practically inseparable until it was time for classes Monday morning. Not that we really did much of anything all weekend. She listened to me practice, we did homework together, read, listened to music, watched TV…the usual hang out at home weekend thing. And yes, I will admit to some intimate experimentation. Nothing our parents would disapprove of too vehemently, but we had fun.
The weirdest event of the weekend came Saturday evening. We were listening to some music when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was my folks. “It’s my parents. I’d best take it,” I said to Cindy as I used the remote to turn down the volume and pressed talk on the phone.
“Hey,” I said into the receiver.
“Hi Kyle, how have you been,” came the voice of my mother.
“Good mom. How’re you guys?”
“Fine. I thought I’d give you a call to see how you’re getting on.”
“Great. I’m learning lots from Dr. Caroll, making new friends,” I said looking at Cindy. “I even have a new girlfriend.”
“Really? Wonderful! What’s her name?”
“Cindy. She’s here now if you want to say hi,” I handed the phone to her and she looked at me like I was going to pay for that stunt.
She did however say into the phone, “Hi Mrs. Bronson.”
“Cindy, is it? Good to talk to you dear. Tell me about yourself.”
“Um, I’m a freshman Psych major. My apartment is next door to Kyle’s and we started getting to know each other and just sort of were drawn together.”
“Well, I’m already looking forward to meeting you when we come up in a few weeks for a weekend visit.”
“Me too, Mrs. Bronson. Want Kyle back?”
“Yes, dear.”
Cindy quickly handed the phone back to me, glaring at me like I was going to have to pay dearly for putting her in that position. I grinned and said into the phone, “Isn’t she great, mom?”
“She seems very nice, son.”
“She is. She’s also gorgeous, brilliant, but an awful judge of character. That’s the only way I can explain that she hasn’t gone running away yet,” he said as he started to chuckle.
“I wanted to let you know that we’ll be coming up two weeks from now for a little visit. And I want to spend some time with this Cindy.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll talk to you later. Love you,” I said and broke the connection.
Cindy spent much of the rest of the evening telling me I was going to pay for making her talk to my mom, but nothing came of it other than some teasing. I decided I could live with that.
The entire next week flew by in much the same fashion as the previous one. Classes, practice, and hanging out with Cindy dominated my life. Nothing really changed until the day of my next recital appearance, the following Monday.
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Frederic Chopin, Etude No.3 in E Major, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
Notes:
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When I got up Monday morning, I was feeling extremely nervous about my recital appearance. It was actually bad enough that I had decided to skip my morning classes and just relax until time to be at the hall. Unfortunately it seemed that my plan wasn’t helping because by the time I had to get ready and head for the performing arts center, I had worked myself into a frenzy of nerves that made sure I couldn’t even keep anything in my stomach.
It was during one of these waves of nausea that Cindy got back from her morning classes and came by to check on me. I was just coming out of the bathroom as she let herself into my apartment, took one look at me, and came running to my side. She held me for a few minutes, neither of us saying a word until I managed to pull myself together and finally told her, “Thanks.”
“No need, but I’m curious. Why so nervous? I mean, you know this piece backward, forward, upside down, and inside out,” she said trying to ease the tension with a little humor.
I looked her in the eye, took a deep breath, and finally responded, “I’ve always had problems with my nerves before a performance. And this time it’s worse.”
Confused, she asked, “Why is it worse this time?”
“Because I’m wearing a bra.”
“Oh, that!” she grinned. I wasn’t sure I understood what she was grinning about. She then continued, “I promise you’ll be fine. Heck, if anyone did say anything about the bra, just tell them that I asked you to wear it. Tell them it turns me on. It’ll probably make them jealous because you have a girlfriend and they don’t!”
She then gave me a kiss, and my nerves settled a bit. Maybe I’d make it through today performance after all. Another hug and kiss and I was almost normal. Well, as normal as I could be standing there wearing a bra and panties under my suit anyway.
Around 11:30 we left for the performing arts center arriving with over twenty minutes to kill before the start of the recital. I looked at the program and found that I was last one on. While in some ways that news should have eased my nerves…the last performer generally has the easiest time with the audience because while they’re more alert than they are for those in the middle of the program they also tend to be less critical…it only seemed to compound things for me.
Playing last meant I had that much more time to stew and fret about every little thing that could possibly go wrong. Instead of sitting out front Cindy stayed with me backstage and tried as much as she could to help me calm down. Since we couldn’t really carry on much of a conversation while standing right behind the curtain, she was holding my hand, stroking my arm, staring into my eyes, and doing pretty much anything else she could think of to take my mind off my impending performance.
About 12:30 it was my turn to go on. I looked at Cindy one more time and kissed her before heading onto stage. Unlike last time, I didn’t seem to have any trouble remaining cognizant of where I was and what I was doing. I was however just distracted enough by my bra straps rubbing on my shoulders that I was able to just play instead of thinking too much.
So what did that mean? Mainly that again I couldn’t really recall too many of the minute details of the performance, although I was at least conscious enough to know that I was giving a soulful performance.
I was stunned by the intensity of the crowd’s response after I played the final notes. Usually these recitals had moderate attendance with little or no acknowledgement at the end. This however was different. Yes, there were quite a few who were gathering their stuff and heading toward the exits, but for each of them there appeared to be someone offering up applause with more fervor than I was used to in that type of setting.
The resulting buzz I felt ensured that any doubts I might have still harbored concerning whether this whole androgyny thing was working or not melted away as I thought back on the performance and compared what I could remember of it against some of my less androgynous practice run thrus. When I was once again backstage Cindy jumped into my arms and gave me a big kiss.
Dr. Caroll came up as we broke that kiss and said, “Kyle! Outstanding performance! I’ll have the recording for us to review later, but I can tell you right now that whatever you’re doing, you need to continue doing it. You’re quickly becoming one of the best students I’ve ever had.” She shook my hand and nodded to Cindy before moving on to some of the other performers so she could touch base with them as well.
On our way to the student union cafeteria to grab a late lunch, Cindy held onto my arm tight and said, “That was brilliant! I can’t imagine anyone ever playing that better!”
“I thank you, but somehow I think you may be biased.”
“Doesn’t matter. You will one day be a star.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said as we entered the cafeteria and proceeded to pick out our lunch.
Later that afternoon as I sat in Dr. Caroll’s office listening to the recording, I must admit I was taken aback by how much better I had sounded than even my memory of the performance. She was surprisingly quiet as we listened. After all, I was expecting her to tear the performance apart over every little mistake I had noticed, as well as probably another twenty or so that I missed as we listened. Instead, when the recording ended, she sat there for a moment still not saying anything, making me even more nervous than I had been just before the recital.
When she did finally speak, she surprised me even further by saying, “Keep working on everything we’ve done so far, as well as whatever we do the rest of the semester. I think instead of the standard jury you should opt instead to do a term ending recital. Very few freshman are up to this challenge, but I think you are and I’d hate to see you take the easy route when this would be so much better for you as a performer.”
I sat there for a second allowing that tidbit to sink in before responding, “So, you want me to continue polishing the Mazurkas and the sonata?”
“As well as the Opus 10 etudes, plus the other concert pieces we do the rest of the term.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” I said, not realizing I actually did so out loud.
“It is. Think you’re up to it?”
I thought about that question for a whole millisecond before saying, “Yes.”
She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together as she said, “Good! Now let’s get to work. Next on our agenda are the Chopin opus 10 concert etudes. How many of them have you worked on so far?”
“Well, obviously the first three as well as spending a little time on all of them.”
“All right, that’s your next recital assignment. The complete opus 10.”
I looked at her with a bit of a stunned look on my face for a moment before finally saying, “Okay.”
I dug out my copy of the etudes and opened up the book, setting it on the music stand. I breezed through the first three, as would be expected since I’d been working on them previously, then started hammering my way through the rest of the set. As I paused between the eleventh and twelfth etudes, Dr. Caroll stopped me, “It would appear our time is up for today. Nice work! Now for Thursday, work on the etudes and continue going over the Mazurkas and the Rachmaninov.”
I was then ushered out of her office to make way for the next victim. Cindy surprised me by standing in the hallway waiting for me. “What’re you doing here?” I asked.
“Just thought we could spend a little time together,” she said as she looped her arm through mine and walked with me down the hall.
“We doing yoga tonight?”
“Well, it is Monday,” she replied.
From there my week consisted of classes, practice, and a little bit of sleep, not necessarily in that order. Cindy and I spent our nights together, because that was about the only way we could spend time with each other at all.
Friday arrived and that meant my folks were coming into town. I jumped out of bed a lot earlier than I normally would on a Friday since I didn’t even have a class before ten and started running around my apartment haphazardly cleaning, as if my last minute efforts could possibly make a bit of difference in the condition of the place. Cindy watched me for a while, barely containing her laughter, until I looked over at her and said, “In case you forgot, my folks are coming in today.”
The look of sudden comprehension came over her and her laughter transformed into a look of concern. It’s not that she was concerned about what my folks would think of our housekeeping skills, but rather she was worried what they were going to think of her.
A few minutes before ten she asked, “Don’t you have a class to get to?”
Looking at the clock, I suddenly panicked for a totally different reason than the one that had tormented me all morning. I took a quick peek at my clothes and hair, then after grabbing my backpack and kissing Cindy goodbye I ran out the door heading for my class, which I just barely managed to make before the professor closed the door to begin his lecture.
On my return home I discovered that Cindy had taken the opportunity to properly clean my apartment and was at that moment seated on the sofa chatting awkwardly with my mom and dad. When she saw me standing there she stopped in mid-sentence, jumped to her feet, and ran over to me where she wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a mighty kiss. To say I was enthralled and embarrassed only begins to cover the range of emotions I was feeling.
“Hi mom…dad,” I said as she released me.
As they sat there with bemused looks on their faces, Cindy said, “We’ve been talking about you. It seems there is a huge collection of incriminating photos that I need to see.”
It took me a second to figure out what she meant, during which time I’m sure I turned shades of red that had never before been seen. Once I’d managed to return to a more normal skin tone I said, “I thought you weren’t coming in until late this afternoon.”
My dad was the first to respond, “Your mother was anxious to see her baby, so we left home early.”
“Oh, John,” mom admonished.
“I’m supposed to attend a recital in just a bit. Do you want to tag along, or would you rather just hang out here?”
“We’ll come along, if you don’t mind,” dad said after a moment’s thought.
So it was that the four of us sat in the recital hall listening to some of my fellow students play major works for the piano with varying degrees of success, followed by a meeting with Dr. Caroll where I introduced her to mom and dad.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” my dad said as he extended his hand to my teacher.
“The pleasure’s all mine, I assure you. Had I known you were coming into town I would have juggled the schedule so you could hear your son perform. He’s fast becoming one of the top pianists in this school.”
“We’ve always believed in Kyle’s talent a great deal, and think he’s destined for stardom.”
“You may be right about that, Mr. Bronson. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some students who I need to chat with about their performances today.” Dr. Caroll then left us standing there in the lobby.
“Anyone hungry?” dad asked.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“Wonderful. What say we go out?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cindy jumped in.
We climbed into my folk’s rental car and drove to a nice restaurant, where we enjoyed a lovely meal, the likes of which Cindy and I had not experienced since we started school. We then spent the remainder of the day and well into the evening back at my apartment, where my mother continued telling Cindy embarrassing anecdotes about my childhood.
While I should have known that such a thing was an inevitable turn of events, I was nonetheless mortified that this girl whom I’d become so attached to so quickly was being introduced to aspects of my earlier life which I’d probably just as soon forget as have someone find out about.
The stories and their associated embarrassment continued well into the night, not coming to a halt until well after midnight when my parents announced their intention to “borrow” my bed for the night, forcing me to either sleep on the couch or go next door with Cindy.
My dilemma was solved when Cindy gave me a heavenly kiss saying, “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
While I would miss sleeping next to her, I knew she probably had the right idea. We were still more or less kids and to do anything else with my parents in the same apartment would probably be too brazen. So I plopped down on the sofa, curled up, and was asleep in mere seconds. It might not have been the most restful sleep I’d had in a while, but it was shuteye, nonetheless.
I was awakened Saturday morning by the sound of my mom searching my kitchen cabinets for coffee. By the time she found it and had a pot started I was awake enough to talk to her and she decided to take advantage of that.
“So how did you meet this Cindy anyway?” was her first question.
“We met down in the lobby the first week of classes. I was surprised when I found out she’s in the apartment next door.”
“She seems like a nice enough girl.”
“I’m becoming very attached to her.”
“Do you love her?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“Well, I don’t really have a lot to compare it to, do I? But yeah, I think I love her.”
“That’s good to know, since she’s keeping underwear in your dresser and all.”
I was afraid for a moment that I turned white as a sheet before recovering. “Yeah, well…” I really wasn’t up to explaining that most of the lingerie in that drawer was actually mine.
“Hey, I’m not a prude,” she said, trying to ease my uneasiness. “I know you’re growing up, and having grown up relationships is part of that. Just be careful, okay? I’m not quite ready to be a grandma yet.”
Much of the weekend was spent with the four of us together shopping and doing tourist type things. By the time my parents headed back home Sunday evening I was glad they were leaving. It wasn’t that I disliked spending time with them, but rather that I’d not been able to sleep well with them there and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was sleeping on the couch or because I was trying to sleep without Cindy. Either way, I was glad things would be returning to ‘normal’.
After they had gone Cindy said, “Your mom and dad are nice.”
“Well, what did you expect? They did raise me after all,” I tried to joke.
“I think your mom knows.”
“Knows what?”
“About the panties.”
“She told me she thought they were yours.”
“Yes, but that was before she went snooping in your hamper and found yours and mine, but no men’s shorts. She didn’t say anything, but every once in a while she’d look at me kind of funny.”
“Oh,” I said, quickly descending into a semi-catatonic state.
“Yeah, ‘Oh’.”
Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...
Notes:
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It’s safe to say that all this kept me even more off balance than normal the subsequent week plus. I did at least manage to get the opus 10 concert etudes worked up to the point where they were ready for my next recital appearance, but beyond that I was pretty much a basket case.
The morning of my recital appearance I was bad enough that I didn’t even bother going to classes. Instead, I lay in bed until nearly 10 before I finally admitted to myself that I was going to have to get ready to perform.
Maybe there was some subconscious feminine spirit urging me to do as I did. I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I do know however that for no particular reason that my conscious mind can recall, I shaved extra close…not that there was usually enough there to be all that concerned about…and on a truly strange whim took my razor with me into the shower, where I proceeded to shave off my leg and chest hair. The entire time I was doing it I kept asking myself “What am I thinking?” and the like. I never did figure out what possessed me to do it, but the deed was done.
As I began dressing I pulled my panties up my freshly shaved legs and felt my knees turn to jelly from the sensation of silky Lycra against hairless skin. It was quickly apparent this would not be a one-time thing.
The bra also presented some interesting variations on the now somewhat familiar sensations, as the skin sans chest hair was more sensitive and the scratchy lace against my clean-shaven chest felt frankly marvelous. It was quickly becoming clear that body hair removal was going to be a standard part of my ablutions from then on. I just hoped Cindy didn’t find it too weird.
Anything worth doing is worth giving your best effort, so before I pulled on my suit I decided to go one step further and dug out some panty hose that Cindy had left in one of the dresser drawers, which I put on under the suit pants. Was that enough to distract me and keep me from thinking too much on stage? Let’s just say I’d be lucky if I remembered where the recital was being held, let alone how to play anything.
Once I was done with that part I took a seat on the sofa and thought about what I’d just done. Up to that point everything had just been wearing clothes…no big deal. Now I’d done something far more feminine…in my mind at least…than wearing lingerie could ever be, and there would no doubt be some form of consequences to the action I’d taken. What those would be I had absolutely no idea.
Just before Cindy got back from her morning classes, I pulled on my dress shirt and pants, shoes and socks, and jacket and tie. When she came in I was sitting at the kitchen table looking over the sheet music for today’s performance as if I was going to discover something new that I could implement in under an hour’s time.
She walked up to me and leaned down as I looked up at her and we kissed. “Are you all ready?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” I responded somewhat distractedly.
“Something wrong?”
More focused on what was actually going on, I said, “No, just the usual pre-performance jitters. Come on, we’d best get going.”
We made the trek to the performing arts center in more or less silence and upon arriving both headed directly for backstage. Once there I took a look at the amended performance order and to my utter surprise I was up first. That had never happened before and I wasn’t entirely sure how to go about playing without standing around backstage for 30 plus minutes while my nerve endings stewed in adrenalin. I finally told myself that it was a good thing because the less time I have to get nervous the better the performance should be.
Dr. Caroll came up to me before she went out front to wish me luck, then the stage manager signaled that it was time to go on. Cindy gave me a hug and whispered, “Go get ‘em” in my ear, and then it was time to walk onto the stage.
While I was still nervous, it was nothing compared to my previous appearances, as I almost felt relaxed this time by comparison. I acknowledged the audience, who were applauding more enthusiastically than I had expected, then sat down at the piano.
Unlike my previous recital performances, I felt more or less all there and had no trouble remembering anything. I raised my hands to the keyboard and suddenly became acutely aware of my bra straps across my shoulders, as well as the lace of the cups rubbing against my chest. I placed my foot on the sustain pedal and felt the most exquisite charge as the nylon of the panty hose rubbed against the inside of my pant leg.
That’s really all it took. The part of my brain that would normally focus incessantly on the mechanics of playing was jelly and I was free to pour all my emotions into my playing without feeling the need to hold anything back. While I wasn’t completely certain what things were sounding like to the audience, to my ear I was giving an outstanding performance.
That’s not to say this was going to be just like my previous recital appearances. Where previously I had played in a sort of trance, totally unaware of my own performance, this time I was aware of every little nuance and yet wasn’t getting caught up in the mechanics.
Basically what this all meant was that I seemed to have finally achieved some sort of balance where I could remain cognizant of my performance without analyzing the life out of it.
I had barely been playing a minute when I began to grasp the importance of this step. For the first time ever I was playing with the kind of grace and power that Dr. Caroll had been trying to bring out of me in front of an audience without getting so freaked out by nerves that I lost contact with the real world.
There were a few rough spots, like during the E Major number 3 when I plain as day hit a couple of very exposed wrong notes early on, then had trouble playing the climax as smoothly as I would have liked. Or the Eb Major number 11, which I simply never felt any sort of comfort level with and so it sounded to my ear way too disjointed. There were other little problems of course, but then nobody’s perfect.
By the end of the twelfth etude I was emotionally exhausted. I frankly wasn’t sure I could duplicate this performance, because while I know I had tapped into some fairly strong feelings and poured them into the music, I couldn’t necessarily tell you what those feelings were or what they meant to the performance. These were things that I would have to keep working on to understand.
I could however tell from the audience reaction that my impressions of the performance as a whole were spot on as the enthusiasm overwhelmed me. I took several bows before leaving the stage and they were still applauding when I reached Cindy and Dr. Caroll.
“Pity there’s not room on the program for an encore,” quipped my teacher as she shook my hand before turning to the next performer to offer some last minute encouragement and instructions.
“You played beautifully,” Cindy gushed as she kissed me on my cheek.
“Well gee, thanks,” I said as nonchalantly as I could manage given the buzz I was still riding from the audience reaction. “Glad you liked it.”
“So do we need to stick around for the rest of the recital? Or could we take off for a while?” she asked as she started trying to lead me toward the stage door.
As I followed her, offering little or no resistance I said, “I can’t think of any reason why we would need to stay. What did you have in mind?” I asked, having several ideas of my own if she happened to be without.
“I thought we’d go back to your apartment so you can get out of that monkey suit,” she said as she pulled me close and gave me a knee-buckling kiss. As she slowly broke the kiss she said, “And who knows what might come to us.”
A few minutes later we were making our way through the front door to my apartment, Cindy already undoing my tie and reaching to start unbuttoning my shirt. When she got down to the bra, she gently rubbed the lace into my nipples, which nearly left me unable to initiate any kind of conscious thought.
Within seconds my suit jacket and dress shirt had joined my tie on the living room floor and she was working on my belt. After quickly getting it undone as well, she opened my dress pants and was surprised by what she found.
“What’s this?” she asked, obviously taken aback.
“I just had a thought this morning as I was getting ready,” I replied sheepishly.
“You know, I thought I’d noticed that your chest was more bare than usual, but tried to dismiss it as my imagination. Now though,” she allowed the thought to drift away rather than trying to complete it.
Instead of saying anything more, she reached out and began gently rubbing my nipple through the lace of my bra cup. While she did that, she ever so gently brushed her lips across mine, generating a kind of electric charge that very nearly sent me over the edge. To call the sensations heavenly would be to do them a disservice.
When she broke the contact it took me a few moments to regain full mental functionality, during which time she stared into my eyes. Once she could tell I had returned to more or less normal she said, “You surprised me.”
“How so?”
“This is the first time you’ve voluntarily taken a step beyond just wearing women’s clothes. How did it feel when you were doing it?”
“Well, when I was shaving it didn’t really feel any different than when I shave my face…other than of course for the fact that it took forever,” I said with a bit of a chuckle. “But afterward?” I left the thought unfinished.
“Let me guess. You felt the nylon rub against your legs, the way it caresses the bare, clean-shaven skin…” she said, completing my thought.
“Well yeah, but it was more than that.”
“Meaning?”
I looked into her eyes for a moment; unable to form the thought I was reaching for until she finally spoke again. “Did you notice anything different emotionally?”
“You mean like the fact that I actually remember how I played today? Unlike every other time since I started all this?”
“Really? That’s interesting,” she said as she seemed to drift away for a moment.
“Indeed,” I whispered as I too drifted off into private thought.
I did finally return from my little mental trip just in time to go to my lesson with Dr. Caroll. As usual we began by listening to the recording of today’s performance. She commented briefly about the problem areas, which I already recognized as we listened, but it was little more than noting the problems for future work.
When the recording was over she said, “All in all, well done!” I hoped I didn’t develop a big ego from all the praise as she continued, “Your fellow performers have requested that you be scheduled last on all recitals from now on.”
It took me a moment to understand the implications of this statement, but it did finally click. “It wasn’t that good,” I said, trying to discount what I’d just been told.
“This is an incredible compliment, Kyle. They all respect you to the point that they’re a little jealous.”
“I suppose, but it is all a bit daunting, you know?”
“Just don’t let it go to your head. The last thing you can afford to do now is let up. We have a semester ending recital to prepare for.”
Dr. Caroll turned toward her desk and pulled out two books, which she set on the music stand. “I’m going to go ahead and assign your next two pieces because one of them is technically rather simple when compared to what you’ve worked on thus far, but the other should prove to be a major challenge.”
She first opened a book of Mozart sonatas. “The Mozart k.330 isn’t all that difficult technically speaking, but it’s very easy for it to sound mechanical if it’s not done well. You’ll be playing the complete sonata in two weeks time.”
She then opened the other book. “The Liszt, on the other hand, is very technical. That’s why I’m giving you both at the same time.”
I stared at them both for a moment, feeling a little overwhelmed. Finally I asked, “Are you sure about this?”
“Oh yes, absolutely. It’s not often that someone as young as you shows the ability to handle this kind of workload, but I’m certain you’re up to the challenge. Now what say we jump on into the Mozart?”
It wasn’t really a question, I knew. Still I couldn’t help but look at her for a moment before I started playing.
She was right, of course. The Mozart sonata was a beautiful piece of music, but nowhere near as difficult as the other pieces I’d been working on. Not to mention the fact that I had played it before…not that I was going to tell her that part.
When I finished playing through the entire piece, Dr. Caroll remarked, “You’ve obviously played this one before!” She got this sly smile on her face and said, “This means you’ll have even more time to work on the Liszt. However, it appears our time for today is about up. Polish the Mozart and get to work on the Liszt. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
Over the next couple of days I got into a sort of routine. One day I’d start my practice with the Chopin Mazurkas. The next day I’d start with the Rachmaninov, and the day after that it was the Chopin etudes. Each day I’d follow with once through Mozart and close out each session with Liszt.
Other than sleeping together, I’m afraid I didn’t pay all that much attention to Cindy, though she didn’t complain. It seemed she too was extra busy with school stuff as she was working on a project for one of her psychology classes. We’d eat dinner together each night before going to sleep and other than that we were both rather engrossed in our own things.
By the time the performance of the Mozart drew near Dr. Caroll decided to let me in on what would be my performance schedule for the remainder of the semester. Following the Liszt, my bi-weekly midday recitals would be dropped in favor of a couple of “more important” performances. My solo recital would take place two weeks after I played the Liszt, and after that I would have two weeks to prepare Mozart’s twelfth piano concerto in A Major, kv.414 for a performance with the Conservatory Orchestra. This was a nearly unheard of honor, allowing a freshman to appear as a soloist with the orchestra. I just hoped I didn’t screw it up.
My Mozart was by no means my best work, but in spite of that the performance was extremely well received by both my peers and Dr. Caroll. I was becoming much more comfortable with performing, and hoped that trend would continue for the foreseeable future.
After what I had to describe as a less than good performance on the Mozart sonata, I felt the need to do something extra with the Liszt to redeem myself. Two weeks of working extra hard in preparation later, my rendition of the Franz Liszt piano sonata was outstanding, even if I do say so myself. It had beauty, grace, power, finesse, precision, and the most important ingredient…soul. I suspect the only person more pleased with my performance than me was Dr. Caroll, which was apparent by the amount of gushing.
That evening I found myself a bit out of sorts wracking my brain for ideas of how to maintain the level I’d set for myself. Although I was coming up empty handed in the idea department, Cindy seemed to come up with an idea that could really help give me a nudge and I don’t know if she meant to or not.
We were lounging on the couch relaxing after dinner and as she held my hand she was devoting an inordinate amount of attention to my fingernails. “You know, you really should take better care of these,” she said breaking the silence that had built up around us as we relaxed.
“What? My fingernails?” I asked feeling a little surprised at the abruptness of her comment. “You don’t mean like polished, do you?”
“Not unless you wanted to, no. I was just looking at them and although they are a fair amount longer than most guys, you haven’t been taking care of them.”
“I leave them long because I have a tendency to curl my fingers too much when I play and the longer nails force me not to do that.”
“Then you should take better care of them. At least file the edges so they aren’t so raggedy.”
“You’re probably right. Do you have a file?”
“Sure,” she reached into her purse and pulled out an emery board. “Here, we’ll use this.” She picked up my right hand and began filing away. “I’ll show you how this time and then you’re on your own, big boy.”
She rounded off the corners and smoothed out the rough edges, leaving behind a much nicer looking set of fingernails than I had previously. Rather feminine, but nice. When she was done she asked, “There, isn’t that better?”
I looked at them for a moment and I had to admit that they did look much better. I felt a momentary wave of panic rise up as I realized just how feminine they really were. Then I returned to Earth, remembering that I’ve been wearing panties all semester, and have been performing in a bra and pantyhose over shaven legs. From that perspective, neatly shaped fingernails didn’t seem like all that big of a deal at all.
After that night the nail file became a regular part of my grooming, just like shaving my body hair had before. It wasn’t until the night before my recital that Cindy broached the subject of applying some “nail hardener” to make them stronger. I wasn’t sure, but had to admit that so far she hadn’t led me astray, so finally I submitted to her idea and found myself sitting there with my fingers splayed waiting for the clear stuff to dry. It could have just been my imagination, but it seemed that the hardener made my nails jump out because they glistened.
My performance was to be in the evening and I spent much of the day so preoccupied by what I perceived as my brightly glistening fingernails that I absorbed basically nothing from any of my classes. By eleven I had given up on attending classes and had returned to my apartment to wait until it was time to get ready for my recital.
At noon Cindy joined me in waiting. She tried her best to distract me from obsessing about the performance to come, but in the end I’m afraid all her efforts were in vain. We ate a bite of lunch, watched some television, listened to some music…and yes, engaged in a little bit of more intimate activity as well. Despite all that I was still wound so tight I was afraid springs might start popping out of me. I was fairly certain there was no way I would survive the night. Only time would tell.
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Sonata, k.330
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-330-1-kopp.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-330-2-3-kop...
Franz Liszt, Piano Sonata in B minor, s.178
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-sonata-Bmino...
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Notes:
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Everything was as ready as it would ever be, so I nodded to the stage manager as I made my way backstage. He picked up the house phone and called the ushers office, telling them they could open the doors and let patrons in. Moments later, sounds started filtering through the curtains from the gallery as the crowd found seats and began chatting in anticipation of the upcoming performance.
Standing around backstage I looked over at Cindy. Suddenly it occurred to me why she’d suggested polishing my fingernails. That clear lacquer had been enough to keep my mind distracted all day, thus preventing me from letting my nerves completely freak me out like they were inclined to do at that moment.
“Are you ready?” asked Dr. Caroll. I didn’t see or hear her approach and thus was a bit startled by the sudden intrusion.
After taking a second to bring myself back to reality I replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good. You go on in about five minutes,” she told me before wandering off to say hello to some other members of the piano faculty.
Cindy came up beside me and stood close, putting her arm through mine. “Relax! You’re going to do great,” she said, trying to reassure me.
“I hope you’re right,” I replied. “So do you want to go sit out front? Or stay back here?”
“Wherever you want me to be,” she said just before she kissed me on the cheek.
“Well, there’s really no reason for you to stay back here. Why don’t you go out front?”
“Okay,” she said before kissing me on the cheek again. I turned my face toward her and she kissed me yet again, this time on the lips before releasing her grasp on my arm and leaving the backstage area to go find a seat out front.
Those last few moments standing there alone, I became acutely aware of all things feminine on my person. With each breath, I could feel the tautness of the bra around my chest. And every time I moved one of my legs or feet, I felt the panty hose under my slacks, not to mention the panties as they caressed my groin area.
I looked down at my fingernails…such a point of distraction all day long…and caught myself admiring just how feminine they appeared. I suppressed the desire to hold my hands out and admire the manicure in more detail.
The faint sound of who knows how many conversations drifting up from the seats to the backstage area continued to serve as the backdrop for my musings, right up until the house lights dimmed signaling that it was time to begin. The sound faded almost as quickly as the light, and with that it was time for me to go on.
I started out on stage and was greeted by an ovation of much greater intensity than I was expecting. I glanced out at the audience and though it was too dark to tell for certain, it appeared there was a substantial crowd on hand…much more so than I had anticipated.
Standing by the keyboard facing the audience, I bowed in recognition of the hearty welcome I had received and as the applause died down I sat at the piano and made some last minute adjustments to the bench height and position.
Once I was finally satisfied that I was in the best possible position to begin playing I raised my hands and held them hovering just above the keys while I took one last deep breath to calm my nerves before beginning.
First on the program was the Rachmaninov sonata, and I felt confident from the very beginning that I would be able to play it well. I began it bold and brash, relying mostly on my power before finally bringing in the more graceful elements, as the music demanded it. All the while, despite the fact that I was trying to remain focused on my performance, I couldn’t seem to prevent my mind from wandering now and then.
I’d be playing along and move in such a way that I felt a bra strap tug against my shoulder, or look down at my hands and see the stage lights glint off of the nail polish. Whatever the distraction might be, I was conscious enough of what I was doing to realize that this was proving to be an outstanding performance, but not so much that I would begin to over-analyze every aspect of my playing until it began to sound mechanical and dull.
As strong and brash as the first movement was, the second movement was far more introspective and I took advantage of that by letting all the grace and fluidity I could muster flow freely from my fingers. With each passing moment I became more certain that I would be more than satisfied with my performance. That is, right up until I hit my first major wrong note.
About halfway through that second movement, I flubbed a couple of very exposed notes in the middle of a big run. Even though I knew that other than myself chances were nobody else would realize my mistake, it took me several measures to calm my nerves back down and during that time I was terrified that I’d make another, far bigger and more noticeable mistake. Fortunately I escaped that fate and made my way through the remainder of the movement unscathed.
The third and final movement of the sonata could very easily sound like crap if you tried to rely too heavily on just playing fast and loud, so it was really right up my alley, you could say. I took the power of the first movement and combined that with the fluidity of the second, and set out to give the finest performance possible.
Again, I had some flubbed note problems, but they were hidden well enough that even the piano faculty, who were judging my performance for my semester grade, would have been hard pressed to find them. In the end I was nowhere near satisfied with how I’d done, but then I knew that the audience was going to eat up this performance.
I pounded the final chord, held it for a moment while the sound faded, and then held my breath for a moment waiting for the response from the crowd. I didn’t have long to wait and as the Rachmaninov drifted into nothingness the audience exploded with applause. I jumped to my feet and took a bow, then another, and finally a third as the ovation continued. I had the option of leaving the stage in between selections, but decided that was a little more pretentious than I wanted to be, so once the crowd began to settle back into it’s silence I returned to the bench so I could prepare to play the Chopin Mazurkas.
I had felt pretty good about my performance earlier in the semester when I played these the first time, but with the additional progress I’d made over the course of the term I believed tonight’s rendition would put that performance to shame.
Unlike the Rachmaninov, I actually managed to get through the entire collection without a major mess up. It’s nearly impossible to play something that advanced without making some mistakes, so the goal is to minimize their impact on the audience’s enjoyment of the performance. I’d like to think I’d managed to do just that.
As I played the Mazurkas I started to feel a comfort level with being in front of so many people that I’d never really felt before. I even stole a couple of glances out into the audience, catching Cindy’s eyes and smiling at her.
A development of the less positive variety was that my mind started wandering to things like “What should I get Cindy for Christmas?” Okay, this wasn’t the first time such errant thoughts started creeping through my mind as I played, but this seemed like a truly strange time and place for such a thing to happen.
I did eventually get my head back under control and managed to avoid any major difficulties for the remainder of the composition. When I finished with the Chopin, I swear the applause that roused me from my little world seemed even more enthusiastic than it had been after the Rachmaninov. Before the applause died down this time, I made sure I was already back in position to begin the next selection on the program, which just happened to be the Mozart sonata.
During the Mozart I continued to relax. Before that there had still been this tenseness in my shoulders that didn’t seem to want to go away. I know if I’d been able to get rid of that feeling more quickly things would have sounded that much better, but as it was the Mozart sonata is where I finally began to feel truly good about my performance.
Of course, with the more relaxed feelings came more ‘distractions’. My mind flashed back to that first shopping expedition with Cindy, when she helped me pick out my panties. I felt certain that if anyone looked at me close enough they’d be able to see me blushing as the memory played back in my mind.
As the memories continued to swirl, the montage left me so distracted that at one point in the second movement if I hadn’t been playing basically on autopilot I’m sure I would have gotten lost. Fortunately, I knew the piece so well that didn’t happen, and I soon got myself back under control enough to remain focused for the remainder of the piece.
Again the audience response left me feeling somewhat unworthy of such adulation, but in the end I knew better than to turn down the appreciation they were showing me. It had the effect of pushing me to do even better on the Liszt sonata.
Fortunately the Liszt was more forgiving, as far as the graceful execution of the performance was concerned, because while my performance contained ample power and technical skill, it lacked the kind of feminine touch that the rest of the program had contained. I’m sure there weren’t half a dozen people in the audience…most of them professors at the conservatory…who could identify the weakness in my rendition, but I knew and that was enough.
When I reached the end, I vowed to work twice as hard for next semester to make up for what I perceived to be my failure. Of course, the audience didn’t seem to mind that I’d botched my interpretation, as the applause seemed just as loud as it had been before. That didn’t mean I felt like I deserved it.
Since the Chopin etudes take so long to play in their entirety, I opted to leave the stage for a moment before returning to play them. I could probably make up something about wanting to allow the audience a moment to cleanse their ears before beginning, but the truth was I was dying of thirst so I went backstage to get a drink of water before continuing.
It was during my couple of minutes backstage that I once again became acutely aware of my feminine attire. First, when I reached for the bottle of water I had left there for just this contingency I felt the bra pinch just a bit into my side, then felt the strap tug across my shoulder. Then, as if that weren’t enough I shifted my position and felt the satin of my panties rub my privates in a delightfully distracting way.
One last sip of water and I was heading back on stage to play the Chopin opus 10 etudes. I headed straight for the piano and before the applause that once again greeted me had begun to die down I was ready to play.
I knew from my previous performance of these etudes just how easily they could degenerate in a pool of testosterone where the true beauty of the compositions would be lost. With that in mind, I decided to exaggerate the dynamics, thereby ensuring that there was no way they could be described as mechanical. Of course, I also found myself continually fascinated by the light that was making my fingernails shine, thanks in no small part to the ‘hardener’ Cindy had applied.
Once my nails again distracted my mind, I played the rest of the etudes without putting much conscious thought into the performance. That’s not to say that I played them without emotion. On the contrary, my performance was a veritable roller coaster of emotional expression. I just wasn’t thinking about every single note I played.
It seemed like it took forever to reach the end of the twelfth etude, but reach it I eventually did. While I was playing I had slipped into my own little world where I wasn’t even aware of the audience’s presence, but as soon as I played that final chord the sound of the crowd erupting into applause roused me from my musings and left me a little bewildered. After all, I had played pretty well, but nowhere near good enough to warrant the reaction I got.
After a few minutes, I left the stage expecting the ovation to die away, but much to my surprise, it didn’t. If anything the sound became even stronger. So out I went once again to take a bow I didn’t really think I deserved.
Standing beside the piano looking out on the audience, I started to grasp for the first time how many people were there, and they were all there to hear me. Talk about overwhelming!
The applause went on for several minutes, with me standing there soaking it all in. Finally things began to settle down and after a couple of more bows I left the stage once again. The ovation began to die down, replaced by the sounds of shuffling feet, rustling coats, and chitchat. As I stood just behind the curtain I listened in to see if I could get some idea of what my audience really thought of the performance.
For the most part the comments I could make out were extremely positive, which gave my ego a healthy boost to be sure. As I stood there eavesdropping Cindy surprised me, as she snuck up on me while I was distracted and gave me a kiss before I even knew she was there.
“So are you ready to greet your adoring public?” she asked as she took my hand and started leading me toward the door.
“What are you talking about?” As was so often the case where Cindy and I were concerned, I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
As she pulled me through the stage door and down the hallway toward the lobby, I could hear quite a few people milling about. As we passed through the doors into the lobby, we were greeted by yet another ovation from the crowd.
Eventually the applause died back down, replaced once again by the sounds of people enjoying themselves. After a while I just looked at her somewhat bewildered. By way of reply she said, “Come on, silly. Why so surprised? We planned this for you weeks ago. I can’t believe you weren’t expecting it.”
Feeling quite flabbergasted I said as we reached the lobby area, “I didn’t have a clue.”
Cindy opened her mouth to respond to me but we were interrupted by some of Dr. Caroll’s other students who wanted to chat for a moment. While they started out asking me about my interpretation of the Chopin Mazurkas, the conversation quickly degenerated into a somewhat heated debate about whether Chopin was a better composer than Liszt.
It didn’t take me long to lose interest in their discussion and fairly quickly my attention began to wander. I started perusing the crowd looking for Cindy; much to my surprise I found her chatting with my parents. I had no idea they were planning on coming into town for the recital and was thrilled to see them again, so I quickly excused myself from the great writer debate and made a beeline for Mom and Dad, not to mention Cindy.
Dad was the first to see me approaching and said, “Excellent performance son. You really wowed them.” The pride was evident in his facial expressions as well as the tone of his voice as he continued, “Now what say we all celebrate a little.”
My mom didn’t say anything, but instead just looked me in the eye before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. The warmth that spread through me could have melted an iceberg, so I felt pretty sure I had to be blushing furiously by the end of the hug. My blushing was only accentuated by the fact that as she released the hug I could see this strange look in her eyes telling me we needed to talk later.
Suddenly what had just happened hit me. She must have felt my bra when she was squeezing me and that’s what she wanted to talk about later. If it were possible, I turned an even brighter shade of red.
Finally mom broke the relative silence that had enveloped us. “You played brilliantly, Kyle!”
My dad then added, “Absolutely! I don’t think anyone could have done better.”
“You’re right about that, Mr. Bronson,” Dr. Caroll came up behind me and added. “Kyle is fast becoming the best pianist in the school. Has he told you about his appearance with the orchestra in two weeks? He’ll be the soloist playing one of the Mozart concerti.” My teacher seemed to glow with almost as much pride as my parents at the news.
“That’s wonderful!” my mom exclaimed. “Kyle, why hadn’t you told us?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was expecting you to make all these trips into town, so I figured if I didn’t tell you, you’d be less likely to feel like you needed to come running so often.”
Dad jumped into the conversation, “Nonsense, son. You didn’t think we’d miss tonight for anything, did you? Of course we wouldn’t miss your recital, just like we won’t miss your featured performance as a soloist with the orchestra.”
Mom finished for him, “Oh, we’ll be back for that concert, I guarantee it.”
Eventually Cindy drifted back over by me. I’m not sure why, but my mom gave her what appeared to be a half-hearted plastic smile. I couldn’t help but wonder if the two of them would ever just get along? While I didn’t have an answer myself, I hoped they might eventually manage to be civil.
As the evening dragged on I spent my time shaking hands, answering questions that ranged from thought provoking to mind numbing, and generally hoping this silly reception would end soon. About an hour into it I wandered over to the punch bowl and as I was getting myself something to drink, Dr. Caroll came over with another professor in tow.
“Kyle, have you met our conductor, Dr. Wyler?”
“I can’t say that I have,” I said as I extended my hand to shake his. “Kyle Bronson, sir.”
He reached out and took my hand in his and as he was shaking it he replied, “A pleasure, Mr. Bronson, a pleasure indeed. I was most impressed this evening.”
“Where were you?” I quipped.
As he laughed, he said, “You’re obviously not one of these completely self absorbed, ultra serious performers we seem to grow on trees around here. That’s good. It should make work on the Mozart much more enjoyable.”
“I’m looking forward to it, sir.”
“Well then I’ll see you Monday afternoon at rehearsal.” He shook my hand one last time, then he and Dr. Caroll left.
As I looked around the lobby to see who else was still on hand, I saw Cindy off in a corner talking with someone I didn’t recognize. Curious, I headed their way. Just as I got close enough for subdued conversation, Cindy’s friend looked my way then asked her, “So is this the guy from your research project?”
I wasn’t entirely sure why, but my head began to spin uncontrollably. I gruffly excused myself and left the performing arts center, making my way back to my apartment, tears streaming down my face the whole way.
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Frederic Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Sonata, k.330
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-330-1-kopp.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-330-2-3-kop...
Franz Liszt, Piano Sonata in B minor, s.178
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-sonata-Bmino...
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kopp.mp3
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Still half blinded by tears I plopped down naked on the bed and prayed that I could simply forget about Cindy. Maybe it made no sense at all, but part of me wished I could remove her from my heart as easily as I removed my clothes. Unfortunately that small part of me that was still in touch with reality knew that wasn’t likely to happen.
As I lay there, the inevitable happened. There was a knock, followed by another more insistent one, then finally a key in the lock and the sound of the chain lock being pulled taut.
“Come on, Kyle! Let me in? Please?” Cindy shouted through the crack allowed by the chain lock on the front door for about the hundredth time. She had followed me back to my apartment; ironically that possibility had been the only thing that had prevented me from losing it completely in the last hour.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
I said to myself, “If she’s so sure of that, then what do I think?” To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure what I thought myself. I opted for attempting to ignore her.
In her ongoing plot to prevent me from doing just that Cindy said, “We need to talk. I know what you overheard at the reception. You have to believe me when I say it wasn’t like that.”
I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling, trying to prevent the memories from weakening my resolve, but that was to no avail. With each time she called to me from outside, I felt some sort of force pulling me toward the door and the inevitable conversation to come.
Finally, I pulled myself up off the bed, grabbed a robe to cover up my complete lack of clothing, and stumbled through the apartment toward the front door and the moment of truth.
“Kyle?” Cindy called yet again as I neared the door.
“What do you think you have to say that I might possibly want to hear?” I said with as much ice in my voice as I could muster.
“It’s not what it sounded like, I swear.”
“Oh no?” my voice quavered. “It sounded like you’ve been writing a paper about me without my knowledge or consent. Is that not accurate?”
She paused, taking a deep breath before saying, “That’s true.”
“Then tell me what’s not what it sounded like then?”
“Your identity isn’t revealed at any time…”
I jumped in before she could finish that thought. “Except of course to all your friends who no doubt had a good laugh at my expense.”
“No!” she stated as firmly as she could. “I never told anyone!”
“Now why don’t I believe that? Maybe it’s because one of your friends just asked you if I was the subject of your research project.”
“That was a wild guess on her part, which I denied before I came running after you.”
“Sure you did.”
“It’s true!”
I stood there on the opposite side of the door from Cindy silently for a moment before continuing. “You’ll have to forgive me for not believing you at the moment. Even if I were to accept what you’re saying, there’s still the issue of making me the subject of a research project without my consent. How ethical is that? And more importantly in the light of that, how can I ever trust you again?”
For the longest time there was no response other than silence. Eventually I could hear Cindy softly crying on the other side of the door. Finally after several minutes of listening to her cry, she managed to say, “Because I love you.”
“What was that?”
“I said because I love you. That’s why you can trust me. I swear to you, I would never do anything to jeopardize you in any way.”
“At the moment, that rings a bit hollow to tell the truth.”
Just then my mom and dad came walking up to my door, greeted by the still tearful Cindy. My father was the first to speak, “Kyle? Open up, please?”
“Not until she leaves,” I said, knowing full well that it would hurt Cindy’s feelings deeply.
“Kyle, please think about this? Let’s talk later?” Cindy begged before heading toward her little-used apartment.
I waited a moment before asking, “Is she gone?”
“Yes,” my mother replied.
I opened the door allowing my parents entry, following them into the living room where we all took seats in preparation for the inquisition that was most certainly to come.
Mom got straight to the point. “What’s going on here? You two were deliriously happy one moment, then the next…” she allowed the thought to trail off. “What happened?”
I let out a deep sigh before responding, “I overheard one of her friends ask if I was the person she was writing her research project on and I kind of freaked out.”
“Does this have to do with the women’s clothing?” my mom once again got straight to the point.
I stared at her for a moment trying to gauge how to respond before finally trying denial. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on son,” she scolded. “I know that a lot of the stuff in your drawers is for you, not Cindy.”
I wavered a bit but eventually opted for the truth. “Yeah, they’re mine. This is something I started because it’s helping with my playing.”
Dad finally weighed in, “How so?”
I took a deep breath before I started, “One of the first things Dr. Caroll said to me was that I had a nice, what she called feminine, touch but it was inconsistent. What I discovered was that I could sustain that touch if I could keep from thinking too much about the technical aspects of playing. What seemed to help me do that at first was to imagine myself as a girl…believe me, I know how weird that sounds…but it was difficult to maintain that image in my mind long enough to make it through an entire piece.
“Cindy was actually the one who suggested I try wearing women’s clothes as a way of maintaining my focus when I play. The amazing thing is it worked. So she took me shopping to buy a supply of panties and things for me to wear.”
I took a deep breath, then continued, “As time went on I found that the more I feminized myself, the better I played.”
“How so?” mom asked.
“At first, I wore panties,” I said, showing signs of extreme embarrassment. “But after a while they didn’t help as much, so I added a bra. Then I shaved my body hair and started wearing panty hose.” By this time I was blushing so much I’m sure I looked like a beet.
“Just this last week I started shaping my fingernails, which I let grow out because they make me hold my fingers correctly when I play. Last night Cindy helped me add clear polish to them.”
“How can something as simple as what you wear influence the way you play?” my dad asked.
“I can’t explain it because I don’t understand it any better than you do. All I know is from the moment I tried playing this way, I could tell the difference and so could everyone who heard me play.”
Mom asked, “What does that have to do with what happened tonight?”
“After a while, Cindy and I started hanging out together and eventually became involved, you might say. It didn’t start out that way, but…” I paused before continuing. “I thought she cared for me, but now…”
Dad looked at me for a moment before offering, “Maybe it’s none of my business, but when you left this evening the first thing she did was read her friend the riot act, then took out after you. I wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what she said, but she was obviously very mad at whoever that girl was.”
“Maybe, but is that because she jumped to conclusions, or because she made the mistake of letting me know what was going on?”
It was actually mom who responded, “I don’t know the answer to that. Cindy is the only one who knows the truth, and from the sound of things it may be a while before you feel like you can trust what she says.”
“You got that right,” I commented glibly.
A rather uncomfortable silence descended upon the room, as none of us seemed quite sure where to take the conversation next. It was my dad who finally broke the mood by asking, “This might sound like a weird question, but does wearing girls’ clothes really make that much difference in the way you play?”
Any spoken response was likely to fall short of convincing him, so instead I walked over to my digital piano and started playing part of the Mozart concerto I was supposed to be preparing for my appearance with the Conservatory Orchestra. I played fairly well, but obviously not up to my recent standards.
“Very nice son. But what does that have to do with your dad’s question?” mom asked before dad had a chance.
I put my index finger to my lips, got up from the piano, and made my way into the bedroom where I pulled on the panties I had removed earlier. Then I returned to the living room and silently sat at the keyboard again and played the exact same passage. The difference in the quality of the performance would have been obvious to even the most tone-deaf listener.
When I finished playing the passage again, I silently turned to face my stunned parents. As we sat there staring at each other, trying to digest what I had just done my folks seemed almost catatonic. They would look at me, then at each other, then back at me again, still unable to form thoughts into words. I think I had made my point.
I decided to be the one to break the silence this time, so I said, “Now you know. Yeah, it makes that big of a difference.”
“You mean to tell me that the only thing you did differently was put on a pair of panties?” My mom asked. Dad was clearly uncomfortable with this information, as he was still unable to form coherent thoughts.
Mom continued, “That’s unbelievable. How?”
“If I knew the answer to that one I might not need to wear lingerie,” I answered, clearly embarrassed by the line of questioning.
Dad finally managed to defrost his brain and asked, “Isn’t there some other way? I mean, isn’t it kind of weird?”
“Yeah, it’s really weird, not just kinda. But if there’s another way, I haven’t been able to find it. Lord knows I’ve tried. But once I heard the difference for myself I haven’t been able to bring myself to try playing without it. And as the semester has progressed I’ve found myself adding articles of clothing and such. With each addition I’ve gotten better.”
Dad asked, “Aren’t you a little worried about where this is all going?”
“You could say that, Dad. Until now, I at least had Cindy supporting me. Now though…” as the thought trailed off, that silence returned.
As the hour was getting rather late, I offered my folks the use of the bedroom and after getting them settled stretched out on the couch in the hope that I might eventually be able to get some sleep myself. I tossed and turned much of the night, but did finally drift off around three in the morning.
My dreams were a reflection of the just completed evening. I had multiple dreams in which I found myself feeling betrayed by Cindy and yet still unable to stop loving her. After the fourth such dream in a couple of hours, I finally gave up on sleep and got up.
I plugged in my headphones and started working on the Mozart, trying to commit it to memory. I lost all track of time and it wasn’t until mom tapped my shoulder to ask if I wanted any breakfast that I realized I’d been practicing for several hours. If nothing else, at least my Mozart would be ready for the performance.
As we finished up breakfast there was a knock at the door, so I went to see who was there. I don’t suppose I should have been surprised when I saw Cindy standing there looking at me with her best wounded puppy eyes.
“What?” I asked, still being a bit cold toward her.
“Kyle, I know you don’t trust me right now. You have every right to be that way towards me,” she said. “Is there any way we can talk now?”
I looked into her eyes and despite the hurt that was still bouncing around in my heart, I felt myself being drawn to her. I was able to remain outwardly unmoved by her plea for roughly thirty seconds before I could do it no more and finally said, “Okay.”
She started to enter my place when I stopped her saying, “My folks are still here. If there’s anything you want to say that you don’t want them knowing we might want to take this to your place.”
“I’m fairly certain that no matter how things turn out after this conversation you’re going to tell them most everything we talk about, isn’t that right?”
I couldn’t resist cracking a smile when I said, “Yeah, probably.”
“Then I guess you could say we have no secrets,” she walked in the apartment ahead of me after our conversation at the door.
When my folks first saw her coming into the living room, they started in immediately. Mom was first with her icy greeting, “Cindy.”
Dad’s greeting came right on the heels of mom’s, and was no less cool toward her. “I’m surprised to see you this morning.”
Cindy found herself standing against the wall opposite my folks, where she began, “Kyle, I realize you feel like I’ve betrayed you somehow…”
“You could say that,” I cut her off. “Tell me this. Am I in fact the subject of your research project?”
Cindy took a deep breath to steel herself before responding, “Um, yes.”
“And how exactly did you reach the conclusion that it was all right for you to do that without letting me know?”
“I didn’t think there’d be a problem,” she stated.
“Then you thought wrong,” I snapped back.
“Kyle, I…”
“I don’t think you realize how betrayed I feel right now, not to mention feeling used. I mean, do you even like me? Or was this all just an experiment for you?”
Cindy looked shocked and hurt by my question, which told me most of what I wanted to know. She did however finally respond, “Kyle! I love you! I thought you knew that!”
“I don’t know anything anymore. I thought we…” Flustered, I had to stop to get my thoughts together. “Then I find out that you’ve been using me…” I found I couldn’t go any further as I started crying.
Cindy too was in tears as she said, “I know I should have asked you before doing this. I was wrong, and I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” was all I could say.
We all sat there in silence as thoughts overtook each of us. Eventually Cindy broke the silence. “I’m sorry Kyle. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me and we can go back to the way things were before.” She then headed slowly toward the door.
I looked toward her as she was leaving and said, “I don’t know if that’s going to be possible. Maybe for now it would be best if you didn’t come back.”
She looked back at me, completely rejected, then turned and left my apartment. I buried my face in my hands to try to hide the overwhelming sorrow I felt.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
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“Thanks. I felt pretty good about most of it myself,” I responded.
“As you should. You’ve done outstanding work this term. Now, how is the Mozart concerto coming along?”
That was my hint to start playing. We went through several sections of the Mozart and it was obvious to both of us that I wasn’t up to par. Following a particularly substandard rendition Dr. Caroll asked, “Kyle, is something wrong? You’re not exactly playing like your usual self.”
I paused for a moment before finally admitting, “I kind of had a huge fight with my girlfriend over the weekend and it looks like we’ve broken up.”
“Sorry to hear that. Her name was Cindy, wasn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just nodded. After a moment, Dr. Caroll breached the silence, “Is there anything I can do? Believe me, I know how it is. You need to get your head back on track so you can give the kind of performance we both know you’re capable of playing.”
Once my lesson time was up I gathered my things and headed straight back to my apartment. I appreciated Dr. Caroll trying to help me regain my focus, but this was something I was just going to have to deal with by myself.
By myself really for the first time since my discovery about Cindy, I quickly disintegrated into a puddle of tears that threatened to rival the biblical flood. I cried because I felt hurt, used, and betrayed. I cried because the person I loved was the source of all those feelings. I cried because my love wasn’t there with me and I felt truly alone for the first time. I cried until I finally fell asleep sometime after 3am.
Tuesday I could at least go three minutes without feeling like I was about to have a monsoon pouring out of my eyes, but the emptiness, pain, and sorrow were still quite evident. All I could do was hope that one day those feelings would make room for some other emotion, but at that point I seriously doubted that day would ever arrive.
As the days passed I finally managed to make my way back to a point where I was functioning on a more or less normal level, although it still required little or no provocation for me to dissolve into a sea of tears. Through all that, the one aspect of my life that remained constant was that I was still playing as well as ever…some might even say better.
When I played was the one time I could let my guard down enough to allow the still raw, open wounds that resided where my heart had once been to be seen by any and all who took the time to listen. Each rehearsal session with the orchestra demonstrated that very point and by the time the Friday before the concert rolled around the emotional turmoil that had been pouring from me as I played had managed to permeate into the performances of every member of the ensemble.
Following a particularly moving rendition, more than a few tears were evident in the rehearsal hall and while musically it felt wonderful that we had been able to all get on the same page and infuse the performance with such an impressive depth of feeling, it also left me drained to the point of nearly falling apart.
“I have to say Kyle that I’m fascinated by your interpretation,” said Dr. Wyler as we sat in his office following Friday’s rehearsal. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mozart played quite that way, and I say that as a good thing.” He reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out two cans of soda, offering me one. “There are a lot of darker emotions lingering just under the surface in your version. I’m really looking forward to the concert Sunday.”
“Thank you sir for the opportunity. I’m really enjoying playing with the ensemble. Truth is, I didn’t think I would like it as much as I have. But this has been great.” I opened my soda and took a sip. “Thank you for this as well, sir.”
“As I was saying, I’m very impressed with your playing. You’re extremely advanced for someone so young, not only technically, but musically. I’ve heard others who had your level of skill, but they often lack the musicality I’ve heard from you.” He took a sip from his own soda before continuing, “I think we should plan on you appearing with the orchestra on a regular basis.”
Wow! “I don’t know what to say sir.” I was flabbergasted by this suggestion. Here I’m a college freshman, and he’s talking about me playing as a soloist on a regular basis? All I could think was cool!
“Once we get through the concert Sunday I’ll sit down with Dr. Caroll so we can plan your next appearance. This is not only good for you as an aspiring concert pianist, it will help in the development of many of the players in the orchestra.”
“Thanks again sir, but I’m not sure I follow?”
“Most of these kids will be filling seats in professional orchestras after they leave here. Our job is to help them become familiar with the standard repertoire so when they get those jobs they won’t have to go through an ‘on the job training’ period.
“We regularly play the standard repertoire, like the Beethoven and Mozart symphonies, but it’s been a struggle to make sure they get the chance to learn many of the concerti that will no doubt be placed in front of them. If you and some of your fellow classmates would be willing to help us out in that regard by playing the soloist’s parts it would help everyone involved.”
“I am definitely interested, and I think it would be safe to say that several other students of Dr. Caroll’s would be as well. Just figure out what you want me to do next and I’ll start work on it over the break.”
“Excellent!” He stood, so I followed suit. As he showed me to the door of his office he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the dress rehearsal, and by then I should have a pretty good idea of which piece will be next.”
As I left the performing arts center to go home I couldn’t help but note that I was feeling better than I had in about two weeks. Of course, when I had that thought the sense of sadness and loss at losing someone I really did love once again swept over me and I felt very alone.
I walked into my apartment and started toward the shower, but noticed something sitting on the table as I walked by that I knew wasn’t there when I had left earlier. I went over to take a look and discovered the key to the apartment that I had given Cindy, on top of a manila envelope with my name written on it.
I didn’t think I was in the right frame of mind to see what it was, so I went on to take my shower. As I luxuriated under the jets of hot water my mind kept wandering back to that package on the table. “What on earth could it be?” I asked myself out loud as I began toweling dry.
I pulled on an old t-shirt and panties and went back into the living room where I plopped down on the sofa. I tried reading, watching television, listening to music…nothing seemed to be able to distract my attention away from that envelope.
I finally gave in and opened it. There was a fairly large stack of paper stapled together, with the top sheet being a letter:
Dearest Kyle,
I hope you will read this with an open mind. It didn’t really click for me what you must have assumed was the subject of my research until a few days ago. I promise you that was NOT the case at all.
You’ll find attached to this note my paper. The title is “The Subconscious Mind and the Creative Process”. Yes, I wrote about you extensively in this paper, but not in the way you thought. I wrote about how your subconscious mind controls some aspects of a performance, leaving the conscious mind free to handle other parts.
My friend Sarah knew nothing about what you were wearing under your suit, I promise you. She only knew the subject of my research because she’s the graduate assistant in my Psych class, and remembered at one point I told her I was dating this great musician. By putting those things together, she assumed it was about you. That’s all.
She came with me to your recital because apparently she used to be a musician too and wanted to hear the genius I was always raving about. She was quite impressed, by the way.
Maybe this doesn’t make things any better, but I don’t know what to do that will. All I can do is swear to you that I do love you, and miss you a lot. I hope we can eventually put this behind us and have a future together.
All My Love,
Cindy
I read through that letter four times before I even thought about looking at the paper, but when I did I found that what she had said was absolutely true. There was nothing in there about who I was, or what I might or might not wear under my suit when I performed.
While this knowledge went a long way toward mending my heart where Cindy was concerned, I still wasn’t ready to accept her apology and return to the way things were before. The fact that I was wrong in my assumption didn’t make the fact that I still felt betrayed go away. Unfortunately, it was no doubt going to take some time for that to happen.
I sat there reading and re-reading her paper for much of the night, actually falling asleep sitting on the sofa with it in my hand sometime around dawn. When I later awakened I had to rush around to make it to the dress rehearsal in time, but I made it.
There wasn’t that much playing going on Saturday afternoon. Mostly, we got the stage arranged, practiced everyone making entrances and exits between pieces, and talked a bit about how the acoustics of the room were going to influence the balance of the ensemble and myself.
That’s not to say there was no playing going on, because there was. The rehearsal closed out with a straight run through of the entire program, including all the stage changes we had just discussed. Once Dr. Wyler was satisfied that everything was as ready as it was likely to be for the concert tomorrow, we were dismissed and instructed to be present and ready to play an hour before the doors were to open.
As the members of the orchestra packed up their toys to go home, I caught a glimpse of Dr. Caroll talking with Dr. Wyler. Once they realized I had noticed them, they called me over to join them.
Dr. Caroll began, “Kyle, outstanding work as usual.”
“Definitely, young man,” Dr. Wyler added.
“It’s been a great experience,” I replied. “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow’s concert.”
“As am I Kyle. As am I,” Dr. Wyler commented. “Now, about next semester…” he said, allowing the sentence to die away unfinished.
Dr. Caroll picked up where Dr. Wyler left off. “We have a fairly adventurous schedule planned for you.”
“How so?”
Dr. Wyler picked up, “I’d like to have you play one concert a month with this group, and I’ve also talked to the conductors of the Civic orchestra and the Philharmonic.”
I stood there rather stunned by this news. It took me a moment to form thoughts into words. “That sounds like a rather busy schedule in conjunction with my class schedule.”
“It is,” Dr. Caroll agreed. “But it’s a fabulous opportunity. One that may not come again.”
I thought for about half a second before saying, “Absolutely! Count me in!”
“Excellent,” Dr. Wyler responded. “I have to run right now, but I’ll get together with Maestros Parkinson from the Civic and Herbert with the Philharmonic and have the list of pieces for the entire semester for you by Monday afternoon.” With that, he turned and left.
I’m not sure how long it took for it all to sink in, but after a moment or two I finally realized that I’d just agreed to learn at least five different concerti over the next six months. The longer I thought about it, the more monumental that task began to sound.
As I tried to relax Saturday evening I found myself dwelling on the thought that while things in my career were starting to really take off, I felt more alone and sad than I ever had in my young life. Putting it bluntly, I missed Cindy terribly. The problem was, I was still just stubborn enough that I wasn’t ready to admit that to her or anyone else for that matter.
I wound up playing for several hours before finally stumbling bleary eyed into bed far later than I should have been up. Once there I found sleep to be fickle, as I endured long stretches where I simply couldn’t relax.
Feeling almost hung over from the lack of rest I climbed into the shower Sunday morning to begin preparations for the upcoming concert. I followed my custom of shaving my body, then washing and conditioning my now rather longish hair. Once out of the shower I brushed out my hair, checked my manicure and performed necessary repairs to the nail strengthening clear coat, and then selected my undergarments for the day.
By noon I was sitting in my apartment in my bra and panties, wrapped in a robe waiting for it to be time to put on my tuxedo. I flipped channels on the television for a while but couldn’t find anything remotely entertaining. Without even thinking about it, I reached to the table and picked up Cindy’s research paper again.
I flipped through it for a while and actually found myself reading it closely again until I noticed it was time to finish getting dressed and head for the performing arts center. As I arrived I noticed that there were already quite a few people milling around the lobby waiting for the beginning of the concert so I made my way backstage as unobtrusively as I could.
Dr. Wyler greeted me as soon as I was within earshot, “Kyle! I’m glad you’re early. I have a couple of people I’d like you to meet.” He led me toward a pair of middle-aged gentlemen in suits who were standing together speaking with each other casually.
“Gentlemen, this is Kyle Bronson.” He then turned to me and said, “Kyle, this is Mike Parkinson,” gesturing toward one of the men, “Director of the Civic Orchestra.” He then directed my attention toward the other man, “And this is Charles Herbert, conductor of the Philharmonic.”
I shook each man’s hand, accompanied by a, “Hello, sir.”
Dr. Wyler once again focused all attention in the group on me, “I was telling Kyle yesterday about both of your interest in having him appear with your ensembles. I fear he may be feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, what with having to learn so many major works in such a short span of time.”
As he looked back toward the conductors standing there with him, Dr. Wyler continued, “Let’s get together this evening and go over which pieces you gentlemen want him to play and I’ll plan the Conservatory Orchestra’s programs accordingly.”
Getting the feeling they were done with me for now, I drifted away from this group as they buried themselves in conversation. As I wandered around backstage I was greeted by the cacophony of seventy individual musicians going through their personal warm up routines and carrying on conversations with each other. I received a few greetings along the way and by the time the backstage lights flashed off and on to signal that it was almost time for everyone to go onstage, I was beginning to feel more relaxed than I had when I first arrived today.
As the orchestra made it’s way onstage, I took a seat beside the stage manager to listen until it was my turn, which wouldn’t be until the next to last piece on the program. They performed the ceremonial tune up, which was more or less redundant since they had all tuned to the strobe in the rehearsal hall before they came onstage, then Dr. Wyler entered and the concert had begun.
Sitting there, my mind began to wander. Just as I had done many times before, I started thinking about why I was wearing women’s underwear. Was it really just because of the music? Until very recently that question was so easy to answer it seemed unnecessary, but in the past week or so I had been questioning the truth of that position.
If it was just because of the way I played, then why had I not worn anything but panties in months? I still had several pairs of boxers, but none of them had seen the outside of my dresser drawer since that day Cindy took me shopping for lingerie the first time. I don’t play the piano 24/7, so why have I been wearing panties all the time?
The simple answer is that I liked them. I liked the way they felt when I had them on. Did that make me a cross dresser? I suppose it did. Was there more to it than that? The more I thought about that one, the muddier those waters became.
To carry it further, what exactly prompted me to start wearing a bra? Was it just that I felt like I needed an extra ‘push’ in performance? Or was there something pulling me ever deeper into femininity? I was roused from that line of self-examination by the sound of applause as the orchestra finished their first selection.
I gradually drifted back into my thoughts once Dr. Wyler and his group began playing their next piece. So where did Cindy fit in? Was she just helping me? Or was she deriving some satisfaction from participating in my feminization? Even as I asked myself those questions I knew that chances were I would never find out the real answers.
My mind drifted yet again, this time wondering why it was that I had assumed that the subject of Cindy’s research had been my cross-dressing? Furthermore, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take me to trust her again, assuming she’d be interested in taking me back? Was it really her taking me back? Or was it the other way around?
Once again applause brought me back to reality, as the orchestra completed their second part of the program. That meant I was next up with my concerto.
After my extensive musings while I waited, I was hyper-aware of my feminine attire. Every movement amplified the sensations created by the rub of silk and lace against skin and as I stood there waiting for my signal to walk out on stage I knew that this distraction was a good thing.
I stepped out onto the stage and made my way to the piano set up in front of the ensemble, all the while being regaled with a chorus of cheers that was overwhelming, to put it lightly. I bowed deeply, looked at Dr. Wyler, and took my seat at the piano. I adjusted the tilt and height of the bench, then nodded to him that I was ready to begin.
He led the group through the opening section as I sat there taking deep breaths and resting my hands on the keyboard. When the time came for my entrance, I actually played mostly with my eyes closed, only looking down at the piano to ensure my hands were in the proper place to begin each new section or looking over at Dr. Wyler to make sure we were together on my entrances.
I found that as I played I couldn’t stop thinking about Cindy and how much I missed her being part of my life. While I was still a little miffed at her not informing me that I was being studied, I was quickly reaching the conclusion that the bigger mistake would be if I continued to let that stand in our way.
There are no doubt those who would argue that this particular selection would be hard pressed to serve as a conduit for such dark emotions as I was feeling, but to my ear at least the sense of longing this line of thought poured into the music made my performance the most poignant rendition I’d managed yet.
I continued to infuse everything I had into the music, and by the time I played my final notes I felt overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of raw emotion the music conveyed. As I sat there at the end all I could do was take deep breaths and try to keep the tears that were rolling down my cheeks from being too noticeable to the audience.
Dr. Wyler brought the concerto to a close followed by the briefest of moments during which you could feel the assembled crowd take a deep cleansing breath. That moment was then washed aside as the audience erupted into applause. They carried on as Dr. Wyler indicated I should take several bows. I then reached over to the concertmaster and shook his hand as well as Dr. Wyler’s before offering one final bow acknowledging the audience’s generosity.
I left the stage, but to my amazement the ovation didn’t cease until after I made an additional curtain call. Once I was finally safely backstage I found myself retaking my seat next to the stage manager, where I listened as the orchestra closed out the evening’s proceedings with a good if not great rendition of Ravel’s Bolero.
At the end of the concert I greeted each member of the orchestra as they came by me, shaking lots of hands and receiving numerous friendly hugs from the girls. I followed them back into the rehearsal hall for a moment, listening as the euphoria brought on by live performance exuded from the room.
Just as I was ready to leave, Dr. Wyler stopped me, “Mr. Bronson, outstanding performance.”
He offered me his hand and as we shook I said, “Thank you sir. I truly enjoyed working with you and the orchestra.”
“That’s good, because earlier today I gave Dr. Caroll the list of works for you to start work on for next semester. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Any hints?”
“That would take all the suspense out of your lesson time on Monday,” he said with an evil grin on his face. We shook hands one more time, then we parted ways with him heading for his office and me the exit.
I too was feeling something of that performance high, but mine was tempered by the other emotions that were still coursing through my body. I slowly walked toward the lobby and just as I emerged from the hallway I caught sight of Cindy, who appeared to be waiting for me.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
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I closed the distance between us and greeted her, “Cindy.”
“Hi Kyle,” she replied. “I’m sorry…”
I cut her off before she could finish her statement, “I know. Me too.”
The brightness in her eyes that I had caught a glimpse of when I first entered the lobby returned, multiplied by a factor of ten. She smiled at me and said, “I know I should have told you before. I was wrong. I…” her voice faded as she found it difficult to continue with her thought.
“It’s okay, really. I’ve missed you so bad. I can’t stop thinking about you.” For the first time ever in our relationship I found myself taking the aggressor’s role as I moved in closer and encircled her in a gentle hug. As I did, I could feel her melt into my arms and although she was trying not to let me hear, she softly cried on my shoulder.
We stood there for who knows how long. We finally found ourselves being surrounded by several members of the orchestra who seemed to be deriving some strange sense of voyeuristic pleasure from watching as we held each other. Their presence provided the impetus for us to leave the performing arts center. After departing from there, we walked around campus awhile before heading back toward the apartment building, where we stopped in front of my door.
“I’ve missed you horribly,” Cindy said for the umpteenth time that evening.
“Me too,” I replied. I unlocked and opened my door, took her hand in mine, and led her into my apartment. She took a seat on the couch while I went to the fridge and got us something to drink before joining her.
I took a drink from my glass before speaking, “Cindy, I think you know that I love you. You also know that I was hurt by the fact that you wrote about me without my prior knowledge or consent. That, to me, is a problem.”
“You have every right to not trust me right now,” she replied.
“However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned these last two weeks, it’s this,” I paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve learned that the best day I could possibly have without you pales in comparison to the worst day we could ever share together.” I then held open my arms to take her into a hug, which she very quickly reciprocated.
Time seemed to stand still for us that night, as we spent the entire time entwined in each other’s arms. We talked, we kissed, and tried to catch up on all the time we’d wasted in the last two weeks. We explored and reveled in each other, deriving more pleasure from making the other feel good than would have been possible if either of us had been more concerned with their own satisfaction. When we did finally go to sleep, it would have been difficult to tell from looking at us where one person ended and the other began.
Monday morning came and went without acknowledgement on our parts; it was well past noon before we crawled out of bed. Once we had emerged from sleep and showers, we sat together at the kitchen table and ate a very late breakfast.
“Kyle, there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about if I could,” Cindy said as she took a bite of her eggs.
I swallowed before responding, “What’s that?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Sarah,” she said.
I looked at her, unsure whom she was meaning at first. Then it clicked. “Your friend from the recital?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think you’d really like her if you’d give her a chance. She’s kind of like the psychology department mom.”
“I’ll give her a chance, really.”
“Then can we go see her this afternoon?”
“I don’t know why not.”
Once we’d finished eating we got dressed and headed over to Sarah’s place. She lived a little off campus in a house that she shared with a couple of other girls, neither of whom Cindy knew beyond their names.
Cindy rang the doorbell when we got to the house, and after a few seconds the door opened and Sarah invited us in, “Hey guys. Good to see you.”
She led us into the living room and offered us seats on the couch along with cups of coffee, which we readily accepted. Moments later she was returning with cups and saucers on a serving tray which she set down on the coffee table before handing each of us a cup and saucer. “I know Cindy likes hers black. Do you need any milk or sugar Kyle?”
“No, this is fine,” I replied, trying not to sound cool. After all, this was one of Cindy’s friends and since it was important to her that we manage some sort of civility I was going to give it my best shot.
“You know Kyle, I’m really sorry about the other night,” she said. “I didn’t realize you weren’t aware of her research topic.”
“I kind of know that now,” I replied. “I flew off the handle a bit without any real provocation. I’m sorry as well.”
She held out her hand in friendship, “No hard feelings?”
I shook her hand replying, “Absolutely not.”
She looked at my hand as she shook it and as she released it commented, “Nice manicure. Did you do it yourself?”
I turned about thirteen shades of red before Cindy jumped in, “He grows his nails longer to force him to keep his hands in the proper position while he plays. I got onto him a while back about not taking care of them and showed him how to file them and apply nail strengthener. I think they look really sexy.” Her last comment did nothing to cause my blushing to fade.
“That they are,” Sarah agreed.
After some inconsequential small talk Cindy stood up, “I need to use your little girls’ room, okay?”
“Well, yeah.”
As she was walking toward the bathroom Cindy said, “That’s good, because I wasn’t really asking permission.” She entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
We sat there silently until the door closed, then Sarah asked, “So how long have you worn women’s clothing?”
I looked at her stunned for a moment before trying to mount a denial, “I don’t…”
“Listen Kyle, I know you at least were wearing a bra the night of your recital. I saw its outline through your shirt afterward because of the perspiration.”
“I…”
“Hey, it’s no big deal really. I’m just more likely to notice things like that, or your manicure because gender issues is sort of my subspecialty.”
I sat there looking at her, unsure what I should say. Finally she continued once she determined that I still wasn’t ready to add much to the discussion on this topic.
“If you ever need to talk to someone, just give me a holler.”
Still unable to speak, I nodded my reply. Cindy then rejoined us, “I miss anything?”
“No, I was just starting to tell Kyle about my specialty in gender issues.”
“I know I’ve found that to be a very interesting subject,” Cindy commented.
“My family still thinks I’ve gone off the deep end, but it’s something that I feel very strongly about.”
Finally regaining use of my mouth, I asked, “Why? That doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing most people would be interested in.”
She took a sip of her coffee before responding, “That would be because of Jill.” Cindy and I looked at each other questioningly as Sarah continued, “Jill was the love of my life. She also happened to be transgendered.
“She was killed a few years ago in an auto accident, just as things in her life had started to turn around for the better. That was just about it for me as well, but once I’d finally made it through the worst of the grieving I decided to go back to school so I could help others like her.”
As I turned my gaze toward Cindy’s friend I caught her eyes, which seemed to say to me, “I’d like to help you if you need it.” I gave her a crooked smile, which I hoped conveyed that I understood and appreciated her offer.
She then said, “You still haven’t told me. How long have you been dressing?”
My gaze dropped to the floor in embarrassment, but Cindy placed her fingers under my chin, raising and turning my face toward her. “It’s okay,” she whispered to me.
I steeled myself before responding, “A few months. I started this past fall sort of as a way to help me with my performance…”
Sarah jumped in, “Kinda like the young pitcher who wore garters in ‘Bull Durham’?”
Cindy and I couldn’t help but break out laughing at the comparison. Sarah quickly joined in and it took a couple of minutes for us all to regain our composure.
Finally I was able to continue, “Like I said, that’s how it started. Here lately though things seem to be kind of changing.”
Cindy turned and gave me a concerned look. She asked, “How so?”
I returned Cindy’s gaze and responded, “It’s just sort of occurred to me lately that if it were just because of the playing, I’d probably wear something besides panties all the time. I can’t remember the last time I wore men’s underwear.”
Sarah asked, “So do you think you’ve developed an attachment to women’s under things?”
“Yeah, I do,” I answered quietly. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last couple of weeks. I…” the thought went unfinished as I wasn’t entirely certain what would come next.
Sarah filled the growing silence by saying, “That’s okay Kyle.”
Cindy added, “Kyle, I get the feeling you’re a little uncomfortable talking about this with me here. Is that correct?”
“It is, but I’m not sure why.”
“I think I understand. I’m too close to the situation to be able to think objectively.”
“Maybe that’s it. I don’t know.”
Sarah asked, “Is this something you’d like to explore?”
I turned toward Cindy who said, “If it is, Sarah can help you with this far better than I could and it sounds as if she’s willing to do so.”
My gaze alternated between the two of them while I thought. Eventually I reached a conclusion, “I think so, yes.”
“All right, how about if we set up a regular time each week to meet and talk about this? Say, Saturdays around noon?”
“That sounds good,” I replied. Cindy gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek as a show of support.
Sarah changed the subject, “I thought you played brilliantly last night, by the way.”
“Thanks. I felt pretty good about it, all in all.”
“So what’s next?”
Cindy jumped in, practically glowing with pride as she said, “Kyle’s been asked to appear on a monthly basis with the Conservatory Orchestra, as well as with both the Civic and the Philharmonic this spring.”
“Wow! Sounds like you’re well on your way then,” Sarah commented.
Some time later Cindy and I left Sarah’s house to return home before it was time for me to see Dr. Caroll for my regular Monday lesson. We gave my mom a call to let her know the latest developments and much to my surprise she seemed genuinely happy to find out that much of what we had thought was going on turned out to be a misunderstanding. Furthermore, mom was actually pleasant with Cindy on the phone. Maybe she was warming to the idea of Cindy being around?
Lesson time began with an in depth dissection of Sunday’s performance. By the time Dr. Caroll was done tearing every little thing apart I was beginning to think a career in underwater basket weaving might be in the cards until she reached the end of her tirade, “All in all, a great first performance in front of an orchestra.”
I sat there stunned. After all, she’d just spent a solid half hour going over my performance with a fine-toothed comb and had left no stone unturned in her critique, leaving me with the impression that I’d done horribly. Despite that, she contended that all in all I’d done well. In the end, all I could think of to say in response was, “Thanks.”
Dr. Caroll then ploughed ahead with the list of works that would need my attention in the coming months. “Dr. Wyler brought me next semester’s list and I must say we are going to be busy. In January, you’ll be playing Beethoven’s 4th concerto with the Conservatory Orchestra, then in February you’ll be performing Prokofiev’s first with them as well as both the Mozart and Beethoven with the Civic.”
I just looked at her for a moment while she paused to take a drink of water. “You mean I’m supposed to perform three different concerti in the month of February?”
“You look a bit overwhelmed, but it’s really not going to be as bad as it sounds at this moment. After all, you already know the Mozart and you’ll be first performing the Beethoven in January, so the concert with the Civic won’t require any new material at all.”
I started to relax just a bit when she reminded me of that, and since she could tell that she continued, “March sees you playing Liszt’s first here, then in April you get Chopin’s second. May will be JS Bach’s first Harpsichord concerto here, and a repeat of the Liszt with the Philharmonic.”
I was stunned and excited at the same time. I mean, I knew this was what they had in mind for me, but actually hearing it all? When I finally managed to respond, I quipped, “So I guess I get to sleep in June?”
“Only if you decide not to do the concerto competition circuit this summer,” Dr. Caroll replied with a grin. “If you think you’ll be up to it, I can put together a summer full of competitions.”
“Can I think about that for a few days? I’d like to have a chance to start working on all these before we start scheduling that far out in advance.”
“I suppose we can hold off on starting the applications for a few days. But some, like the Van Cliburn need to be submitted soon if we want to ensure a spot for you.”
By the time our session was over, she’d talked me into submitting applications to a few of the bigger competitions right away rather than waiting. This meant that in addition to my hours of practice every day, I was going to be filling out lots of paperwork as well.
On my way out the door Dr. Caroll handed me a stack of forms that I needed to bring back completed on Thursday for my final lesson of the semester. Between them and the books containing all the different pieces I was to be learning, I was quite loaded down as I headed down the hallway to start my way home.
I’d only taken a few steps toward that end when I ran into Dr. Wyler…quite literally. I didn’t see him step out of the business office until it was too late. I bumped into him, dumping my entire load on the floor.
“Kyle! So sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said as we both bent down to begin picking up my load.
“No, I’m sorry sir. I wasn’t watching where I was going. It was entirely my fault.”
He picked up the stack of application forms and set them on top of my books saying, “So you’re going to apply to the Van Cliburn? You should do well.”
“Thank you sir. I hope you’re right, but before I can worry about that I have a lot of music to learn,” I said, gesturing toward my stack of books.
“You’ll do fine. I have complete faith in you. Now, I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to get going,” he said before leaving me standing there.
As I once again began my way home I couldn’t help but think about how strange Dr. Wyler always seemed to me. The truth was, the man kind of gave me the creeps and I wasn’t entirely sure why. All I knew was that when he was nearby, I always felt like I needed to be on high alert.
I kept telling myself it was all my imagination, but I didn’t really believe it.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Notes:
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When she realized I was back, Cindy poked her head out of the tiny kitchen and greeted me, “I thought you might enjoy something different tonight, so I whipped up some dinner.”
I looked at her, “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Not well, but we wouldn’t starve. It’ll be ready in just a few minutes.” She returned to her duties as I dumped my load of books and papers on the coffee table and took a seat at the dining table.
I sat there for a few moments trying to figure out the best way to start. Even after that I still wasn’t sure, but decided to plow ahead, “I’d like to talk about this Sarah thing.”
Cindy looked toward me from the kitchen and asked, “What about her?”
Uncertainly I began, “I’m a little confused. Did you tell her about me?”
She left her position at the stove and came to sit beside me, “Of course not. It’s like she said, she saw the bra through your shirt at the recital.”
“That right there is reason enough to quit wearing it.”
“But I thought it was helping you?”
“Well yeah, but…”
“But nothing, your playing is the most important thing.” She then got up from the table and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.
“Okay, but why does she want me to come have ‘sessions’ with her?”
As she continued her work Cindy said, “She’s trying to learn as much about cross gender behaviors as she can. Maybe she thinks the two of you can help each other?”
“I don’t really like the idea. I mean, it’s not like she’s a licensed therapist.”
“No, but she has some experience with transgendered people that you might find useful. Plus yours is a unique situation as far as crossdressing cases are concerned.”
“Unique?”
“You don’t really think there are all that many guys running around wearing panties and bras just to make them play the piano better do you?”
“Well, when you put it THAT way…”
“Listen, why don’t you just do this for me. Go once and talk with her about things. Maybe she can help shed some light on things and maybe she can’t. The worst case scenario is that you’ve wasted a couple of hours next Saturday.”
Looking for a change of subject I offered, “I got my performance schedule for the spring semester.”
Cindy carried a large bowl in from the kitchen and set it down on the table, “Here we go.” She took the other seat at our tiny table and began serving the food. “I take it this will be a busy term?”
“You could say that,” I replied as I took my first bite. “Hmm, not bad. What is it?”
She smacked me playfully on the arm before replying, “Nothing too fancy, just a simple chicken pasta bake. Now, what’s this schedule look like?”
I took another bite before answering, “In January I’m supposed to play Beethoven with the school orchestra. In February it’s Prokofiev, then a spot with the Civic doing repeat performances of both the Mozart and Beethoven.”
“Three in one month?”
“Well, it’s two concerts, but yeah. For the performance with the Civic I’ll be doing most of the evening’s program.”
“That sounds a little daunting.”
“Doesn’t it? Anyway, then in March I play Franz List, in April Chopin, and in May it’ll be Bach here and a repeat of the Liszt with the Philharmonic.”
“Then do you get the summer off?”
“Not if Dr. Caroll gets her way. She wants me to submit some applications to competitions for this summer.”
“How do you feel about it?”
I thought about it for a moment before responding, “The idea is sort of growing on me. Spending the summer living out of a suitcase could be fun,” I paused for a moment before finishing, “If you go with me?”
Cindy looked at me for a moment before responding, “I don’t know about that. A whole summer of traveling?”
“At least think about it, all right? It could be fun.” I concluded that portion of the evening’s conversation there, as apparently I wasn’t making any headway. We cleared away the dinner dishes then took seats on the sofa to continue our talk.
“You met Dr. Wyler, right?”
Cindy thought for a moment as she took a seat beside me, “The orchestra conductor, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What about him?”
“He’s starting to make me very uncomfortable.”
“How so?”
“Every time I turn around he’s right there, always wanting to touch my arm, or my back, or something. It’s getting pretty creepy.”
“I can see how that could be a little disturbing. I do always get this kind of weird sensation in the pit of my stomach whenever he’s around.”
“So it’s not just me?” I was relieved to know that I wasn’t the only one feeling like that.
“Not just you.”
I drifted off into my thoughts for a moment before saying, “I wish I knew what he wanted.”
Later that night as I lay there unable to sleep thanks to my swirling brain I decided that maybe the best way to deal with Dr. Wyler would be to avoid him as much as possible.
The next few days went by in a bit of a blur. I had some finals, but for the most part my semester was already finished. I put in a lot of practice time on the Beethoven and by my lesson with Dr. Caroll Thursday had most of it memorized. On the few occasions when it proved impossible to avoid contact with our esteemed conductor I tried to maintain a level of polite civility. It wasn’t easy, but I managed.
“I’m impressed, as usual Kyle. You’re almost ready to perform the Beethoven already,” Dr. Caroll effused toward the end of our lesson.
I grinned and said, “Well, I really didn’t have a lot to do this week, so I spent a lot of time practicing.”
“It makes me proud to be able to call you my student,” Dr. Caroll beamed.
“Thanks,” I said embarrassedly.
She looked at me strangely for a moment before she next spoke, “I want to ask you about something, but it is rather personal. Don’t feel obligated to answer if you don’t want to.”
A look of concern descended on my face, “What’s that?”
She blushed as she asked, “Do you always wear a bra?”
I swear at that moment you could have heard a pin drop as I sat there with a stunned look on my face. I looked at her unable to speak as I tried to assemble a response. Finally, I said, “Um, only when I play. It sort of helps me keep from overanalyzing everything. You know, keeps my mind preoccupied so I don’t think too much.” I let out a little chuckle after I said it.
Furrowing her brow as she digested this information, eventually she said, “Unusual, but I have to say it seems to work for you. So when did you start doing this?”
“Just after I started studying with you, to tell the truth. I was struggling trying to find a way to maintain what you kept referring to as ‘feminine’ focus. The first lesson, we talked about that and when I tried imagining myself as a girl everything fell into place. Weird I know, but it seemed to work. Maybe it’s because of the way you kept referring to different aspects of playing as feminine. Unfortunately I still had trouble maintaining it. My now girlfriend Cindy was the one who first suggested this solution.”
“She hasn’t…”
Having a pretty good idea where she was heading, I jumped in, “No, this has nothing to do with my relationship with her, believe it or not.”
She thought for a moment before continuing, “As I said, it seems to work. May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“You might want to consider wearing a t-shirt with it when you’re in your tux or dress shirts. Once you start to perspire a little it becomes very obvious that it’s there.”
“I’ve heard that recently,” I added. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
I paused for a moment trying to compose my thoughts before asking, “What do you think of Cindy?”
“You mean your girlfriend Cindy? She seems nice enough. I have to wonder what her motivation is in regard to the girls’ clothes, but it’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together that there’s some real love there.”
As we ended our session I said, “Have a good Christmas, by the way. I suppose I won’t be seeing you again until the New Year.”
“That’s true. I’ll see you then, Mr. Bronson.”
I left her studio feeling good about my progress on the new concerto, and also feeling better about things in my personal life as well.
Thoughts of my relationship with Cindy dominated my thoughts. While there was still a part of me that wasn’t sure about some of the things she’d done, I knew for certain that I was in love with her. With that knowledge at the forefront of everything, I began to think it might be time to consider making things a little more permanent.
As I was thinking about that possibility, I placed a call to my mom Friday morning to seek her advice as well. “Mom?”
“Kyle! Why haven’t you called sooner?” she scolded.
“I’ve been kind of busy, you know.”
“So what prompted this call? I know you’re not out of money. Your father just made a deposit in your account a couple of days ago.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Actually if anything, what I’m calling to talk to you about might wind up saving you money.”
You could almost hear the concern in the silence before she asked, “What’s that, sweetie?”
“I was thinking of asking Cindy to move in.”
In a mildly sarcastic tone, my mom said, “I thought she was already living there.”
“I mean as in the two of us having one apartment instead of two with one of them never being used.”
My nerves were nearly completely frayed before mom asked, “Do you love her son?”
“Very much.”
“Even after everything that happened a few weeks ago? That was kind of a big deal.”
“Yeah, but it turned out to just be a big misunderstanding. I jumped to some conclusions that turned out to be wrong.”
In a more normal tone she asked, “So how does she feel about all this?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t said anything to her about it.”
“But you’re sure enough to mention it to me?” While it was still clear that my mother had some issues with Cindy, something changed in her position and she sounded less defensive in her questioning.
“Like I said, I’d like to know what you think.”
“The only thing that matters to us is that you’re happy. If she makes you happy, then I guess I’ll just have to accept that my little boy is all grown up,” she started to tear up as she said this, as was evident from the sniffs I kept hearing from the other end of the conversation.
“Thanks mom,” I said in reply. Once we ended the phone call I noticed the time. Cindy would soon be back from her last final.
Friday afternoon marked the official end of term at the university and I was taking Cindy out to dinner as a sort of celebration. Nothing fancy, just the pizza place we went to on our first ‘date’. As it was very cold out, we decided to splurge on a cab to the restaurant rather than making the trip on foot as usual.
I know I was looking rather nervous as we sat there waiting on our order. Cindy of course noticed it and asked, “Something wrong?”
“No,” I said trying to brush her off.
Quickly growing exasperated she said, “Come on, Kyle! You don’t get this nervous playing in front of hundreds of people. What’s the matter?”
I began slowly, “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately.”
“Gee, I never would have guessed,” commented Cindy, displaying my favorite aspect of her sense of humor.
I looked at her and chuckled at that before continuing, “Anyway, l started thinking about you and me.”
I could see anticipation in her eyes as I paused to take a drink. “It seems kind of silly for us to be tying up two apartments when we’re only using one, so I got to thinking that maybe we should, um, officially move in together.”
She looked stunned as the full impact of what I’d just said began to sink in. When she did finally find her voice she asked, “Are you serious?”
I looked her in the eyes and said, “Absolutely.”
Cindy smiled so big it threatened to blot out the sun, assuming it had been out. The next thing I knew she had her arms around my neck and was moving in to kiss me. That was all the answer I needed.
A little later in the evening after returning home we were discussing how best to go about combining our apartments. She commented, “We could easily just live here, other than for the fact that we both have enough stuff to fill this place to the rafters.”
“I guess you have a point there. Maybe we should look into getting a bigger place?”
“I think so. Have you mentioned anything to your folks?”
I smiled as I said, “Funny you should mention that. I was just talking to my mom today and I mentioned that I’d been thinking about this for a while.”
Cindy became concerned as she asked, “And what did she say?”
I forced the smile to fade from my face for a moment, trying my best to look as concerned as Cindy had just now. “Well…” I could carry on the charade no longer as my smile returned, bigger than ever. “She said if you make me happy, then that’s all that matters to them.”
Cindy swatted my arm as she exclaimed, “Stinker! How dare you tease me like that.”
Saturday was a big day. We started off checking the newspaper for apartment ads, then it was time to go see Sarah.
I stood there on her front steps waiting for what seemed like ages, but in reality was just a few seconds. Sarah led me into the living room where we took seats opposite each other. We stared uncomfortably at one another for several moments before she finally broke the silence.
“I’m glad you decided to come today. I was afraid you might not.”
“I don’t really know why, other than that I said I would, so…” I allowed the sentence to go unfinished.
Sarah responded, “Well thanks all the same. It’s my hope that by talking a little about all of this, you might reach some new insights about what you’re doing and why. I’m also starting on my Master’s thesis, and I was hoping you’d be willing to let me interview you about your situation for my paper.”
“What exactly is your paper about?”
“It’s about gender expression. I want to interview a number of people from different parts of the transgender community so I can get a clearer picture of what they have in common and what they don’t. I’m not entirely sure where you’re going to fit on the gender continuum, but your case is so fascinating I was hoping you’d be willing to let me include you.”
“And here I thought you wanted to be like my therapist or something.”
“Well, you might wind up gleaning some increased understanding. Think of me as a sounding board. Bounce your thoughts off of me and see what comes of them.”
“So where should we start?”
“How about if you tell me about how this all started? Oh, do you mind if I record our conversation so I can refer back to it for my thesis?”
“I don’t see why not. You would think I’d be used to being recorded, huh?” I proceeded to go back over the whole story, “When I started school here my piano teacher’s first comment to me was about how feminine and graceful I played. She then started telling me about this theory of hers that a well-rounded performance was androgynous because it included both masculine and feminine elements.
“She was impressed with how well I embodied her theory, but I was having trouble being consistent. The feminine aspects seemed to come and go, depending on how intently I had to concentrate on what I was doing,” I paused a moment.
Sarah asked, “How did you feel about all this?”
“I found it a little difficult to understand at first, but then I figured out that it was when I was concentrating the most that the feminine characteristics disappeared from my playing. I don’t know what made me think of it, but I started imagining myself as a girl when I played, and it worked. I guess that was enough of a distraction that I was able to play without overanalyzing things.
“But I was still having trouble being consistent with it. If I let that mental image lapse, everything fell apart. It was actually Cindy that first suggested wearing panties to help me keep from thinking too much.”
“So, she helped you try it?”
“Yeah, that first time she loaned me a pair of her panties to try and when I played with them on, all of a sudden things just clicked into place. Later she took me shopping to get my own because she didn’t want to share,” I chuckled at that.
I continued, “I started out wearing them just when I needed to play my best, but decided they were so much more comfortable than men’s underwear that I started wearing them all the time.”
“When did you start expanding?”
It took a second for her meaning to click in my brain. Eventually I responded with my own question, “You mean, like wearing a bra and stuff?”
“Yeah,” Sarah smiled as she said it to try to lighten a mood that was beginning to feel more than a little dark.
“As time went on, I guess I sort of got used to the panties and they stopped helping as much. So for a recital appearance I shaved my legs, added pantyhose and a bra to my outfit, and it worked. Each time I added some new feminine thing, like my nails, my playing became better.”
She was taking a lot of notes, so it took her a moment to catch before asking, “So you accredit all of this to the clothes?”
I blushed furiously and answered, “It sounds kind of silly when you put it like that, but yeah.”
Sarah decided to try to dig a little deeper. “Is that all it is? Just to help you play better?”
“That’s how it started. However, it’s kind of becoming more than that lately.” As I said it, my ever-increasing embarrassment threatened to overtake me.
“How so?”
I continued to redden as I responded, “They do feel awfully nice against my skin.”
For a moment I thought I saw Sarah blush before she spoke, “Do you still need them as much for playing?”
“I don’t try playing much without at least wearing the panties, but when I do I can hear the difference, and if they know the particulars so can anyone else who hears me.”
“Do you foresee a time when you won’t feel like you need to wear women’s clothing to play well?”
I thought hard for a moment before answering, “I don’t know.”
Changing directions slightly, Sarah next asked, “How does Cindy feel about all this?”
My mind went blank for a moment before it shifted back into gear and I responded, “She’s been incredibly supportive and non-judgmental about everything. I do worry that she might start to feel threatened by all this.”
“That’s very insightful of you. What if something like that did happen?”
I thought for a moment before responding, “I’d like to think that we could work our way through it. She’s the one who always says my playing is the most important thing. I would hope that’s more than just lip service, for lack of a better term.”
“Have you experienced many problems with other people because of your cross dressing?”
“I didn’t think anyone knew about it before the night of my recital when I heard you talking to Cindy.” The look of concern that crawled across Sarah’s face told me that she was indeed sorry for her part in our fight.
“I freaked out when I thought she was writing about all this without my permission. Then I got seriously pissed off because I thought she’d told you everything.” I tried my best to appear as unconcerned as possible so Sarah wouldn’t feel like she’d done something to hurt me.
“Well I for one am glad you’ve been able to resolve that particular misunderstanding.”
I grinned, “Me too.”
Again shifting topics, Sarah asked, “Earlier you said something about it becoming more than just a means to an end. What did you mean by that?”
Embarrassed, I replied, “I’ve developed a comfort level with the clothes that’s expanding beyond my playing. There are a lot of things I wear and do now that I enjoy immensely just because I like them. Not necessarily just because of the effect they have on my performance.”
“Do you mind me asking, are you wearing lingerie right now?”
I blushed and replied, “Yeah, I am…”
Knowing that I was holding back, she pressed further, “What are you wearing?”
“Panties, pantyhose, and a bra.”
“Why? You’re not playing today, are you?”
Slowly I replied, “Um, no. Not today.”
“So what you’re saying is that you just feel comfortable wearing these things?”
“That’s about it.”
Sarah again paused to catch up on her note taking, then asked, “Is there any kind of sexual component to your dressing?”
My initial thought was to quickly yell, ‘No!’ but decided that might be interpreted as a case of ‘Me thinks thou dost protest too much’. In the end I timidly replied, “No, not at all.”
“Okay.” She looked up at a clock hanging on the living room wall and exclaimed, “Would you look at the time! Would you mind if we stopped for now and picked up another time? I’ve got enough stuff here to keep me busy for a while, anyway.”
“No, that’s fine. We’re going to be out of town over the Christmas holidays, but should be back just after New Year’s.”
“Then how about if you give me a call after you’re back in town so we can schedule some more time to talk. You’re helping immensely with my research.”
“You know, surprisingly I think I’m starting to understand some things a bit better. Maybe you were right. This is going to turn out to be mutually beneficial.”
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Notes:
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“Sorry, I sort of lost track of time.” It was true. What I hadn’t told her was that part of the reason had nothing to do with Sergei Prokofiev and everything to do with Cindy Franklin and what I was planning to give her for Christmas.
“I never would have guessed,” she commented, oozing sarcasm. “Come on to bed. You need a few hours sleep before we head out in the morning.”
We were leaving to spend the holidays with our folks. Specifically, we would be spending Christmas with my parents, then New Year’s with Cindy’s. Every time I thought about meeting Cindy’s parents I became a jumble of frayed nerves. I can’t imagine why, though. ‘Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Franklin. I’m Kyle Bronson, the cross-dressing musician who’s shacking up with your daughter.’ Yes, any way I looked at it New Year’s with the Franklins was going to be an eventful visit. Of course, if things went as I hoped they would, it might be that way for an entirely different reason.
I followed Cindy into the bedroom, stripped down to my panties, and climbed into bed.
“You know, you don’t have to leave those on,” she purred seductively as she tugged on the waistband.
“Sorry, I forgot I had them on,” I replied as I slipped out of them.
“That’s better,” she said as she pulled me closer.
The next morning Cindy got up before me and got ready before waking me, then went to throw together some breakfast while I got dressed. Without even thinking about it I pulled on a new pair of black opaque tights before putting on my jeans.
As I was fastening the jeans Cindy came into the room and asked, “What are you wearing?”
Again without thinking I replied, “It’s cold out, and they’re warm.”
She looked at me and gave me a skeptical, “Uh-huh.” Then she turned around and on her way back to the kitchen said, “Breakfast’s ready. Shake a leg, sleeping beauty.”
I followed close behind her and helped get the food served, then we sat down and ate in relative silence. Once we were done she cleaned up the mess while I carried the bags down to the lobby where we were going to wait for the cab to take us to the airport.
As I sat there waiting for Cindy to come downstairs I started thinking about what I had packed clothing-wise. Jeans, shirts, panties, tights, bras…yeah, I guess I had everything. Then it occurred to me that I really had no need for the women’s clothes while we were on the trip, so why exactly did I pack all that stuff? It was at that moment that I finally realized what Cindy was really asking me as I pulled on my jeans.
Cindy finally appeared downstairs just as the taxi arrived outside, so I carried the bags out for the driver to put in the trunk while I climbed in the back with Cindy. The driver climbed in and asked, “Airport?”
“Terminal B,” I replied. He flipped on the meter, put the car in gear, and pulled out into traffic. We were on our way.
I took Cindy’s hand in mine and said, “Relax, my mom is starting to like you. There’s nothing for you to be nervous about.”
“I could say the same for you,” she replied.
I countered, “Not exactly. I’ve never met your folks and have no idea what to expect. Not to mention…”
Ignoring where I was heading she interrupted, “They’re going to love you, I promise. Did I tell you about the grand piano in the front room?”
“No,” I replied, my interest piqued.
“Daddy bought it when I was nine because I asked for piano lessons. I didn’t stick with them very long, but the piano sort of stuck around.”
“At least I’ll have a place to practice while we’re there,” I grinned.
It was a short flight to my hometown. We both wound up napping in flight and once we arrived, by the time we found our luggage my folks had found us.
My mom grabbed me in a bear hug, “Kyle! It’s so good to see you.”
“You too Mom,” I replied.
She then turned her attention toward Cindy as my dad gave me a hug. “Cindy, it’s good to see you to,” she said as she tentatively gave my girlfriend a hug.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Bronson,” Cindy said as mom released the hug.
“Call me Mom. We’re family now,” Mom said as Dad took his turn welcoming Cindy.
“Did you find all your luggage?” Dad asked.
“Yeah, we didn’t really bring much.”
Dad then commented, “We’d best get on the road before the snow starts.”
“You mean we might actually have a white Christmas?” Cindy asked.
“Looks that way,” Mom replied.
I helped Dad get our bags in the back of his Suburban, then we all climbed in the humongous SUV for the ride to my childhood home. As we got underway Mom asked, “Is it true that you’re going to have a pretty busy schedule next semester?”
“You could say that,” I replied.
Cindy added, “He’s performing with several orchestras this spring. He has to learn five new concertos.”
Dad commented, “That does sound busy. How are you going to find time for school?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out. In the mean time I’m working on learning the new pieces over the break so I won’t have to work quite so hard during the term.”
“How’s that coming along for you?” Dad asked.
“I’ve got the Beethoven pretty much ready and am about halfway there with the Prokofiev. After that I have to work up the Liszt, Chopin, and Bach, all while keeping everything else up to snuff.”
“That sounds like an awful lot of work.” Mom seemed concerned by the workload.
“It is, but it will mean that I’ll have a lot of options where it comes to music selection this summer when I’m doing all the competitions.”
Mom asked, “What competitions are those?”
Cindy answered before I did, “Dr. Caroll has Kyle applying to quite a few national and international piano competitions for the summer. It will mean a lot of travel, but could actually go a long way toward establishing him in a career as a concert pianist.”
“So what are you going to be doing this summer if Kyle’s on the road?” Dad asked.
I jumped in to handle this one, “I asked her to travel with me, but I don’t know if she’s too crazy about the idea.”
“I’d love to go with you part of the time, but I just can’t spend the entire summer running around the country. I have a job lined up already for the summer, working for my dad’s company.”
Dad asked, “What’s he do, Cindy?”
“He has a big insurance brokerage back home. He was planning on me working in the office with him this summer.”
I added, “Cindy would probably be bored to tears spending the summer living in hotel rooms. Hopefully we can figure out a way for her to join me some weekends.”
“Sounds like you’ve been planning everything,” Dad commented.
Once home I was stunned to learn that Mom had planned on Cindy and I sharing a room. Stunned, but pleased. After all, Mom is the one who always harped about the sanctity of marriage and how living together was wrong. And yet, here she was essentially saying it was all right for the two of us to share a bed in her home. I’m not sure what had changed since I’d left home, but I wasn’t going to complain.
We unpacked and I gave Cindy the ten-cent tour. We then joined my parents for dinner and a Christmas Eve full of family time.
After a huge dinner, we went into the living room and while Cindy chatted with my parents, I found myself drifting toward the piano. I sat down and started playing through the parts of the Beethoven concerto. As the music flowed from my fingers I lost myself in thoughts of Cindy and what I had planned to give her for Christmas. If she didn’t just love it, then I might be in trouble.
The present in question was an old family heirloom, which meant a great deal to me, as well as the rest of my family, and the symbolism of the gift was not lost on my mother. As these thoughts circled inside my mind the music echoed the hope, desire, and love that dominated all my waking thoughts.
Once done with the Beethoven I went straight into the Mozart, but this didn’t sound like the same Mozart I had played in concert a few weeks before. Even though the notes were the same, the emotion conveyed was something completely different, as much of the darkness was replaced by an almost manic joy and excitement.
As I finished with it, Cindy brought me back to reality by asking, “How can that be the same piece you played with the orchestra? It sounds nothing like it.”
As I looked directly at her and grinned I said, “I suppose the simple answer is that I’m in a different state of mind than I was that night.”
Later that night as we prepared for bed I commented, “You do realize what a big deal it is that we’re sharing a bed, don’t you?”
“I take it that sort of thing isn’t generally done in your family?”
“That’s putting it mildly. My mom especially is very conservative. For years she’s thrown a fit about couples that choose to live together before, or in some cases instead of marriage. For her this is a huge step.” What I wasn’t telling her was that I knew exactly why this was happening, but if I had told her it would have ruined the huge surprise I had in store for Christmas day.
We crawled under the covers as what I’d just said registered with Cindy. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“I think so, don’t you?”
“Well yeah!” she said displaying that dry humor that I’d come to find incredibly sexy.
As I reached to turn off the bedside table lamp I said, “Merry Christmas. I love you.”
Cindy kissed me gently before responding, “Merry Christmas, love. Good night.”
We then lay down and snuggled up together under the covers against the bitter cold wind that was making the windowpanes rattle with each gust. As I finally drifted off to sleep I couldn’t help but believe that this was going to be by far the best Christmas ever.
Christmas morning came, ushered in by a blinding ray of sunlight that streamed in through an opening in the bedroom curtains. I raised my head and shaded my eyes as I looked in that direction for a moment. I then looked over at Cindy lying there still asleep. I knew with more certainty than ever before that I could never tire of watching her sleep, even if I could watch her every morning ‘til the end of time.
I didn’t want to disturb her, so I just watched for who knows how long. I had started hearing noise from downstairs, which told me Mom was up and had started breakfast, yet there was still no sign of consciousness returning beside me.
In an effort to gently rush Cindy to a state of waking, I started lightly kissing first her cheek, then her ear, and finally her forehead before it stimulated her enough to wake. I continued what I was doing until she opened her eyes and said, “Good morning!”
“Merry Christmas. I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up after all.”
“Hey, I can smell the coffee from downstairs too, ya know.”
We got out of bed and dressed as quickly as we could before joining my parents downstairs. Following breakfast we adjourned to the living room for the exchange of presents. For a couple of minutes there things looked a bit like a Chinese fire drill as we all went around handing presents to each other before settling back into our original places so we could watch as each person opened theirs.
Dad went first, as family tradition dictated. The first package he opened contained a very expensive looking necktie from Cindy. He was effusive as he thanked her, “It’s lovely dear. I’ll wear it to work tomorrow morning. Thank you very much.”
Next he opened Mom’s present to him, which was a new Blackberry. He kissed her as he said, “You always know exactly what I want.”
“Merry Christmas dear,” Mom replied.
Lastly was my present for him. My father has a ridiculous collection of printed coffee mugs, so I decided to get him one with the university logo on it. “Kyle, it’s perfect. I know just where I’ll put it.”
Mom was next to open presents. From Dad she got a lovely string of pearls for which she kissed him as she started to tear up. Then came Cindy’s present for her, which was a scarf. She said, “Thank you so much Cindy dear.”
My present for mom was an extremely hard to find high quality bootleg DVD of the Beatles movie “Let it Be” which had never been released in either that format or on tape. She lost it when she saw that. She is a huge Beatlemaniac and had lamented many times that she had never been able to find it anywhere.
My turn was next, and my folks seemed to be of like minds, as both of their presents to me were what I considered very practical. My mom got me the CD box set of Vladimir Horowitz’s complete Masterworks recordings…thirteen discs worth…and my dad had gone the sheet music route with Dover editions of Beethoven’s Complete Piano Sonatas, Claude Debussy Piano Music, and Franz Liszt’s Complete Hungarian Rhapsodies. He knew I was very fond of the Dover editions series because they seemed in my opinion to have fewer mistakes than many publishers’ versions.
Then I came to Cindy’s present. I really had no idea what it could be, but it looked a lot like a shirt box. When I opened it, I was shocked. Inside was not a shirt, but instead a fairly plain but still beautiful silk camisole. I looked at it, unsure what to say, when she saved me from further embarrassment by jumping in with, “If you wear it with your tux, it should help keep your bra from showing through once you start perspiring.”
My mom commented, “Excellent idea, dear. It’s perfect. Not too ornate, but still lovely.”
“Thanks, Cin,” I said as I got up and went over to her and gave her a kiss.
Cindy was the last to open her presents, as I had previously planned with my mother. She started with one from my mom, which happened to be a very nice set of diamond stud earrings. She started to cry when she saw them, but my mom cut her off saying, “If you start the waterworks this soon we may never get through the other presents.” This had the desired effect of causing everyone to start laughing, stopping Cindy’s tears in their tracks.
Dad’s present for my love was extremely practical…a rather feminine leather briefcase, which Cindy liked almost as much as the earrings. After all, she’d needed something to replace her ratty old backpack that she’d carried since high school. She smiled broadly at my father saying, “Thank you so much.”
Finally she came to my present to her. It was in a large paper box like printer paper comes in, which when opened revealed a much smaller velvet covered box. When she retrieved it from the bottom she opened it, revealing what had been my grandmother’s engagement ring.
She looked at it for a moment with her mouth hung open, unable to form any words. When she finally did manage to speak, she asked, “Really?”
I looked into her eyes and simply replied, “Really.”
Dad chided me saying, “Aren’t you going to ask her to make it official?”
Cindy and I smiled at each other for several seconds before I finally asked her formally, “Will you marry me?”
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Notes:
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The trip to Cindy’s parents meant it was my turn to sweat. I mean from their perspective, what exactly was there about me that they might see as positive?
First of all I’m a musician, which the vast majority of the time is synonymous with taking a vow of poverty. As a concert pianist I will no doubt spend most of my life traveling, meaning I won’t be home much. And if that wasn’t enough to make her parents hate me as a potential son-in-law, there is always simply the fact that I wear women’s underwear, no matter what the reason.
The bottom line was that there were very few instances in which I would be considered a good catch. With all those thoughts running through my mind, it was no wonder I was feeling some trepidation about the trip.
Since Cindy’s parents both worked we were taking a taxi from the airport to her family’s house, where we were to wait for her parent’s arrival shortly after six that evening. Once we’d arrived at the house Cindy spent a few minutes digging around in her purse before reaching the conclusion that she’d forgotten her key, so she found the spare under this ceramic frog statue that sat on the front porch and we let ourselves in.
“I know exactly what you want to see first,” she said to me as I closed the front door behind us. She headed toward a huge room straight ahead with me following close behind. In that room sat what I often consider the most gorgeous piece of furniture that could grace a home…a full sized concert grand piano.
Despite having been dusted on a daily basis, this particular specimen had obviously not been played in quite some time and as a result was in desperate need of tuning. I played a few notes before going back to my bag, where I retrieved my tuning kit. There had been a few who thought it silly of me to take “Introduction to Piano Tuning and Maintenance” as a freshman, but at that moment I was certainly glad I had.
While I got to work on the piano Cindy wandered into the kitchen, where she found a note from her mother telling her that there was a roast all ready to put in the oven sitting in a pan in the refrigerator. She dutifully heated up the oven and put the dinner in to cook before returning to my side, where she sat with me while I worked on her childhood instrument.
She stuck with me a lot longer than I expected, but even true love has it’s limits, and in the second hour of ‘stick the felt strip between these strings…hit this key…twist the tuning hammer…repeat…’ she left my side saying, “I think I’m going to go watch a little television, okay?”
I paused what I was doing, looked up at her and replied, “Okay. Sorry, I just sort of started this and I hate to quit halfway through.”
“I understand, really. Once you get it in tune, promise you’ll play for me?”
“You know I will.”
As she left the room my attention returned to the piano in front of me. After three passes through the entire instrument I finally had it back up to concert pitch and in tune, so I started playing. I went through the Mozart, Beethoven, Prokofiev, much of the Liszt, and even reached back and pulled the Chopin Mazurkas back out before I realized I had acquired an audience.
As I brought the fourth Mazurka to a close, I happened to hear Cindy whisper something and turned to see what was going on. That’s when I saw my future mother-in-law for the first time.
“Um, hi. I’m Kyle,” I said timidly as I held out my hand toward her.
“So you’re the young man that’s stolen my little girl’s heart?” she said in an almost accusatory tone.
Nervously I replied, “I suppose I am, yes.”
Apparently they could hold it no longer as Cindy and her mother both broke out in fits of giggles. Finally Cindy got enough control of herself to say, “You should have seen your face!”
After allowing a moment or two for things to settle back down, Cindy’s mom said, “Seriously, call me Kate. Unless I’m off base here I think there’s something you two want to tell me?”
Stunned, I just looked at her. I didn’t think Cindy had said anything to her mom about the engagement yet, but she certainly sounded like she knew already.
Finally Kate added, “I noticed the ring right away.” Then directed toward Cindy she asked, ‘May I take a closer look?”
Cindy held up her hand to show her mother the ring. Her mom commented, “Lovely, dear. Tell me Kyle, where did you get it?”
Before I had a chance to regain the use of my vocal cords Cindy answered, “It was his grandmother’s ring Mom. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Absolutely. So how soon do we need to plan the wedding?”
Finally able to string a few sounds intelligibly together I answered, “We haven’t really talked about that yet, ma’am.”
“Kate, remember?”
“Kate.”
“That’s better.” She looked at Cindy, “You’re staying for a few days, correct? We have to spend some of that time talking weddings.”
I just sort of looked at them as if I had no idea what was going on while Cindy and her mom drifted off together chatting about seasons, colors, flowers, and who knows what else. I eventually returned to the piano and played through the Rachmaninov Sonata, followed by some of the Chopin Etudes before I heard the front door close followed by the familiar squeal of Cindy’s voice as she excitedly greeted her father.
They came into the piano room, as I’d mentally started to refer to this area, and Cindy introduced me to her dad. “Dad, this is Kyle. Kyle, my dad.”
I held out my hand toward him and he shook it vigorously, saying, “Welcome Kyle, welcome. I see you’ve made yourself at home there.”
“Sorry sir, I just…”
“Just nothing, feel free to use it as much as you like. I had heard you were brilliant, and from what I just heard I’d say for a change my daughter wasn’t exaggerating,” chuckling at his own little joke.
I joined in trying to be polite then said, “Thanks for letting me practice on it. I’ve got a fairly hectic concert schedule coming up and I need to cram as much time in as I can to get ready.”
“So I hear, son. If you don’t mind my asking, what are your plans further on down the road?”
I paused for a moment before responding, “Well sir, this summer I start participating in a series of competitions that offer cash prizes as well as additional paying performance opportunities. Then in the fall I’ll be returning to continue my studies at the Conservatory…”
Cutting me off he interjected, “No, I mean what do you plan to do for a living if this grand plan doesn’t work out?”
I was stunned. That was the first time anyone had ever dared ask a question like that of me and I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it. I did finally form a response, “Teach, sir.”
“Teach, as in piano? Son, do you really think you can make enough money teaching piano to support a family?”
“I could also tune and repair pianos.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a little better, but still…”
Cindy finally jumped in, “Daddy! That’s not fair!”
“What’s not fair about it? Your mother told me the news when I called her on my way home, and I’m happy for you. I really am. But I would be remiss if I didn’t ask these questions of the young man who is intent on taking my little girl away from me.”
I answered, “Sir, I understand where you’re coming from. I do. Yes, I’ve asked your daughter to marry me, and she said yes. We have no specific plans as of yet. Marriage is still as they say, down the road.”
Just then Kate stuck her head in the door and said, “Dinner’s ready, everyone.”
Cindy’s dad turned his attention toward his wife and said, “Excellent! I could eat a half a cow all by myself!”
“Only if you don’t want to fit through the door anymore,” Kate quipped.
Dinner conversation was limited to Cindy telling her parents about her classes this past semester and them catching her up on some of her old friends and relatives. Everything was calm and pleasant, and I still couldn’t help but notice the undercurrent of hostility coming my way from Mr. Franklin.
After dinner the calm, pleasant conversation continued, though still masking some fairly negative vibes that were coming my way from my future father-in-law. Cindy and her mom drifted off into their own separate conversation, leaving her dad and I sitting there, staring at each other while neither one wanted to start the argument all over. In the end everyone turned in fairly early, for which I was grateful.
Over the next few days Cindy and I spent our days alone, either at her folks’ house or out with some of her old friends. When we were at the house, I got a lot of practice in and by New Year’s Eve was feeling pretty confidant about the Liszt concerto as well as everything else. I’d even managed to start work on both the Chopin concerto and the JS Bach. At that rate, I might just be down to adding polish to all of them by the time the winter semester started. And there was no question…that would be a very good thing.
Evenings were spent with her folks, where her mom was absolutely effervescent with her enthusiasm over the impending marriage while her dad was tactfully polite but otherwise distant.
I suppose I could understand his position. After all, here’s this artsy guy without a solid financial future asking for permission to steal his daughter away. When I looked at it like that, I could understand the hostility. I just hoped that eventually I’d be able to change his mind.
As for New Year’s Eve itself, Cindy and I had been invited to a party that was being thrown by an old high school friend of hers. So after dinner that evening, we headed out to join her friends in ringing in the New Year. I was looking forward to meeting some of Cindy’s friends, but at the same time I had never been what you’d call a party animal. Thanks to that little conundrum, I was a nervous wreck by the time we left the Franklins’.
We hadn’t been at the party, which was being held at the house of one of Cindy’s friends, for more than three minutes before I’d been dragged around to meet no less than ten people, all of who seemed to have heard about me from Cindy. I didn’t even know she’d been in contact with them.
“So this is the infamous Kyle?” asked one of Cindy’s old girlfriends.
“That’s me,” I replied.
Cindy was being rather obvious about using her left hand in such a way that anyone who happened to be looking at her couldn’t help but see the ring on her finger. Every one of her friends we encountered asked about the ring and its significance, as I’m sure she intended. As a result, each of these encounters inevitably ended with a series of congratulations and well wishes.
As we made our way through the throngs of partygoers, one of the most frequently asked questions was, “Will you play something for us?” I knew full well that this was not the environment where Chopin or Liszt was the best choice, so as we wandered around and I deflected those questions I wracked my brain trying to think of something I knew that might go over well.
By the time Cindy and her friends had somehow herded me toward the piano that was sitting in the corner, I had finally come up with a few ideas of what I could play. As a chant of “Play, Kyle, Play!” started making it’s way through the room, Cindy was escorting me to the piano bench where she sat down next to me and waited to see what I had in mind.
I raised my hands to the keyboard and felt that now familiar tug of bra straps across my shoulders and placed my foot on the sustain pedal, reveling in the sensation of panty hose rubbing against the inside of my trousers. It wasn’t until my fingers touched the keys that my mind was made up what I would play first.
I began the familiar opening notes of Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” and glanced at Cindy to see her eyebrows shoot up toward the roof in delighted surprise. I tried to infuse it with all the joy and energy I could muster and in the end I felt like I’d done an adequate, though not exactly brilliant job. The crowd erupted with applause, whoops, and hollers for more, which inspired me to dig out the other Joplin tune I could remember, “The Maple Leaf Rag”.
Again, I played with a great deal of energy and despite a few flubs that I attributed to not having played these pieces in a very long time it was very well received. It occurred to me that I might want to refresh my memory on some of these to keep handy, just in case I ever had need for lighter selections again.
Once the Maple Leaf was brought to a close, Cindy leaned into my ear and said, “I didn’t know you knew that kind of stuff!”
I turned to face her for a moment and replied, “Just wait ‘til you hear what’s next!” I then tore into the old Vince Guaraldi classic “Linus and Lucy” from the Peanuts cartoons. There were a number of mistakes once again, but my audience didn’t seem to notice. In the end I felt like I’d barely managed a passable rendition, but the crowd loved it.
I decided to try getting a little more serious next by playing Chick Corea’s rendition of “Monk’s Mood”. As I played it I could vividly remember the very first time I heard this piece and how it nearly inspired me to go the jazz route instead of classical. Most of my audience wasn’t familiar with the piece, but everyone seemed to enjoy it in the end, myself included.
When the applause died down after that, I spoke for a moment, “Thanks everyone! For those who aren’t familiar with it, that was a tune by Chick Corea called, ‘Monk’s Mood’. It’s been fun meeting all of you and I’d like to have a chance to speak with you all a little more. That’s why I’ll play a little more, then I’m done for the evening.”
Continuing I said, “This one is by the man who inspired that last selection. It’s Thelonius Monk’s ‘Ask Me Now’.” I began playing and remembered why I had chosen the classical route instead of trying my hand at jazz. I had the technical skill to play anything really, but Monk’s imagination was absolutely awe-inspiring. With each note I became more convinced that I’d never in a million years be able to come up with something that brilliant. Did that make me little more than a trained monkey? I wasn’t sure.
As I ended ‘Ask Me Now’ and stood up from the piano bench, the cries of “Don’t stop!” rang out as I tried to get away from the piano to allow the festivities to return to their normal state, but we were surrounded and weren’t being allowed to exit the area just yet.
Finally I asked, “If I play one more…”
I was caught off guard by the crowd’s cheers ringing through the room, asking for more. I sat back down and thought for a moment before coming up with one more song I could play. As it turned out, there really was only one other jazz tune I knew and it was Bill Evans’ version of “Elsa”. I played with the same kind of emotion that comes through when I play Chopin, and it sounded great!
As I stood this time I said, “That’s all, really folks.” Cindy and I were finally allowed to rejoin the rest of the gathered merry makers, so just to make sure I didn’t get roped into playing anymore, we headed straight for the dance floor as someone put a mix CD into the stereo.
Just before midnight we were sitting on a sofa, drinks in hand when a guy came up and gave Cindy a far too friendly kiss before acknowledging me and offering his hand to shake mine. I looked at him as coldly as I could manage as I said, “Hi, I’m Kyle, Cindy’s fiancé.”
“Oh, so you’re the one everyone’s been talking about?” he slurred drunkenly.
“I suppose I am. And you are?”
He held out his hand in as gentlemanly a gesture as he could muster given his obvious inebriation and said, “Jeff Corbin, also known as ‘the Ex’.”
As I shook his hand a look of fear flashed across Cindy’s face. I wasn’t sure what prompted it, but if I had to guess I might think she was expecting that I’d be jealous. Fortunately for me, I was able to control any tendencies I might have had in that direction and the moment passed without incident. As Jeff stumbled his way toward the bar, the look of relief on Cindy’s face could practically be heard as well as seen.
“Why were you so nervous?” I asked her once he was well out of earshot.
“Oh, nothing,” she tried to deflect my question.
“That didn’t look like nothing,” I countered.
“Look, can we leave?” she asked as she stood and then pulled me to my feet.
Confused, I looked at her for a moment before finally answering, “Yeah, sure.” Once we were heading toward the exit I turned to her and asked, “Are you sure? I mean, these are your friends after all.”
“I’m sure. I’m not feeling all that well.”
“Okay,” I said. With that we left the party and drove back to Casa Franklin.
The further away from the party we drove, the more Cindy seemed to relax. Once she appeared to be more or less back to normal I asked her, “What just went on back there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That whole thing with your ex and you getting all freaked out?”
She sat silent for a moment before responding, “Have you ever done things that afterward you wish you could take back?”
“Well yeah, I think everyone has, haven’t they?”
“Jeff was one of those things I wish I could take back.”
“Why? Did he hurt you?”
“He never hit me or anything like that. He just always was telling me what to do, how to dress, where to go…” she paused to take a deep breath. “The entire time we were together, he treated me more like a possession than a person.”
“Okay, so what got you so scared back there? I’m not like that.”
“I know. You’re like the complete opposite of him. I think that’s part of why I love you.”
“What, so you can tell me what to do?” I said it jokingly, but it wasn’t received well at all.
“No, nothing like that. We treat each other like equals, like we respect each other’s opinions.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?”
“But rarely is. As irrational as it sounds, for a moment there I was afraid that when you two shook hands he might infect you with that jerk mentality of his.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought. I stifled the reaction as quickly as possible and said, “Just in case there’s any question, you have nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” she said. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
The remainder of our drive back to her parent’s house was made in a comfortable silence as we both drifted through our own sets of thoughts. Back at the house, we let ourselves in as quietly as we could and made our way to our bedroom.
As we readied ourselves for bed, Cindy caught sight of my bra as I was undressing and asked, “Why’d you have that on tonight?”
I looked down and replied, “I don’t know. I’ve just sort of gotten used to wearing it. Now it feels strange to go without.”
“I thought you only wore those things when you played?”
“Well yeah, that’s right. It’s just that…”
She cut me off, “Just that what?”
I replied as calmly as I could, “It’s just that the more I wear these things, the more used to them I become and the more I wear them even when not playing.”
“Do you have to?”
Confused I said, “Well no, I don’t suppose I HAVE to, but I like the way they feel. I thought you of all people…”
“What?” she said with more forcefulness than she intended. “Since I’m the one who started all this in the first place you assumed I’d be okay with it. Well I’m not okay with it.”
“Why not? There’s nothing threatening about it. You even bought me things for Christmas. Now all of a sudden I find out that it’s not okay after all? I’m not sure how to handle any of this. I was hoping that you…”
“That I would what, Kyle?”
In a more timid voice I replied, “Could help me figure everything out.”
In a much gentler tone she said, “Of course. You know I will. We’re both trying to figure some things out right now, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just that everything has been so out of control recently.”
“I know. I promise, everything will be all right. Now, why don’t we go to bed and get some rest?”
I looked into her eyes and said, “Absolutely.”
She got what appeared to be a pained look on her face as she said, “But please take those off before you come to bed?”
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I dutifully removed my bra, as well as my pantyhose and panties before climbing into bed.
“That’s better,” Cindy purred as she wrapped her arms around my neck and began to kiss me.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Scott Joplin, The Entertainer
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/joplin-the-enterta...
Maple Leaf Rag
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/joplin-maple-leaf-...
Vince Guaraldi, Linus and Lucy
http://www.amazon.com/gp/music/wma-pop-up/B000ICLSMY001004/r...
Chick Corea, Monk’s Mood
http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,20116...
Thelonius Monk, Ask Me Now
http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,26039...
Bill Evans, Elsa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyyMM5mOK7I
Notes:
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It took me three days to construct the Beethoven orchestra, two more for the Mozart, and four to finish the Prokofiev. By the time each one was completed, I knew the accompaniments almost as well as I did the solo parts.
If only my relationship with Cindy were as easy. I knew there had been moments before when Cindy seemed to have problems with the way my cross-dressing…and yes, I had finally admitted to the fact that I had become a cross-dresser…was finding its way into our everyday lives. But recently she’d been a lot more vocal in her dissent. Considering she essentially started the whole thing, I was having some trouble reconciling her position then with her attitude now.
Everything came to a head a couple of days before the start of the winter semester. I was working on the orchestra parts to the Chopin concerto when she came home from the bookstore with her armload of textbooks for the coming term.
I was lost in my work and didn’t hear her come in until she spoke, breaking my concentration, “What ya doin’?”
I took off my headphones, looked in her direction, and said, “Just working on my project.”
“Ah,” she commented with quickly fading interest.
She wandered into the bedroom and I returned to my little world, where I was pounding away at the French Horn parts of the Chopin. After a few minutes I stopped and began thinking about what had just happened. I don’t know what she was expecting me to be working on, but apparently this wasn’t on her list, and she seemed intent on making sure I was aware of that fact.
She returned to the living room and as I noticed her presence again she asked, “Are you going to be at it much longer this evening?”
“I suppose I could call it a night,” I offered as I set about shutting down my equipment.
“No, you don’t have to,” she said, though it was obvious from her tone of voice that she didn’t mean it.
I got up from where I had been working and started to take her in my arms, but she turned and pushed me away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she tried to deflect me.
“Come on,” I countered. “Even Ray Charles could see something’s bothering you.”
She just ignored me for a moment until I tried once again to hug her, which prompted her to say, “Please, don’t.”
I stared at her for a moment, unsure what to do next. As I watched her leave the room, closing the door behind her, I knew that I’d done something wrong. I just wasn’t sure what that was.
Later that evening Cindy emerged from the bedroom and silently went about putting together dinner for us. I kept looking in her direction, hoping to find a chink in the armor she had worked so hard to build around herself, but found none.
Unable to stand the cold shoulder treatment any longer, I finally broke down and asked, “What did I do wrong?”
She looked at me as if I’d just asked the stupidest question in history and dismissively said, “Nothing.”
Despite my natural desire to drop the subject at that point I pursued it stating, “Look, I know something I’ve either done or not done has upset you. I just don’t know what that something is. If you don’t tell me, I can’t fix it.”
She gave me a hurt look and said, “How could you not know?”
Stunned, I stared at her for a moment before answering, “I swear, if I knew I wouldn’t have to ask. What is it?”
She stood there silently for several minutes then reached over and grabbed my bra strap through my shirt and tugged on it, saying, “That’s what’s wrong.”
Confused, I asked, “What?”
Showing signs of exasperation she said, “When was the last time you didn’t wear a bra when you got dressed?”
I sat there trying to come up with the answer when she finally jumped in with it. “I’ll tell you. It was before your recital last fall. Why’d you start wearing it all the time?”
“I don’t know. I just sort of got used to having it on and haven’t given it another thought. Why?”
“You’re not the person I fell in love with.”
Hurt, I responded, “What do you mean? Because I wear the women’s clothing you picked out for me? Because I don’t just wear them when I’m performing? Is that it?”
“Yes! That’s it!”
“I don’t get it. Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”
“I have, you just ignored me.”
“When?”
“Every night lately, I have to remind you to take those things off. I don’t know what’s happening here. Do you want to be a girl?” she stifled a tear as she waited for my response.
“Of course not! Can I help it if panties are more comfortable than my old Y-fronts?”
“That doesn’t explain the bra, and the pantyhose, and the…”
“The what?”
In a strangely frustrated tone she said, “I wish I had nails like yours!”
“Wait a minute! You started me wearing panties, remember? You picked out my bras! You showed me how to do my manicure! You even gave me that camisole thing for Christmas! What’s going on here?”
She stared at me, a hurt look on her face for a moment or two before silently dropping her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore, Kyle!”
I rushed to her, taking her in my arms in as comforting a hug as I knew how to give. What began as a single tear eventually became a torrent of sobs as I struggled to give her some sort of solace. To say that I was in over my head at this point was the understatement of the century, and I knew it.
I’m not sure how long it took, but eventually I managed to get Cindy calmed down enough that she could lie down and rest. Then I picked up the phone and called the one person I could think of who might have a clue what to do.
“Hello?”
“Sarah? It’s Kyle.”
“Hey Kyle, how were your holidays?”
“Okay, but right now I have something a little bit urgent that I’m hoping you can help with.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Cindy. I don’t really know what’s going on, but she sort of freaked out on me this evening and I don’t have a clue what to do.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
There was a click followed by dead silence. As I hung up the phone, I looked at Cindy as she lay asleep on the couch. I hoped Sarah had an idea what to do, because I sure didn’t.
True to her word, Sarah arrived in less than five minutes time. I let her in and led her into the kitchen as quietly as I could, hoping we didn’t wake Cindy before we’d had a chance to talk.
“So what’s going on, Kyle?” Sarah asked, getting straight to the point.
“Okay, it’s like this. I’ve been wearing my lingerie most of the time lately, just because I’m more or less used to how it feels. Lately Cindy’s been less than receptive to that idea. This is confusing the heck out of me. I mean, she’s the one who started this whole thing.”
“Did you consider the possibility that she feels threatened by your increased level of comfort with your femininity?”
“Threatened? That’s ridiculous!” I said louder than I’d intended.
“To you maybe. Not to her,” Sarah began. “To her, it’s almost like competing with another woman. Only in this case that other woman is with you 24/7.”
I stood there thinking about what she’d just said. The more I thought about it, the more sense it started to make. “Really? You think she really sees it that way?”
“I don’t know for certain, but that seems to be a fairly common point of disagreement in couples where cross-dressing is a factor in the relationship.”
Cindy entered the kitchen at that point and asked, “Sarah, what are you doing here?”
“Hi Cindy! I just thought I’d stop by to see my friends. Do you have a minute? Maybe we could talk a bit.” Turning her attention back to me she asked, “Kyle, could you leave us alone for a little bit of girl talk?”
“How about if I take my laptop and stuff into the bedroom so you two can have a little privacy?”
“That would be great,” Sarah answered.
I did take my things into the bedroom and even hooked everything up. However, it only took a moment for me to completely lose interest in my project and decide to devote my full attention to eavesdropping on the girls’ conversation. So I pressed my ear against the nearly paper-thin door so I could listen in.
The first thing I heard was Cindy asking in a somewhat argumentative tone, “So what did he tell you?”
Sarah replied, “Just that he’s worried about you.”
“So he didn’t tell you anything we’d been arguing about?”
Calmly Sarah said, “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re a little threatened by Kyle’s femininity.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Cindy shouted.
“Is it? Tell me, when the two of you argue, what’s it usually about?”
Cindy tried to deflect Sarah from her line of questioning, “I don’t know. Normal couple stuff I guess.”
“So you’ve never fought about his dressing? I have to say, I find that a little hard to believe.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s very common when couples are dealing with some form of cross gender behavior that they argue about that very thing, often more than they do about anything else.”
“So what if we do?”
For a moment I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but then I heard Sarah say, “…it’s hard figuring out where everything fits in. Believe me, I know from whence I speak.”
I pulled my ear away from the door for a moment, so I missed out on Cindy’s response. I did however catch Sarah’s next comment. “No, I’m pretty certain you don’t have anything to worry about there. Kyle’s not going to wake up one morning and just decide then and there that he’s going to become a she. It doesn’t work that way.”
“But why’s he started wearing his girl things all the time?”
“Well, part of it may be just like he says…he’s become comfortable dressing like that. Guys are very much creatures of habit.”
There was a moment’s pause before Cindy asked, “Are you telling me this is just the way things are going to be?”
“I don’t know. No one does for certain. Not even Kyle,” Sarah paused for a moment before continuing. “The real question here is can you honestly sit there and tell me this changes the way you feel about him?”
Cindy responded, “Of course not! I love him very much!”
“Then what exactly is the problem?”
“I just think it’s kind of weird…”
“And it is,” Sarah jumped in. “But there are a few things that have to be taken into account. One is that at least as far as he’s concerned, you are the one who started him wearing girl stuff.”
Timidly Cindy commented, “I suppose I can see where that idea originated.”
Sarah continued, “The second is that this is a rare case in that most transvestites, and for the sake of this conversation we’re going to consider Kyle to be one, have a strong emotional if not sexual component to their dressing. Kyle has neither one, as far as we know.”
“Well if he’s not a transvestite, then what is he?”
“I suppose we could argue that at some level he’s transgendered, but again his is a very unusual case.”
My mind was reeling as I listened in on their conversation. Was I really transgendered? Sarah was for better or worse the only expert I knew and if she didn’t know, how the heck was I supposed to figure it out?
It took me a moment or two to refocus, but eventually I returned to my eavesdropping. I don’t know how much exactly I missed, but when my attention was once again held by the girls’ conversation, I heard Cindy say, “That doesn’t make any of this easier to deal with.”
Sarah responded, “No, it doesn’t. You’re both very lucky, you know.”
“I know.” As Cindy spoke, I decided I’d hidden out long enough and returned to the living room to join in the chat.
“How’re you ladies doing? Have a nice chat?” I asked as I took a seat beside Cindy on the sofa.
She looked at me guiltily before saying, “Listen Kyle, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what my problem has been lately.”
I looked into her eyes and said, “That’s okay. I think we all need to kind of freak out once in a while.” I paused before adding in my most playful tone of voice, “Just maybe give me a little warning beforehand next time.”
Cindy punched my arm, “You!”
Sarah chose that moment to remind us of her presence by saying, “Listen guys, it’s looking like you won’t be needing me anymore this evening so I guess I’ll head on home.” Turning to Cindy specifically, she added, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call, okay?”
Cindy replied, “Okay, I will.”
I got up and escorted Sarah to the door. As we got there I whispered, “Thanks. I really had no idea what to do there. Any suggestions?”
“Not really. Just be your usual charming, talented self and everything should be all right.”
“Yeah, right,” I let slip before I realized. “Sorry, I just don’t like fighting. It always ties my stomach up in knots.”
“You’ll be fine. Just remember that you guys love each other. The rest is just details.”
Once Sarah was gone I returned to my spot next to the love of my life. Again she began to offer, “Sorry. I really had no right to blow up at you like that.”
“I don’t know if I’d say ‘no right’, but…” I left the sentence incomplete.
The following morning I was awakened by the ringing of the telephone. When I finally answered it, Dr. Caroll’s voice greeted me, “Kyle, Dr. Wyler asked me to call to set up a time for the two of you to meet to discuss the rehearsal schedule.”
Warily I replied, “Okay, when did he want to meet?”
“This afternoon, in his office. Say around one.”
A feeling of dread mingled with worry in the back of my head as I told her, “I’ll be there.”
Once off the phone I replaced the handset, turning toward Cindy to inform her of the appointment. She looked at me worriedly and asked, “Are you going to be all right?”
I pretended to be unconcerned and replied, “Sure. There’s nothing to worry about.” I just wished I believed that one myself.
At a few minutes before one I was standing in the hallway not far from Dr. Wyler’s office, trying to convince myself that I was being silly when I started worrying about his motives and intentions.
At precisely one o’clock Dr. Wyler came strolling down the hall toward his office. When he saw me waiting, a grin quickly spread across his face as he greeted me, “Mr. Bronson. Thank you for meeting with me this afternoon.”
As he approached me he reached out his hand to shake mine. Just as he clasped mine I suppressed the involuntary urge to yank it away, doing my best not to show any kind of negative reaction as he held onto my hand for far longer than was necessary. As calmly as I could I said, “Any time, sir.”
He unlocked his office door and held it open for me to enter, following me in. Once the door had closed behind us he said, “Now, the first thing I’d like to discuss is how you’re coming along with your parts?”
“Pretty good, sir. I’ve been recording sequenced versions of the orchestra parts so I can then practice playing with the ensemble. I have most of the semester’s selections done already and have the solo parts worked out for all of them to the point of spit and polish.”
He took a seat at his desk and indicated I should take the seat right next to it. I had no sooner sat down than he gently placed his hand on top of mine as he said, “Excellent. Now, I was hoping we could arrange it so you attend at least one ensemble rehearsal per week so we can work on your concerti.”
I nearly gave in to the temptation to pull my hand away and run home as fast as I could, but then the part of me that kept telling me this was just my imagination running rampant took over and kept me in my place as we continued our meeting. In my best calm voice I said, “That certainly sounds like a good idea. Which day would you prefer?”
Dr. Wyler looked me directly in the eye and held my gaze for several seconds before saying, “I think that should be the other way around. Which day works best for you?”
I looked up at the ceiling as I said, “Well, if we did Wednesdays I could then work on any problems with Dr. Caroll the next day in my lesson.”
“Wednesdays it is then. We’ll plan on starting those rehearsals with your pieces so you don’t have to hang around doing nothing waiting on us to be ready for you.” As he said this his hand, which had still been resting on mine, began to lightly caress the back of my hand.
I stared hard into his eyes, trying to convey my complete lack of interest in continuing that sort of activity. I don’t think I was terribly successful, given that he didn’t stop. So finally I pulled my hand back from his and clasped mine together between my knees as I said, “Dr. Wyler…” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but it didn’t matter. His office phone rang at that exact moment, rescuing me from any further uncomfortable contact with this man.
He answered it, “Hello? Oh yes, how’s that going?” He pulled the receiver away from his ear, covered the mouthpiece, and whispered, “I’ll see you Wednesday at two then?”
I nodded as he returned to his telephone call then backed out of his office, closing the door behind me as I left. It took me a couple of seconds before I was fully able to process what had just happened, during which time I felt nearly catatonic. I then shuddered, turned to leave, and hoped I could keep my wits about me as I walked home.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Notes:
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As quickly as I could, I made my way to the piano and took my seat. Without saying another word, Dr. Wyler raised his baton and began the first movement of the Beethoven concerto.
I made a few minor flubs, but overall didn’t do too badly. Heck, you can hear worse mistakes on a Horowitz CD, so I figured I could live with the way I was playing. Dr. Wyler didn’t say anything negative about my little mistakes, for which I was grateful, and after a while I settled down and started playing better.
We had worked on it for a little over a half hour before Dr. Wyler turned to me, “Mr. Bronson, how do you think we should approach this section?”
I don’t know if he was expecting me to timidly demur to his interpretation or what, but when I looked right back at him and said, “Well sir, I was thinking something like this,” and then proceeded to play the orchestra’s part in question exactly as I thought it should be performed. I would swear he looked absolutely stunned. I tried very hard not to show it, but his reaction filled me with an almost smug sense of satisfaction for some reason.
From then on Dr. Wyler made a point of seeking out my opinion about how I thought the orchestra should play the different sections of the concerto. Maybe he was just being polite and had no intention of listening to my suggestions, but the simple fact that he bothered to ask made me feel like my interpretation might just have a chance to see the light of day.
While we rehearsed I was able to immerse myself in the music and ignore everything else that was going on in the world. By the time the rehearsal was nearing it’s end I was so engrossed in what I was doing that each note I played sent little tingles up and down my spine. It was a truly powerful experience.
Unfortunately, once rehearsal ended it didn’t take long for the real world to rear its head once again. Even before I had the chance to make for the door, Dr. Wyler called to me, “Kyle, could I speak with you in my office?” Yes it was worded as a question, but there was no doubt in my mind that any response other than yes would not be entertained.
We slowly made our way toward his office, with him walking far too close to me for my personal comfort. That discomfort quickly escalated to full blown panic when his hand found my bra through my shirt and he began rubbing along its outline as we walked.
He guided me into his office, closing the door behind us and promptly pressing against me as he backed me into a wall.
Panicked, I asked, “What do you want?”
“Oh, I just thought we should have a little chat,” he responded, trying to sound as sweet and non-threatening as he could.
He failed miserably.
I tried squirming away from him to no avail as he closed in on me further. As I realized the futility of my actions he added, “You know, there really is no reason for you to be nervous.”
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, trying to assert some semblance of control over the situation.
He placed his hand on my shoulder, where he again found my bra strap and began tracing its outline toward my chest, “Your bra feels lovely. Perhaps I could have a peek?”
I stared at him with the iciest look I could manage and quietly said, “I don’t think so.”
He touched my cheek with his hand as he said, “Oh come now, Kyle. Or do you prefer Kayla?”
“What do you want from me?”
An evil smile crawled across his face as he said, “I think you have a pretty good idea.”
I suppressed a shudder before saying, “Not interested. Sorry.” I then tried to leave again only to be restrained.
“I thought you were more interested in your career than this,” he said offhandedly.
I stared at him trying to decipher just how serious he was before stating, “My career is everything to me.”
“Then why are you fighting me, Mr. Bronson?”
“What does this have to do with my playing?”
That evil smile grew even more sinister as he looked at me predatorily and said, “You’re good. There’s no question on that point. However, you didn’t really think you were the only student we considered offering this opportunity to?” He paused for a moment to allow that thought to sink in a bit before continuing, “I picked you because, well, girlish boys interest me.”
I thought about his last statement for a moment, feeling more nauseous by the moment. Eventually I could take it no more, as that tidbit sent me over the top and I found myself retching all over his shoes.
As disgusting as that was, it did at least buy me enough distance from Dr. Wyler to allow me an escape route, which I took advantage of as quickly as I could. Before he knew what was happening I had the office door open and was quickly heading down the hallway, making a beeline for home.
My mind was racing a million miles a minute as I walked home and hadn’t even entertained the thought of slowing down by the time I was opening our apartment door. Upon entering, the first thing I noticed was the sound of voices wafting through from the living room. I quickly identified them as Cindy and Sarah.
Not feeling like discussing the just transpired course of events at that moment, I silently waved at the girls as I walked directly to the bedroom. I closed the door behind me as quickly as I could in hopes that I might be allowed a little privacy before the inevitable happened and I had to inform them of what had happened. In the meantime I lay down on the bed and silently sobbed as the whole sorry event kept running through my mind over and over.
At some point I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew it was dark out and Cindy was rousing me saying, “Hey sleepy head. Could I interest you in something to eat?”
I rubbed sleep out of my eyes, sat up, and looked at Cindy for a moment. Once I found my voice I asked more of myself than anything else, “What have I done?”
Cindy’s look of confusion did nothing to clarify things in my mind and since she didn’t really seem all that interested in delving into the emotional whirlpool that was swirling around inside my mind, I decided to drop the subject for the moment and asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“I made some tuna casserole,” she said as I got up from the bed and followed her into the kitchen for dinner.
“Smells good,” I commented trying to ignore my personal hurricane. We sat down at the table and dug into Cindy’s attempt at culinary arts. We ate in more or less silence and when done I did the washing up while Cindy settled on the couch to get a head start on the required reading for some of her classes for the coming semester.
After restoring the kitchen to it’s clean state I joined her on the sofa, sitting there silently while she read. I had thought she would be able to tell how upset I had been and want to know why, but she either hadn’t noticed or had ignored it while she focused on what was going on in her own world. I eventually got tired of being ignored and went back to bed.
The next thing I remember is being shaken awake by Cindy a little while later, “Kyle? What’s wrong?”
Still mostly asleep I mumbled, “What?”
“You were having a nightmare or something and screamed out.”
As I woke up I started to remember the complete disinterest I’d been on the receiving end of earlier and in a fairly catty tone snapped, “Sorry. I’ll try not to wake you anymore.”
Obviously miffed at what she perceived as being rebuffed while showing some concern for me, Cindy said, “Well if you’re going to be like that…” and got up out of bed and headed toward the couch, her pillow and our blanket in tow.
As I lay there, now completely and totally awake, I started thinking about things. Had I done anything that could have been misinterpreted as giving Dr. Wyler the wrong signals? I certainly couldn’t think of anything I might’ve done along those lines. Of course, I wasn’t sure why Cindy was upset with me either.
I replayed every meeting I’d had with our esteemed conductor that I could remember several times before finally acknowledging that as far as I knew I hadn’t done anything that could’ve been taken as encouraging, other than wearing a bra of course. This all rattled around inside my brain, keeping me awake for the remainder of the night.
My thoughts weren’t restricted to the whole Dr. Wyler thing. I also found myself indulging in some fairly serious belly button contemplation along the way as well. Why is it that this whole cross-dressing thing is working? Why does it seem like I’m becoming comfortable enough with it that it’s expanded into my non-performing life? Is that a bad thing? And possibly most important, what would happen if I quit?
About the time the sun started to climb above the horizon, I reached a few conclusions. Exhausted though I was, I decided to go ahead and get ready for the day, so I climbed out of bed and into the shower. I started to pick up the razor to shave my body, but then stopped. I decided I wasn’t going to do that. Not only that, I had decided not to wear any women’s clothing at all, even though I had a lesson with Dr. Caroll that afternoon. If nothing else, I was determined to find out just how important the clothes were to my playing, and to me.
When I started getting dressed, I had to put the panties back in the drawer and dig into the very back to find a pair of boxers as well as a plain old pair of sweat socks to wear instead of my usual pantyhose. It felt really strange wearing something different, but I figured I’d survive.
Once completely dressed, I left the bedroom to find Cindy still asleep on the couch. I sat on the edge of the coffee table and reached out to gently shake her shoulder in an attempt to wake her. It took a couple of tries, but she did eventually begin to rouse from her REM cycle.
As soon as she seemed like she was achieving some level of consciousness I said, “I’m sorry about last night. There’s just a lot of stuff going on that has got me kinda fried.”
She looked up at me and replied, “I’m sorry too. Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Yeah, but I’m not entirely sure where to start.”
She sat up and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, “How about starting with some background information?”
“It’s Dr. Wyler,” I sighed. “He’s really freaking me out.”
“Why?”
I leaned in closer, “I told you about the other day, right? Well yesterday was about a million times worse.”
“How so?”
“All through rehearsal he was falling all over himself to be nice to me, which in and of itself was really weird, though not all that unusual given previous experience. I’m sure most of the orchestra noticed. A lot of them kept looking at me kind of strangely all through the practice.”
I took a deep breath and continued, “Afterward was even worse. Before I could get out of there, he stopped me and asked that I join him for a chat in his office. He walked me there, standing way closer than could possibly be comfortable, and kept rubbing my bra straps through my shirt all the way there.”
Her mouth fell open for a moment before she said, “Wow, I knew he was a little weird, but this is way beyond what I expected.”
“Weird is right,” I agreed. I then tried to shift topics, since even talking about Dr. Wyler gave me the willies. “I did a lot of thinking last night after you left. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” she replied.
“One of the things I thought about was how this whole lingerie thing has sort of grown lately.”
“It’s not…”Cindy started.
I cut her off before she could go any further, “No, it’s not. I’ve let it sort of take over my whole life. While on one hand I’ve gotten so used to wearing those things they just feel natural, on the other I realize that it’s kinda strange for you.”
“It really is okay, Kyle,” she offered.
“I made a decision last night. I’m not going to wear them when I’m not playing.”
“Are you sure?” Cindy asked. “Do you really think you can do that?”
“Of course I can,” I boldly stated.
Cindy started looking me over. The first thing she noticed was the lack of bra lines. “No bra today? Don’t you have a lesson with Dr. Caroll?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be fine.”
Cindy continued her survey, “No pantyhose…boxers instead of panties…Wow! So how does it feel?”
“Strange, to say the least. I itch everywhere. Especially where the boxers are.”
“Your skin’s used to the softer material. That’s why,” she commented. “Are you going to be all right? I mean, the itchy stuff isn’t going to drive you too nuts, is it?”
“I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Once breakfast dishes were washed and put away we both grabbed our respective bags and headed for the door to begin our days. The slight itchy sensation that started when I put on the boxers didn’t ease up at all. If anything, it seemed to get worse with each passing minute. By the time I returned home following my morning classes I felt as if I was fighting the worst case of poison ivy in history.
I was barely through the front door before I was stripping my clothes off and running for the bedroom, where I immediately began digging for a pair of panties. Even as I was pulling them up my legs I found myself bombarded with a torrent of conflicting emotions. I mean, hadn’t I just hours before vowed not to wear women’s clothing except when playing?
I had a pair of panties in my hand as a wave of guilt washed over me. I did promise, after all. Having acquired new resolve, I returned the undies to the drawer, closed it, and re-dressed before walking out of the bedroom.
I headed for the kitchen to look for something for lunch and just as I opened the refrigerator Cindy returned home. “Hey sweetie,” she said as she walked in the door.
“Hey yourself,” I responded as I pulled a container of leftover tuna casserole out of the fridge and popped it into the microwave.
Cindy got glasses out of the cabinet and was putting ice in them when she asked, “How’d everything go this morning?”
I knew exactly what she was asking about and responded, “I feel like I took a bath in poison ivy.”
“That bad, huh?” she commented as she filled the glasses with soda. “You know, you could always change back into the panties.”
“No, I’m going to make it today. I will not give up over a little discomfort.”
Once lunch was hot I pulled the bowl out of the microwave and dished it up onto plates, then carried them through to the table so we could eat. Cindy brought the drinks and silverware and we settled in for a quiet meal, with neither of us feeling all that talkative.
As we cleaned up our mess after lunch, Cindy asked, “Any idea what you’re going to do about that ol’ perv?”
“Not really, no. I mean, I could turn him in to the administration, but what good would that do me?” I paused for a moment while I shifted my attention to closing and latching the dishwasher. “I can’t imagine anyone believing me, to tell you the truth. I barely believe it myself, and I was there!”
Cindy remained quiet for a moment before reaching over and taking my hand in hers. She led me out of the kitchen and over to the sofa, where we sat close together. As soon as we were settled in, she reached out and took me in her arms, not saying a word.
I don’t know exactly how long we were like that, but the next thing I remembered was a knock on the front door, which prompted Cindy to extricate herself from our embrace so she could see who was at the door. A moment later she returned with Sarah in tow.
“Hi Sarah,” I offered half-heartedly before rising from the couch. It wasn’t that I was unhappy to see her. To the contrary, Sarah was quickly moving up the list toward becoming one of my favorite people. Rather, my lack of enthusiasm was no doubt rooted in the fact that I needed to head out for my lesson post haste, and I was feeling a lot more anxiety about it than usual.
“Sorry I can’t stay. It’s almost lesson time.” I headed out the door on my way to Dr. Caroll’s office. There was little doubt in my mind that by the time I returned home Sarah would know as much about the Dr. Wyler situation as Cindy does. Maybe more.
Just as I arrived at her door, the good doctor was coming out with her previous student. “Kyle, come right in,” she said as I stepped across the threshold and took my place at her piano.
When she closed the office door I couldn’t help myself as I shuddered involuntarily. Dr. Caroll obviously noticed my discomfort, as she asked, “Is something wrong?”
I looked up at her, trying to decide if I should tell her what was bothering me. What started as a simple pause in conversation quickly grew into an uncomfortable silence that I seemed unable to fill. Eventually Dr. Caroll tired of waiting for a response from me and said, “Why don’t we start with a little bit of a review?”
She set the Chopin etude book in front of me and randomly opened it, saying, “Why don’t we start here?”
Here it turned out was the third opus 10 etude. I played without even glancing at the book once. That being said I must admit that it was far from my most moving performance. Robotic might actually be the best way to describe it in fact.
Dr. Caroll looked at me silently for a moment after I’d completed the etude, pursing her lips like she was trying to decide how to proceed. When she did speak she said, “That answers that question.”
I stared at her blankly until she elaborated. “Something is definitely bothering you. What is it?”
Straight to the point. I had to admit to myself that I admired that about Dr. Caroll. “I’m not sure if it’s something I should talk with you about.”
“What?”
“It’s Dr. Wyler.”
“He’s been absolutely gushing about the job you’ve been doing with the Beethoven. What’s the matter?”
I started to tell her exactly what the problem was, but found I couldn’t. Instead, I said, “I’m just worried that I won’t be able to do a good enough job on all these performances.”
She looked at me for a moment, giving me a look that made it clear she knew that was not the real problem. “You have nothing to worry about, Kyle. You’re doing an outstanding job so far. I am a little concerned about today’s rendition though. It seemed very out of character.”
I decided the best course of action at that point was to not mention anything about what the real problem was, so I simply said, “I’m just not really with it today, I’m afraid. You know, having trouble concentrating and all that?”
“Yes, we all have days like that, I’m afraid. It’s good for you to try to work through it though. After all, when you’re being paid to perform, there isn’t really room for an off day.”
The discussion concluded, Dr. Caroll asked me to play through a few bits of the Beethoven concerto to get an idea of what I was wanting performance-wise. I played through several different sections of the concerto and while it was by no means up to my usual standards, I did at least manage to keep it together well enough that she didn’t feel like she had to decimate everything about the performance.
As we wrapped up my lesson, Dr. Caroll reminded me once again, “If you need to talk about anything, you know you can always come to me.”
“I know, but really there’s nothing to talk about,” I bluffed.
I could tell by the look she gave me that she didn’t believe a word I’d just said, but nonetheless she said, “All right then. Take care, and I’ll see you at the recital tomorrow.” That said, I was ushered out the door back into the corridor where I rushed down the hall toward the exit.
The whole way home my mind jumped from one thing to another, unable to focus on anything. At one point I did decide that if there had ever been any question concerning the real effect of the women’s under things on my playing, even the most cynical mind imaginable had to admit that there really was a difference. And there was no question which way sounded better.
I walked into the living room to be greeted by both Cindy and Sarah, who quickly offered, “Kyle, you know you don’t have to put up with this crap, don’t you?”
At least I knew Cindy had told her. That saved me having to go through the whole sorry episode, so at some level it had to be good, right? “And what do you propose I do?” I asked her rather pointedly.
“Report him, of course,” she threw back at me.
“One problem there. He’s a world famous renowned orchestra conductor. I’m a pervert teenager who wears womens’ underwear. When it comes down to it, who do you think the dean would be more likely to believe, hmmm?”
“But…” Cindy started.
“But nothing, Cin. The only way they believe me over him would be if I had incontrovertible proof, which I don’t have and don’t have any idea how to acquire.”
Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment before re-entering the conversation. “Maybe not, guys. What if we could get proof of his misbehavior? Something the dean’s office couldn’t ignore?”
As I thought about what Sarah had just said, I experienced one of those moments you see in cartoons where the light bulb suddenly comes on over the guy’s head. What I imagined was an evil grin spread across my face as I said, “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before?”
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...
Notes:
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Fact is, my mind had been racing all evening and obviously had decided that a little thing like going to bed was no reason to stop. Yes, in part that was because of the impending sting operation I was planning for Dr. Wyler. It was also to do with the conflicting feelings I’d been having concerning my dressing.
I had of course promised Cindy that I’d only wear my women’s under things when I would be playing, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out the folly of that commitment. Fact is, instead of cutting back there was an increasingly powerful part of me that would like to actually expand on my cross-dressing. The battle that raged in my head over those opposing positions was causing my mind to jump about rather wildly.
At one point I was rehashing a conversation I’d had earlier with Sarah on the subject of my dressing:
“There is something else that’s been on my mind,” I quietly admitted to her at one point when Cindy had left the room.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked with great interest.
“Well, I’m having a bit of a problem. You may already know about my promise to Cindy that I was only going to wear my girl things when I played?”
“No, but what about it?”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
She looked at me knowingly for a moment before asking, “And why’s that?”
It took me a while before I could actually make myself say, “Because I want to go further with it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure Cindy’ll have a major problem with that idea.”
“You may be right, but on the other hand…”
“You weren’t here when we had it out about this.”
“That’s true, but…”
“But nothing! She’s telling me she doesn’t want me to wear my things when I’m not playing and I’m feeling like I want to go in the other direction with things.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. Maybe…”
Just then Cindy rejoined us and I cut myself off before completing my thought.
As my thoughts continued to wander, I eventually found myself slipping back to that party we attended on New Year’s. At first it wasn’t even clear to me why it had jumped to the forefront of my thoughts, but then things began to crystallize.
First I started remembering playing for the assembled crowd, but then the memory of Cindy’s ex came flooding back, pushing everything else aside. Not only did I replay the entire conversation I’d had with him several times, but additionally I started remembering that as I had been playing I saw him with Cindy, getting entirely too chummy for my tastes.
Even though she had told me afterward that she no longer had feelings for that behemoth, a part of me couldn’t shake the pangs of jealousy that rose up in the pit of my stomach every time I remembered seeing them together. The more I told myself there was nothing for me to be jealous of, the more doubts crept into my head.
Was I sure about this relationship? I had thought so, but then once in a while I caught myself questioning not only if I were sure, but if Cindy was really as committed to it as I was?
My mind continued to spin from one subject to another, never staying on any one topic long enough to ever come up with any answers. It was a fertile field for doubts.
The internal debate carried on past Four, when I finally gave out due to simple exhaustion. The next thing I knew, the room was flooded with sunlight streaming in through the window and Cindy was padding around getting ready for the day. I sat up in bed and was soon treated to a good morning kiss.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Time to face the new day,” she said as she headed for the door.
“Coming,” I hollered at her back as she left the bedroom, then climbed out of bed myself and into the shower. After several mind clearing minutes under those jets of hot water I emerged refreshed and refocused on the intended task at hand.
Cindy walked back in the room just as I was fastening my bra and looked at me funny for a moment before exiting once again. I finished dressing and joined her in the kitchen for a bite of breakfast.
I was pretty sure this was not the time to discuss my desire to increase, rather than decrease, my dressing so I just reminded Cindy of my plans in reference to Dr. Wyler and went about my business. She did her best to avoid letting things become confrontational, but it was easy to see that something was bothering her. As much as that concerned me, I had to do this.
Later, as I was on my way toward my personal OK Corall, I happened to run into Dr. Caroll. She asked me into her office, where we talked.
“Are you sure about this?” Dr. Caroll asked me.
“I wouldn’t make something like this up, I assure you,” I responded. I had just informed her of what had really been going on between Dr. Wyler and myself. It had been difficult, but now that it was done I was waiting to find out if she was going to be an ally or an enemy.
She sat there dumbfounded for a moment before finally speaking again, “I knew he was showing a bit more interest in your development than was normal, but I just thought he was trying to mentor someone he saw as a rising star. It never occurred to me that he might have some less pure motive in mind.”
I sat unable to speak for a moment. At once I felt relieved to know that I had another ally and surprised that no one on the faculty had noticed anything. I had wondered if the conservatory had ever had this sort of problem with Dr. Wyler before, but then guessed from Dr. Caroll’s reaction that if they had, it had been kept quite hush-hush.
Since my arrival at the school, this woman had been my teacher, confidante, friend, and counselor, just to name a few of the hats she’d worn on my behalf. Here I was, more in need of guidance than at any time since I’d met her but as I looked as deeply into her eyes as I could, none was forthcoming.
When I did finally find my voice, it was weak and unsteady. “It’s been a difficult time of late. I was sure you knew about everything that was going on. That’s why I hadn’t said anything before,” I said. I could see shock in her face, which told me she really had no idea. At that point my position with regard to Dr. Caroll softened considerably. “I hope you can forgive me for ever thinking you knew what was going on.”
She reached over and placed her hand on mine as she said, “Kyle, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I’ve been ignoring things for quite a while that I shouldn’t have.”
The relief that washed over me as this conversation continued was obvious enough that a blind deaf mute could have probably noticed. Of course, that didn’t really solve anything. It did, however, make me feel a little better about things for a while.
Following my chance meeting and soul bearing chat with Dr. Caroll, I found myself wandering the performing arts center’s corridors in search of answers that still weren’t coming. When I wandered into the student’s lounge, I bought myself a cup of coffee from the vending machine and took a seat, hoping that some sense of inner peace might somehow find me and bring with it that so desperately wanted satisfactory resolution.
Unfortunately, instead of the aforementioned peace and resolution I found myself once again being the subject of whispered comments and titters, as a few of my fellow students talked amongst themselves not quite out of earshot.
“There’s that guy who wears girls’ underwear,” one of them snickered to the other as they took what they thought were unnoticed glances in my direction from across the lounge.
“That’s just weird,” replied the other as they were both overtaken by an attack of uncontrollable laughter.
I’d had enough of being their personal punchline, so I got up from my seat at the table, took what was left of my coffee, and gulped it down before throwing the cup away on my way out of the student lounge. Again I found myself wandering the halls, hoping something might come to me that could bring this all to an end.
Eventually, I reached the conclusion that regardless of Dr. Caroll’s knowledge of recent events there was still this overriding problem hanging over my head and I was determined to make it go away, one way or another. With that thought in mind, I pulled out my MP3 player/recorder and double-checked the memory status. I had wiped it clean the previous night in preparation for what I was about to do, so I pulled up the recorder section and set it to start while sitting there so I wouldn’t have to worry about fumbling with the controls while sitting in the rehearsal hall as a hundred musicians plied their trade.
With each step I took toward what I was thinking of as my “showdown” my heart seemed to race just a little bit more, which in turn added to my discomfort level immeasurably. I entered the rehearsal hall as quietly as I could manage and found an out of the way spot. As I sat there listening to the orchestra rehearse Stravinsky’s Firebird, which was to be on the program just before my concerto, the previous evening’s conversation kept running through my head.
“How could you think…” Cindy ranted for the umpteenth time.
I looked closely into her eyes and saw fear. Fear that something bad was going to happen to me if my plan went wrong somehow. When I finally spoke again I was calm and measured. “If I don’t do something this is going to go on forever. I can’t do that. It’s driving me crazy.”
“I get that, but…”
“But nothing. The alternative is…” The frustration was obvious in my voice, “There isn’t one I can live with.”
Yes, it was Sarah who first offered up the suggestion that if I could get undeniable proof of what Dr. Wyler had been doing to me there would be a real chance of bringing it to an end. Actually putting that idea into practice fell upon me, which it turned out was more easily done than I at first expected.
“How will you get the proof you need without getting caught?” Sarah asked.
I held up my MP3 player that doubled as a digital audio recorder, smiled, and said, “This is how.”
I had been using the recording feature of my trusty Digital Jukebox since high school to record lectures in class, rehearsals, and pretty much anything else I might need to be able to refer back to at a later date. It was small, completely self-contained, and made good, clean recordings. Plus, with 15 gigs of storage, it could hold lots of audio at one time, so there would be no worrying about tapes running out before we got what we needed.
“I still don’t like it,” Cindy said for the millionth time.
I looked at her, took her hand, and replied, “I don’t like it all that much either. But I don’t see that there’s much of a choice.”
As I listened to Dr. Wyler shout at the viola section once again for some barely noticeable mistake, I unconsciously reached up to the jacket pocket which held my recorder and lightly touched its surface as if I was searching for some form of confirmation that it was still there and ready to perform the task at hand. When I realized what I was doing, I lowered my hand back to my lap as inconspicuously as I could manage while looking around the room in an effort to ascertain whether or not anyone had noticed my faux pas.
As the rehearsal ran on, I found myself feeling extremely aware of the bra and panties I had on. This was very unusual of late, as I had become so used to them that they seemed normal. That is, normal to me. At that moment however, the reason for wearing them was forcing me to think about their presence.
“I thought you’d decided not to wear the lingerie when you weren’t playing?” Cindy asked.
“I had,” I replied. “But this is different.”
“What do you mean, different?”
“You know,” I said feeling more than a little embarrassed that she was trying to force me to say it.
“No, I don’t,” Cindy countered. “You don’t have to wear them for this. You don’t have to let that old pervert see your bra and panties to get the proof.”
“I wish I were as sure as you on that point,” I finally said.
The French Horns were on the receiving end of a fairly severe tongue lashing for their inability to perform exactly as Dr. Wyler wanted, causing me to momentarily focus on someone else’s problems rather than my own. The respite was most welcome, but far too short-lived to allow any real relaxation. As a result, I quickly found myself back in the throws of my own issues.
Cindy interjected, “Do you have everything?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
Sarah looked at her watch and said, “It’s time.”
I gave Cindy a kiss and shook Sarah’s hand, saying, “Thanks for all your help. With a little luck this could all be over very soon.”
She released my hand then pulled me into a hug. “I hope so.”
I hoped the good doctor didn’t find it suspicious that I was here on a day when we weren’t even working on my piece. If he did happen to question my appearance, it could cause the whole plan to go up in smoke. I tried to force myself not to think about that possibility for fear I might not be able to go through with things. As is so often the case, that had the opposite effect and for a while I found myself dwelling on anything and everything that could possibly go wrong, from not being able to do it to being busted for the recorder.
As my thoughts continued to wander, I drifted away from the problem at hand and instead focused on other things. Specifically, I started remembering a recent event, which was representative of something that had become all too commonplace of late.
I was trying to focus on my studies, but was finding it increasingly difficult to do so sitting in the middle of the student union’s cafeteria. I’d probably read the same paragraph in the textbook open in front of me ten times, unable to go any further because of the distractions around me.
Chief among those distractions were the snide comments and less than funny jokes that my fellow classmates popped off with all around me. A few of them went so far as to say things directly to my face, but for the most part they just talked about me ‘behind my back’.
I sat there far longer than I probably should have, listening to the snide comments and jokes that flew around me at my expense. To think, I hadn’t even realized the bra was visible through my shirt! All the while, the ongoing commentary drove me deeper into a funk.
Needless to say, I was getting no studying done as a result. Fueled by embarrassment, I finally had heard enough. So I grabbed my books and tossed them back in my bag, heading for the exit as quickly as I could manage.
As I said, wearing a bra and panties felt normal to me, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world shared that position. Despite the negative nature of not only the aforementioned encounter, but numerous other incidents of late, I still found myself wondering about further exploring this whole femininity thing. I knew in the back of my head that would mean delving deeper into cross-dressing. While on one level that idea left me feeling rather unsettled, on another it was exciting beyond explanation. That confirmed for me more than anything else ever could the fact that I had become a real live cross-dresser.
“But I don’t want to be a cross-dresser,” I said quietly to myself before realizing that it wasn’t just in my head. Immediately, I began nervously looking around to figure out if anyone had heard me. While I didn’t think anyone had, that knowledge didn’t stop me from turning bright red from embarrassment.
I made an effort to tune back into the rehearsal and quickly decided that our fearless leader seemed to be in a rotten mood today. That was the only excuse I could think of for some of the things he was saying to the ensemble. It got so bad that I wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the kids just stood up and left rather than take the abuse. Was that how all conductors acted toward their ensembles? I seriously doubted it.
I was sitting in the lounge, listening in on a conversation that was taking place between several members of the Conservatory Orchestra. “What crawled up Wyler’s butt today?” asked someone I recognized as the concertmaster.
Her stand mate replied, “I don’t know. Maybe he’s on his period or something.”
That prompted a hearty round of laughter to ripple across the room. I couldn’t help but allow myself to join in.
As that initial peel of chuckling began to die down, the leader of the trumpet section added, “If that’s the case, I’ll chip in for the Pamprin if you guys think it would help.”
“Only problem with the period thing is, if that were the case his bitchiness would only last one week out of the month,” came the comment from someone in the cello section.
“Yeah, instead of four out of every four,” added the concertmaster.
I was trying not to laugh too loudly through all of this, but was finding that task near impossible. I finally gave up and let loose and nearly pee’d myself, I laughed so hard.
Every now and then Dr. Wyler would go off on one of his more animated tirades, providing me with a momentary respite from my inner turmoil. Unfortunately, those moments weren’t nearly long enough.
As practice was winding down the trepidation I’d been feeling over the prospect of what I intended to do began slipping away, to be replaced by a sense of purpose that drove me to carry on for the greater good.
When rehearsal ended, Dr. Wyler came over to me as the ensemble packed up their instruments. “Mr. Bronson, so nice to see you. I wasn’t expecting you until next Wednesday. What brings you by?” he asked as he once again pressed himself well within my personal space, causing me to feel a very uncomfortable.
I quelled the instinct to recoil from the invasion and in as calm a voice as I could manage said, “I just wanted to hear how things are going with the concert preparations.”
“Good, good,” he said as he began leading me once again toward his office. With each step I fought the urge to simply hit the man, knowing that what I had
planned would hurt him far more than simple physical pain.
Once inside his office, I began looking around at some of the pictures he had hanging on the walls. Among them were ensemble photos from each year he’d been at the Conservatory, as well as a myriad of standard shaking hands style posed shots with various soloists and dignitaries.
As I turned to face the good doctor, I found him so close to me that I was surprised I hadn’t felt his breath on the back of my neck. “Dr. Wyler,” I stammered.
“So what really brought you by today, Kyle?” he asked as he began trying to move even closer.
I stepped back, with him following suit until my back was against the wall and he was pressed up against me. I nearly tossed my lunch right there, but this time I managed to control the urge.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you missed me,” he said as that evil grin spread once again across his face.
“What would make you think that, sir?” I asked, hoping I could lead him into saying something incriminating.
“Well,” he said in an exaggeratedly drawn out fashion as he brushed my cheek with his hand, “You seemed rather disinterested in things, except for when you were looking right at me.”
“What an ego,” I thought before saying, “No, I was interested. I’m fascinated watching ensembles work. Maybe it’s because I never really spent any time in that kind of a setting before.”
“Perhaps you’d like to know a bit more about what I do,” he asked, I hoping to lead me into something that would require us to spend a lot more time together.
“Perhaps,” I replied, wondering if my response conveyed the total disinterest I felt or hid that truth well enough to fool Dr. Wyler.
He moved in even closer and whispered, “I’ve missed you, Kayla,” as his lips lightly touched mine. I nearly threw up in his mouth, but managed to control that reaction yet again by reminding myself that this was why I was there. What kept me going at that point was the hope that things were almost over.
“Please don’t do that again,” I managed to say after taking a moment to find my voice.
“But that’s what you wanted,” started Dr. Wyler.
“No, it’s what you wanted. Not what I wanted,” I countered. “The simple truth is I’m not interested in any kind of intimate relationship with you, sir.”
He pressed into me more forcefully as he said, “Why are you fighting me, Kayla?”
“Stop calling me that!” I shouted. Once my voice returned to a more normal level, I continued, “My name is Kyle and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t address me by any other one.”
For a moment as he looked at me I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. Then that evil grin again spread across his face as he said, “To the rest of the world you’re Kyle, but to me you’re Kayla.” He put his hands on my shoulders, gripping hard so he could force me into the position he wanted.
With all the strength I could muster, I grabbed his hand from my shoulders and threw them down at his sides as I twisted away from him. “No!” I shouted as forcefully as I could.
He looked momentarily taken aback, affording me the opportunity to create some distance between us by moving back toward the office door. When he attempted to once again close the distance I said, “Just stop right there! What part of ‘not interested’ are you missing?”
“Kayla, I’ve told you before, this is what it’s going to take to…”
Cutting him off I jumped in, “Keep my soloist opportunities? That’s extortion, and harassment, and…”
His office door suddenly swung open as one of his teaching assistants came into the office. Not wanting to allow him the chance to chase off the grad student before I could make my escape, I shot out the door as quickly as I could, practically leaving a vapor trail in my wake.
Igor Stravinsky, Firebird Suite (1919) — Real Audio Format
http://mfile3.akamai.com/14122/rm/muze.download.akamai.com/2...
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Scott Joplin, The Entertainer
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/joplin-the-enterta...
Maple Leaf Rag
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/joplin-maple-leaf-...
Vince Guaraldi, Linus and Lucy
http://www.amazon.com/gp/music/wma-pop-up/B000ICLSMY001004/r...
Chick Corea, Monk’s Mood
http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,20116...
Thelonius Monk, Ask Me Now
http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,26039...
Bill Evans, Elsa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyyMM5mOK7I
Notes:
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“Come in, Kyle,” she bade me, moving out of the way so I could pass through the doorway and into her office. As I took a seat at the piano, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
I took several deep, cleansing breaths before responding, “I’ve just come from Dr. Wyler’s office.”
There was a flash of anger in her eyes, followed immediately by an overpowering sense of maternal protectiveness as she asked, “What happened?”
“Well, I went to rehearsal and as soon as it had ended he came up to me and pulled me toward his office.”
“No!” she gasped.
I could see in her eyes that she was on the verge of killing the good doctor at that moment, which was why I theatrically pulled the recorder from my pocket and waved it at her. When I did speak I said, “I might have enough here to do something about him.”
She took it from me and hooked it up to her laptop, where she downloaded the file and immediately started listening. There was a lot that had to be skipped over because I had recorded the rehearsal, but eventually she reached the part we were most concerned with.
When the audio clip ended, she sat there silent for a moment. Unsure what to make of that, I started to ask what she thought but was stopped by her statement, “That may just bring an end to this.”
“May?” I repeated, dumfounded by her apparent dismissal of what I had viewed as a slam dunk.
“There are a lot of loopholes that he may be able to manipulate to his advantage, but…” she allowed the thought to die, unspoken.
We then listened to the post rehearsal part of the recording once again, then she saved the file before closing her laptop, all without saying a word. It wasn’t until after she had closed her computer that she said, “You need to get this to the Dean ASAP.”
“Do you know if he’s in his office right now?” I asked. I hoped against all hope that he was, but wasn’t counting on it.
A phone call later I was on my way to the Dean’s office, recording in hand and hope in my heart. That hope however was short-lived as just before I reached the entrance to the Dean’s office I was intercepted by Dr. Wyler.
“Kyle, we need to finish our conversation,” he said with calmness in his voice that struck me as rather creepy.
“I can’t just now sir. I have an appointment with the Dean in just a few minutes,” I said, trying to maneuver past him and through the door.
“Ah, perhaps later then,” he said, a definite look of disappointment on his face.
A repeat of earlier narrowly avoided, I hurried straight to the secretary and said, “I have an appointment with Dean Thompson.”
“Name?” she asked without looking up.
“Kyle Bronson,” I replied.
She looked at the schedule and started to turn me away until she noticed a note lying next to the book telling her to show me directly in to his office as soon as I arrived. Reaching for the intercom, she buzzed his office and said, “Mr. Bronson is here.”
Crackling to life the response came from the speaker, “Send him in.”
She then looked up at me for the first time and said, “Through that door. No need to knock.” After that she simply returned to her previous tasks, whatever they were, ignoring me completely.
As I entered his office, Dean Thompson was on the phone and when he saw me enter he pointed to the chair sat opposite him and proceeded to wrap up his call. Once done, he looked at me and said, “So I understand you’re having a problem with Dr. Wyler?”
Feeling very uncomfortable, I replied, “Yes sir. He’s been harassing me sir, and I’d like to see what can be done to stop it.”
He looked at me silently for a moment before continuing, “You say harassing. In what way?”
I’m sure I turned about thirteen shades of red before I managed to squeak out, “Sexually, sir.”
“That’s a very serious charge, young man. I understand you have some evidence to back up this assertion?”
“Yes sir,” I simply said, then removed a CD on which we had burned a copy of the recording and handed it to him.
He took it without saying another word and put it into his laptop. He played through the exchange between the professor and myself several times, making mental notes as he went along.
Once done, he looked me in the eye and said, “I’m very sorry you’ve had to put up with this from someone on my faculty. I can guarantee it will not happen again.” With that he stood up from his seat and extended his hand to me, which I promptly shook. As he returned to his desk, I made my way back out of his office and started the trek home.
The apartment was empty, as I had expected, so after grabbing myself a soda from the fridge, I headed straight for my keyboard. I sat down and plopped the headphones on as I flipped on the power. As soon as it was booted up I began playing through everything I could think of, hoping that the music would help clear all the negative thoughts out of my head.
As is so often the case when I’m upset, I lost all sense of time as the music poured out of my fingers. I did eventually calm down, at which point I realized that Cindy was sitting with Sarah, looking at me with extremely concerned looks on their faces. Not knowing how long I’d been playing or they’d been there, I timidly removed the headphones and turned off the keyboard as I bashfully looked back and forth between the two of them.
Sarah quipped, “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to notice us.”
The embarrassment that had started showing itself when I realized they were there was amplified ten fold, as I’m sure was evidenced by the depth of my blush.
Once the glow from my cheeks began to subside, they both asked, “Are you all right?”
I gave them a half-hearted smile and said, “I think I am now.”
They bade me sit between them on the sofa and once there, Cindy was the first to speak, “What happened?”
I looked at her and let out a huge sigh before saying, “I got it.”
Both their eyes began to bug out before they managed to find their voices. This time it was Sarah who asked first, “What do you mean, you got it? You got the evidence?”
“Yes.”
Sounds of gleeful celebration filled the apartment, but it only took the girls a moment to realize that I was not among the celebrators. They quickly calmed down and returned all their attention to me in an effort to find out what was still bothering me.
“So what’s wrong, then?” asked Cindy.
Almost simultaneously, Sarah said, “You don’t seem all that happy. It’s over now, isn’t it?”
“Oh, believe me, I’m thrilled that it’s over. It’s just…” I couldn’t continue my thought as my voice caught in my throat.
“Just?” both girls asked together.
I sat silently for quite some time before finally replying, “Just that what happened…” Again, I couldn’t continue. Tears were rolling thickly down my cheeks as I tried to finish my thought. “It was very disturbing, getting the evidence.”
Both girls put their arms around me as the three of us sat there silently well into the night. At some point, we must have all fallen asleep sitting there, as the next thing I remember is trying to extricate myself from their grip so I could relieve myself without waking them.
With some difficulty I managed to escape their clutches and upon my return I found the two of them in a semi-awakened state. I said, “I think it’s time for bed, ladies.” Sarah started to stand up to leave, but before she could even begin the process of getting up I stopped her. “Sarah, since you’re so tired, why don’t you just sleep here on the couch tonight?”
If there was any part of her that considered arguing with me, I certainly didn’t notice it, as she merely smiled and lay down as soon as Cindy got up to head off to bed. I got out a blanket for her before following Cindy to bed. Apparently I was far more tired than I thought as well, since the moment my head hit the pillow I was bombarded by nightmares, most of which consisted of replays or permutations of the previous afternoon’s encounter with Dr. Wyler. With each one I found it more difficult falling back asleep until sometime around 2am, when I gave up and just stared at the ceiling thinking.
The longer I stared at that ceiling, the more my mind spun. I had a heck of a time getting my thoughts to settle in one place for long, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t focus well enough to reach some conclusions.
As so many subjects swirled around inside my head I found it nearly impossible o keep everything separate. The virtual pile of things I needed to think about grew, I found myself also thinking about Cindy and all the little things that I’d been ignoring but when thrown together
Considering my lack of sleep overnight it was probably a good thing we didn’t have anything planned Saturday morning, as somewhere around 6 o’clock sleep finally deemed to revisit me. By the time I woke up again the apartment was otherwise empty because the girls had gone shopping. I stumbled around, had a couple of cups of coffee, and generally did absolutely nothing other than take a shower and get dressed until sometime after noon when the phone rang.
When I answered it what I heard was a recording of the Beethoven concerto I was scheduled to perform with Dr. Wyler in just over a weeks time. My first thought was of someone from the orchestra playing a prank, so I hung up the phone little more than mildly amused. However, no sooner had my hand let go of the handset than it rang once again. Answering, it was once again that same recording.
Becoming irked, I hung up again and had barely taken two steps away from the phone’s base station when it once again began ringing. This time I ignored it and eventually the call rolled to voicemail. The ringing stopped for a few seconds, but then resumed as soon as whoever was doing this realized that I was letting it go to our voicemail.
Thus I spent a couple of hours Saturday afternoon listening to the phone constantly ringing. The longer it went on, the less certain I became that it was merely some prank by a college kid. The persistence with which they were carrying on with this little annoyance was forcing me to believe that I was dealing with something more sinister.
I did eventually just unplug the phone, which once I had my headphones on and was again practicing left me without any real distractions. Late that afternoon, Cindy and Sarah returned under the burden of numerous shopping bags to find me lost in my musical world with the phone still disconnected.
Not knowing what had been going on, Cindy plugged it back in only to find that the ringing began almost immediately. She answered it and heard the Beethoven recording then hung up, which immediately prompted it to ring again.
When I noticed that they had come in, I brought an end to my practicing. I could see that it was quickly starting to get to Cindy as it had me earlier, so I unplugged the phone once again to bring a halt to the calls.
“What the heck is going on here?” she asked as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
As I responded, I’m pretty sure she could see how red my eyes were from crying, “I wish I knew.”
Not realizing she was still present I nearly jumped when Sarah asked, “Is there something wrong?”
I turned toward her once I had again collected my wits and said, “Only if you consider someone constantly making prank calls to your home wrong.”
She looked first at me, then Cindy before commenting, “Is this just some sort of stupid prank, or…”
Knowing exactly where she was headed I jumped in, “Something more sinister? I don’t know, to tell you the truth. However, the persistence with which this has been going on is forcing me to think it’s more than just something done for a laugh.”
We all just looked at each other, wondering what to do next. Throughout the evening, none of us could prevent ourselves from just staring at the still unplugged telephone as if we expected it to burst back to life despite it not being hooked up. By the time Sarah left to go home I wasn’t certain which was worse, it ringing constantly or not ringing at all?
Every time I allowed myself a moment to think about it I became quite upset about the calls, as well as what we had to do to avoid them. So it was in that state of mind that we readied ourselves for bed.
Cindy and I lay there staring at the ceiling, neither of us saying a word, for the better part of an hour before I finally had had enough and got up, hoping that my absence would allow Cindy to fall asleep.
As so often happens, I found myself being pulled to the keyboard. I sat in that most familiar of places and before I was aware of anything, found myself headphoned and playing once again.
My mind began to wander as my fingers found their way across the keys. I wasn’t even sure what I was playing as my thoughts flitted from topic to topic without lighting anywhere in particular. Eventually things inside my head slowed down and I was able to focus on specific subjects.
I couldn’t keep from wondering just what was going to happen with Dr. Wyler. Not that I cared what happened to the creep, but if he remained in his post as conductor, how could I possibly continue with the schedule of performances that were planned? The idea of working with that man made my skin crawl.
Then the thought that perhaps he was the one who had been making the prank calls struck me. Of course, I dismissed that idea almost as quickly as it had sprung to life, as I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he would do such a thing.
As seemed to happen every time I allowed my mind free reign, I started thinking about Cindy. There were still so many things that seemed contradictory in what she said and did, to the point that I found I was confused much of the time. I’m sure there are those who would tell me this was normal, but to me it felt like anything but.
On the one hand she has encouraged my dressing, taking me shopping to buy my own feminine things as well as showing me how to take care of my nails. Conversely, she seemed to put up a fight whenever I gave in to the pull of those feminine things, going so far as to start arguments whenever I crossed an imaginary line she seemed to arbitrarily draw. It was all enough to make my head swim. Maybe I was better off not trying to understand?
I had never questioned that she was as committed to our relationship as I, until the memory flashed through my mind of her laughing and flirting with her old boyfriend at that New Years Eve party. Then as I recalled all the times since that I would return home to find her hurriedly trying to get off the phone before I caught her, my heart began to fill with doubt.
Could there be anything going on? Could I have been wrong about her all this time? I forced myself to push those thoughts out of my mind as I continued to play.
Eventually my mind slowed down and I guess I drifted off to sleep, as the next thing I remembered was waking up with my head lying on my keyboard. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but since it was still dark I stumbled my way back to bed. Luckily, it didn’t take too long for sleep to revisit me.
Apparently I had forgotten to take off my bra and panties before I climbed back in bed, which I discovered when Cindy woke me up. Fortunately, for once Cindy overlooked this and simply told me to get up because we were going shopping.
I quickly pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans, not even taking the time to remove my feminine articles. As I stuffed my feet into my shoes Cindy was doing the same thing and just as we were heading for the door, in walked Sarah.
“Ready, guys?” she asked as we passed her in our entryway and headed straight through the door into the hallway.
Cindy did respond as I pulled the door closed behind us, making sure it was locked, “For a sale? Need you ask?”
Both the girls started giggling as we made our way to Sarah’s car, and even I found myself joining in the silliness as we pulled out of the parking lot on our way to the mall.
Shopping was never one of my favorite pastimes, but hanging out with Cindy and Sarah was, so I tended to go along when they went on one of their shopping days. Of course, frequently when I went along I managed to pick up a piece or two of lingerie for myself, so I rarely complained.
None of us had seen anything that jumped out and screamed ‘Buy me!’ until we wandered into the women’s department of Macy’s. I found a blouse that looked a lot like a shirt from Mozart’s time, which I bought intending to wear it with my tux for performances. It was frilly and over the top, and I loved it.
For reasons unknown to me I felt myself being drawn toward this display with a beautiful silk nightie on a mannequin. I stared transfixed for a couple of moments until Sarah noticed and came over beside me.
“You like that, don’t you?” she asked, not doubting the answer in the least.
Cindy noticed as well, “You really like that?” she asked me.
All I could do was stare at it, which apparently told the girls all they really needed to know. It wasn’t hard to see that while Cindy was rather upset by this turn of events, she had no intention of doing or saying anything that might dissuade me from getting something I wanted. Without saying another word, she went to the racks, found that particular nightie in my size, and headed straight for the counter.
And so it was that we made the trip home with me being the only one to have purchased anything all day. After returning home, we all sat with a glass of iced tea and tried to carry on a normal conversation, though without much luck.
Through much of the evening Cindy remained quiet and distant, speaking only when spoken to and then mostly in monosyllabic responses. Sarah and I did try to engage her in more meaningful conversation, but to no avail. I had a pretty good idea what the problem was, but had no idea how to resolve it without one of us being forced to give in to the other’s desires.
At one point in the evening we wondered if it was safe to reconnect the phone, but it only took a few seconds to determine that it still wasn’t. So after Sarah went home, we retired for the evening with the telephone once again unhooked.
I know Cindy could feel my desire to wear my new purchase to bed, just as I could feel the sadness she felt in response. After looking at each other for a few moments, neither one certain what to do, I succumbed and slipped the silky concoction over my head and let it slip down my body. The electric sensations that ran through my body at the touch of that fabric momentarily shielded me from seeing the wave of fear that shot through Cindy at that moment.
When I finally reconnected with my surroundings, I became aware once again of just how much the simple act of wearing an article of clothing seemed to hurt the woman I loved and immediately started to remove the nightie.
Before I could pull it up over my head, Cindy said, “No, don’t.”
“But you obviously don’t…”
“Wear it, all right?”
“But…”
“It’ll be fine. It just took me a moment.”
She tried her best to disguise her sadness and although her efforts were largely unsuccessful, the forcefulness with which she had implored me not remove it spoke volumes for her love for me. At that moment I nearly vowed never to don another piece of girls’ clothing, but for reasons I couldn’t pretend to understand stopped short of voicing that promise.
As we climbed into bed, I was struck by the fact that we were wearing nearly matching nighties. I giggled at the thought, which apparently made Cindy notice the same thing and she joined me in my silliness. When we finally settled back down we turned out the bedside lamp and snuggled together, both falling asleep quickly.
I awoke early Monday morning feeling more refreshed than I had in what felt like ages. Not wanting to rouse Cindy so early, I laid there watching her sleep until she woke up on her own.
My first order of business once we were up was to call the phone company and change our number to an unlisted one. Fortunately I didn’t have to go into any details as to why we wanted to make the change, as I really didn’t want to have to explain what was going on to anyone.
We went about our morning routines with little more than perfunctory conversation and as we left for our classes, I couldn’t help but feel at least a little concerned by that fact.
It wasn’t until I entered the performing arts center that it occurred to me that I hoped I wouldn’t run into Dr. Wyler. That seemed like a bit of hopeful thinking, since over the course of the day I had to pass by his office door no less than three times, but somehow every time I wandered past not only was his door closed but his message box, which was mounted to the door, was stuffed full of phone messages which by the time of orchestra rehearsal that afternoon had still been untouched.
I wasn’t brave enough to stick my head into the rehearsal, but did hang out in the student lounge waiting to see if any of the ensemble members were talking about our beloved conductor. Less than an hour into rehearsal, a couple of percussionists wandered in, talking about the rehearsal they had just left.
The first commented, “Dude, how weird was that?”
His cohort responded, “Yeah, but cool, if you ask me.”
“I wonder how long he’ll be gone?” the first asked as he got a soda out of the vending machine.
As the other pulled a bag of potato chips out of another machine he replied, “Hope it’s a long time.”
As they headed back to the rehearsal hall, I could resist my curiosity no longer and had to follow. When I opened the soundproof door to enter the large room my ears were blasted with a wall of sound, which prompted me to look toward the podium. To my surprise I saw not Dr. Wyler, but Dr. Parkinson from the Civic Orchestra leading the ensemble through their paces.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Franz Liszt, Piano Concerto No.1 in E flat Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-1-2-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/liszt-pc1-3-4-hu.mp3
Frederic Chopin, 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...
Sergei Rachmaninov, 2nd Sonata in Bb minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-1-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-2-g...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/rachmaninov-36-3-g...
Frederic Chopin Concert Etudes, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-3-grant.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-4-sinadi...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-5-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-6-stahlb...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-9-kingma...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-11-levin...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-12-kingm...
Frederic Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 in F minor, Opus 21
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-1-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-2-odoan.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-21-3-odoan.mp3
Johann Sebastian Bach, Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D minor, BWV 1052
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-1-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-2-set...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/bach-bwv1052-3-set...
Scott Joplin, The Entertainer
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/joplin-the-enterta...
Maple Leaf Rag
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/joplin-maple-leaf-...
Vince Guaraldi, Linus and Lucy
http://www.amazon.com/gp/music/wma-pop-up/B000ICLSMY001004/r...
Chick Corea, Monk’s Mood
http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,20116...
Thelonius Monk, Ask Me Now
http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/player/0,,26039...
Bill Evans, Elsa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyyMM5mOK7I
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I was nervous all right, just not for the reason he thought. The prank calls continued until we had our number changed, then whoever it was decided to step things up. Our mailbox began being flooded with CD’s of Beethoven, then the notes started.
First they said simply, ‘Good Luck,’ but as the week wore on the sender gave himself away as he added, ‘Kayla’. So finally I knew who had been harassing me this past week…Dr. Wyler. Somehow that knowledge did nothing to calm my fears.
When that first note showed up I had given in and contacted the campus police, who asked that I keep them in the loop should anything else show up. While not really doing much to ease my fears, at least I felt like I had done something toward the end of bringing an end to the harassment.
Of course, Dr. Parkinson knew nothing of all that, so as far as he was concerned I was merely nervous about the impending performance. I decided it was best to simply let him continue to believe that, so when I replied to his question I merely said, “I always get a bit of nerves just before I go on. I’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure him.
The concert began and as I stood alone backstage waiting for my cue to enter, my mind swirled. I thought of the notes and the audacity of their author. I thought of my clothing; the bra and panties, camisole, and the beautiful blouse that so looked like one Beethoven himself might have worn on stage. Yes, it was rather flamboyant, but I was a soloist after all; an artist of whom a certain amount of flamboyance and eccentricity was expected. At least that’s what I was telling myself. Unfortunately, the pleasant thoughts couldn’t drown out the awful and were eventually brushed aside so Dr Wyler once again dominated my thoughts.
When the time came for my performance the lights backstage flashed twice to let me know when to enter. I was greeted by an ovation that was completely unexpected…in a good way. I took a bow and then turned to sit at the piano.
As I looked down at the keyboard I spied a small note lying there. That note said ‘Good Luck, Kayla.’
I blanched momentarily before regaining my composure, then I discreetly picked up the note and stuffed it into one of my jacket pockets as I took my seat behind the keyboard. I closed my eyes to clear all non-musical thoughts from my mind before turning to Dr. Parkinson to signal him I was ready to begin.
As I started to play all the emotions that had been swirling around inside of me poured through my fingers into the piano…all the love, hate, fear…was there in each note. In a most uncharacteristic turn, I was actually able to ignore all the little mistakes I made, allowing me to focus completely on making my performance as expressive as possible. This felt like a huge step in my development as I thought back to performances where I couldn’t even remember playing. It seemed I was maturing as an artist and that fact made me proud of myself.
All was not well with the world, however. Whenever I would least expect it, the memories of Dr. Wyler and everything that had happened between us kept flooding back. I did manage to keep my composure and continued to play to the best of my ability, but underneath the confidant outer me those memories waited for their opportunity to jump up and take hold of me.
I also found myself rehashing everything that had been going on with Cindy of late. All the inner conflict, the questioning, and doubts ran unchecked through my mind.
When we first had our difficulties, I truly believed I couldn’t live without Cindy. The knowledge that such was not the case didn’t really do anything to make me feel better. To the contrary, it added worrying about our future together to the growing list of things keeping my conscious mind occupied so my subconscious could have free reign over my fingers.
I managed to persevere in the face of all that, and as my performance neared its end I couldn’t help but feel more than satisfied with what the audience was hearing. As I played the final notes of the concerto, I felt myself begin to wilt from the emotional drain I’d just put myself through. I started gulping air like as if I’d been held underwater and with each breath felt the tiniest bit of my strength begin to return.
Apparently the audience agreed with my assessment, as they cheered enthusiastically once the piece was over. It felt wonderful to receive such effusive acknowledgement for my performance and with each passing second I could feel myself being reinvigorated by the applause. I actually had to make two curtain calls before the crowd allowed the orchestra to move on to their closing selection, the Firebird.
Once I was safely ensconced backstage, the stage manager came up to me with a number of notes offering congratulations from various members of the faculty, as well as a solitary rose, which he said had been delivered backstage during my performance. I took it warily, wondering who it could be from but hoping it was from Cindy.
Unfortunately, when I looked at the attached note it quelled any thoughts of it being anything as pleasant as that. To my horror, the note said, ‘Congratulations, Kayla’. I threw the rose into the first trashcan I could find and made my way to the exit as quickly as I could.
As I paced up and down the hallway that bordered the concert hall, I wracked my brain trying to figure out if there was anything I might have said or done which could have inadvertently encouraged the old perv. Try as I might, I could come up with nothing. One positive to my trip to the hall was I finally had managed to calm my nerves and by the time the orchestra was concluding the Stravinsky, I had managed to regain some semblance of control over my emotions so I re-entered the backstage area.
I congratulated each member of the ensemble as they came past me while leaving the stage area and when Dr. Parkinson came up to me the first thing we did was offer each other our hands in celebration of a job well done.
“I’m really looking forward to the rest of the performances we have scheduled together, Kyle,” he said as we shook hands.
“So am I, sir,” I replied. “It was a lot of fun working with you this week.”
“Well, I hope you still think that way by the end of the semester,” he chuckled.
We then parted company as he was swept away in a sea of students. Once they had cleared out of the way I headed back into the hall, where I ran into Cindy and Sarah. One of them seemed thrilled to see me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Cindy.
Sarah spoke first, “Great performance, Kyle!”
“Thanks.”
Cindy halfheartedly added, “It was lovely, Kyle.”
The chill emanating from her was a bit intimidating, but trying to ignore it I responded, “Thanks guys.”
I made an attempt to give Cindy a hug, but found it greeted with complete indifference. In as low a voice as would allow conversation in the noisy hallway I asked, “What’s wrong?”
She looked at me blankly for a split second before plastering a completely fake smile on her face and replying, “Nothing.”
Deciding not to press the issue any further at that moment, I suggested, “Why don’t we get out of here?”
Sarah, trying her hardest to help me responded, “Sure. It is rather boisterous here at the moment.”
She and I took Cindy’s arms and led her toward the exit. Not a word was said all the way out of the building, or the several blocks we walked to our apartment building.
Unable to control my emotions any longer, I asked, “Okay, so what’s wrong?”
“Not here,” was the only response I got from Cindy. Sarah gave me the most sympathetic look I had ever seen and we continued leading Cindy into the building and back to our apartment.
Once in our living room, Cindy began, “I don’t know if I can take this anymore.”
“Take what?” I asked, immediately receiving an icy stare from Cindy.
When she finally responded, she said, “Any of it. The dressing up, the crap with that pervert, the feeling like no matter what I do, I’ll never be anything more than second in your life. Any of it.”
Stunned, I stared blankly back at her. Sensing that I was floundering, Sarah jumped in, “Have you tried to talk about any of this?”
“Of course I have, but he won’t hear it.”
Angered I jumped in, “That’s not true. I always listen. You may not always like my response, but…”
“I don’t know that that’s helping,” Sarah butted in. Feeling chastised, I shifted my focus from Cindy to Sarah and back.
Starting to cry Cindy said, “I just feel like you don’t care about my feelings. You don’t take time to think about me at all. You just make decisions based on what you want and ignore what I might want.”
Quietly I asked, “Is that how you really feel?”
In between sniffled she responded, “Yes, it is.”
Feeling completely defeated, I slumped down into a chair and stared blankly in Cindy’s general direction.
Sarah started to leave and when I noticed her moving toward the door I said, “Please don’t go.”
This added to Cindy’s fire as she spat, “Why not Kyle? Why don’t you want her to leave? Maybe she’s the one you really want?”
I felt like I’d just been slugged in the gut by the heavyweight champ. Sarah saw this and started toward me before stopping and saying, “I don’t want to come between you two. I’ll go.” Without another word from anyone, Sarah left our apartment, leaving behind a deafening silence.
Cindy went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I took this as meaning I wasn’t welcome in the bed, so I stripped down to my panties, found a blanket, and lay down on the couch.
I don’t know how long I laid there unable to sleep, but I must have rehashed the evening’s exchange at least a million times before finally drifting off. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there.
What little sleep I did get was peppered with dreams of yet more confrontations with Dr. Wyler. I would wake up from one and no sooner had I fallen back to sleep than another would start. By the time I’d given up on the idea of sleeping any longer, both the couch and blanket were soaked with perspiration.
When I decided it wasn’t worth dealing with yet another nightmare, I went into the bedroom as quietly as I could to get some clothes, trying along the way not to wake Cindy. That mission successful, I went back out to the living room and dressed before thumbing through the sheet music books on my selves in search of something to take my mind off of everything.
“This looks like just the thing,” I said to myself as I selected the book. Taking it to the keyboard, I turned it on and slipped the oh so familiar headphones over my ears, then opened the book and began sight reading JS Bach’s Two Part Inventions.
Playing them had a numbing effect on me, as by the end I was feeling much calmer than before. I continued on by going through the Three Part Inventions as well, though admittedly with somewhat less success sight-reading as they’re quite a bit more difficult.
I was deep into my own space when Cindy came into the living room, dressed and carrying her suitcase. I don’t know how long she was there before I noticed, but I stopped playing and removed the headphones as soon as I did.
“Typical,” she said, a disgusted look crossing her face. She turned to leave, with me jumping to my feet to follow.
Near the door, she stopped to face me and said, “I’ll be back later for the rest of my things.”
She took the engagement ring off her finger and gently placed it in my hand. As she opened the door and left I heard a tearful, “Sorry.” She pulled the door closed behind her, leaving me there staring at the ring in my hand.
I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I eventually wound up sitting on the couch still staring at the ring in my hand, though I have no idea how or when I got there. Strangely, I really wasn’t as distraught as I would have thought. I was mostly just numb.
I don’t know what time it was when I finally came out of my semi-catatonic state, but when I did I wandered into the kitchen where I saw a note from Cindy stuck to the refrigerator. She must have put it there while I was off in my own little world earlier.
Kyle,
Believe me when I say I really do love you, but I need to be more important to someone I love than you can let me be. I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you needed me to be.
I hope you can find some happiness.
Love,
Cindy
I re-read that note at least a hundred times before I managed to tear myself away from it. When I did I felt myself being drawn toward the keyboard. Still numb, I found my way back to my music library and selected a book at random. Without even looking to see what it was, I sat back at my keyboard, opened the book, and started playing.
As strains of Debussy filled my ears and heart, the tears began to trickle down my cheeks. Each note seemed to tug at a different part of me, until I felt almost as if I were being torn apart from the inside. How I managed to read the sheet music in that state I don’t know, but somehow I did.
The tears continued as I played my way through the entire book, until I was nearly falling asleep while playing. I succumbed to the call of my bed, but not before I changed into my nightie. I slept a dreamless sleep for the first time in weeks, but awoke feeling anything but refreshed.
When I arose, my first order of business was coffee. On my way to the kitchen to tend to that pressing need I spotted something strange by the front door. Upon further investigation, it turned out to be a small bust of Beethoven with the head broken off from the shoulders. I had no idea how it got there.
At that moment I was consumed by fear and anger, directed at the only person I could think of who would do such a thing…Dr. Wyler. I called the campus police to report this latest development, then called my only friend in the world…Sarah.
The phone rang several times before she answered, “Hello?”
“Sarah, it’s Kyle.”
My distress must have been evident in my voice, because she responded, “What’s wrong?”
I sighed deeply and said, “Where do I begin? Cindy moved out yesterday, and then this…”
She cut me off, “She what? What happened?”
“If I knew the answer to that one, things might be different. But that’s not all. When I got up this morning, I found a broken statue in my entryway. It’s a bust of Beethoven with the head broken off. It has to be him.”
“What have you done?”
“I called the campus police. They should be here in a few minutes, so I’d best get changed before they arrive.”
“I’ll be over in five minutes.” The line clicked, followed by silence.
I quickly ran to the bedroom and changed out of my nightie and into a t-shirt and jeans. Just as I was buttoning my fly there was a knock on my door.
When I opened it, two officers stood there waiting for me. “Sir, you called?” said the taller of the two.
“Yes. It’s about an ongoing investigation. This morning I found this lying here,” indicating the broken statue. “I don’t know how it wound up here, because it wasn’t there when I went to bed.”
Just then Sarah came through the door, walking straight to me and grabbing me in a hug that surprised me. When she released me, she asked, “Are you all right?”
“Officer, this is my friend Sarah.”
“Ma’am,” the shorter one greeted her.
“Good morning, officer,” she responded. She then turned her attention back to me and asked, “Did you tell them about the note?”
“What note?” asked the taller officer.
I gave her a perturbed look which I hoped conveyed the fact that I really didn’t intend to tell them before returning to the officer and saying, “A couple of nights ago I was appearing with the orchestra and when I went out on stage there was this note.” I retrieved the note from my jacket pocket and grudgingly handed it over.
He looked at it for a moment before handing it to his companion and asking, “Kayla? So this note wasn’t even intended for you?”
“Actually, it was. That’s what Dr. Wyler has always called me, for some reason.”
They both smirked before placing the note in an evidence bag. The shorter officer added, “We probably won’t be able to get anything useful from it, but it can’t hurt to check.”
As they turned to leave the taller officer added, “If we do come up with anything, we’ll let you know. If anything more turns up, please give me a call.” He handed me a business card, then they left my apartment.
We watched as the door was pulled closed behind them before I said to Sarah, “Thanks for coming over.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You should know that by now.”
“Yeah, well thanks anyway.” We went into the living room and took a seat on the couch. A silence settled over us, but oddly it wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
She finally broke the quiet asking, “So what happened with Cindy?”
I looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before responding, “You know, maybe this is just how things were supposed to happen between us. A couple of months ago I thought I couldn’t live without her in my life, but now…” I let the unfinished thought hang in the air to ferment.
Sarah put her arm around my shoulder to provide me some comfort, not saying a word. That simple act did more to make me feel better than any words possibly could have. I felt myself melt into her and as I did so all the stresses, which had been tearing at me melted away as well.
Once I’d managed to calm down I whispered, “Sarah?”
“Hmm?” she softly replied.
“Thanks.”
She softly rubbed my arm in reply. After a moment she said, “There’s nothing to thank me for.”
Eventually, she began to softly giggle. I asked, “What?”
“This is so Will and Grace.”
I joined in and after a while we were both laughing heartily, the problems that had so plagued me a mere moments before forgotten, at least temporarily.
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
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Igor Stravinsky, Firebird Suite (1919) — Real Audio Format
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Johan Sebastian Bach, 15 Two Part Inventions, BWV 772-786
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Johan Sebastian Bach, 15 Three Part Inventions (Sinfonias), BWV 787-801
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Claude Debussy, 2 Arabesques (1891)
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Claude Debussy, Preludes, livre 1
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Claude Debussy, Preludes, livre 2
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It had been my first time working with the Civic Orchestra and luckily I was going to be playing very familiar works…the Mozart and Beethoven concerti. We had managed a full run-through of the entire program and things went very smoothly, if I do say so myself. It probably didn’t hurt that Dr. Parkinson was quite familiar with my take on the Beethoven himself, given that he’d just recently conducted it with me at the conservatory.
The afternoon rehearsal with the school orchestra wasn’t quite as smooth, however. We were working on the Prokofiev and although I knew it quite well and had a clear idea of what I wanted to do with it, much of the ensemble was still struggling with it. I daresay Dr. Parkinson was at least as frustrated as I was by the end of the rehearsal, but fortunately no tempers flared.
So as I walked in the darkness my mind sped away in a million directions all at once, rehashing the goings on…both good and bad…of the past week. At one point the only thing that kept me from giving in to utter exhaustion was the fact that I was freezing. I suppose that’s what comes of not taking the time to acquire a proper winter coat.
I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see the lobby of my apartment building as I was at that moment. I stepped in the door and basked in the warmth as I made my way toward the elevator. By the time I’d reached my floor, I’d even managed to thaw a bit.
When I opened the door to my place, the chill that I’d just now rid myself of rushed back and I shivered all the way down to the bone. I never pretended to be a good housekeeper, but the sight that greeted me was beyond anything I could have even imagined.
Books and clothes were thrown everywhere, pillows and cushions had been slashed, and even my keyboard had been smashed by a bowling ball I didn’t even know I had.
As I was reaching for the phone to call the campus police I spied a note that read, ‘This isn’t over, Kayla.’ That chill I had mentioned went through the bone and was scratching at my soul.
I called the police and once I knew they were on their way I called Sarah. The phone rang several times before someone finally answered.
“Hello?” came a voice I thought belonged to Jen, Sarah’s roommate.
I took a stab and said, “Jen? Is Sarah around? It’s Kyle.”
“Yeah, hang on.” She took the handset away from her face and started walking toward Sarah’s room.
After a bit of muffled noises Sarah spoke, “Kyle? What’s wrong?”
“He did it again, only this time he trashed the apartment. The police are on the way but I wanted to let you know.”
In a very forceful voice she said, “Get a bag packed with stuff to get you by for a few days. I’ll be there in a few minutes to pick you up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You can’t stay there while that pervert is running wild. Come stay with us for a few days, until they can catch the guy, okay?”
Reluctantly I agreed to go with her, so until the police showed up I was gathering clothes and necessities, and shoving them into a bag. The cops took a statement as well as a few pictures of the vandalism, then left me to my own thoughts and fears.
A few minutes later Sarah came running in all out of breath. Once she had her breathing back under control she asked, “Ready?”
I lifted my overstuffed bag and replied, “I suppose so.”
“Hey, it’s only temporary.”
“I know, but that doesn’t make it any more palatable.” She led me out the door, stopping so I could lock up…not that that had been doing me much good.
I followed her down through the lobby and out to her waiting car, with Jen behind the wheel. As I started to get in Jen said, “Hey, roomie.” Looking at her a bit strangely I climbed into the back seat and before the doors were even closed, we were under way.
After giving me a few moments to collect my thoughts, the questioning began. Sarah was first, “What can be done about this guy?”
“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. The police don’t seem able to stop him, that’s for sure.”
“So tell me what the note said this time?”
“This isn’t over, Kayla,” I uttered, feeling nausea grip me as I said the words.
Jen, who up to that point had been silent since I got in the car asked, “You know, there are other ways to deal with things.”
Sarah quickly jumped in, “No! Nothing good ever comes of that!”
Confused I asked, “What?”
Sarah answered before Jen had a chance, “Nothing. Forget all about it.”
“All about what?”
“Just forget it.”
Once in the house Jen said, “It’s not much, but the couch is yours as long as you need it.” She then gave me a hug and retired to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Sarah and I sat on the couch, at which point I asked, “So what was that all about in the car?”
She sighed before responding, “Jill was beaten pretty severely once and Jen took it upon herself to exact revenge on the guys who did it.”
“How so?”
“She had some friends do to the culprits exactly what they’d done to my Jill.”
I didn’t have to think about it too long before I said, “Even if that were an option, I couldn’t do that.”
“I know. That’s why I cut her off before she brought it up.”
“Fair enough,” I responded. After a moment or two of silence I asked, “So Jen is…?”
“Jill’s sister. This was their house, and after Jill died Jen gave me Jill’s half. She’s closer to me than my real family ever thought about being.”
I could see this line of questioning was really bothering her, as she was beginning to tear up. Hoping it would help her avoid losing it completely, I quickly changed subjects. “What do you think is going to happen with Cindy?”
She looked at me thoughtfully and replied, “I don’t know. The only one who knows for sure is Cindy herself and I’m doubtful that even she knows what she’s going to do. That’s not exactly the answer you were looking for, is it?”
“No, but I didn’t expect anything else. I know she’s felt kind of ignored a lot of the time and I’m sorry for that. I’ve been extremely focused on my playing. I know that. I don’t know if she understands just how important all this is to me. Maybe she doesn’t even care?”
“Trust me when I say she knows and cares. It’s just been hard for her to adjust. You must admit that you’ve been pretty single minded. Try to put yourself in her shoes for a minute.”
I thought about it for a bit before responding, “I get it. I really do, but I feel like the only solutions available to me involve choosing one or the other.”
“Maybe…” she started before stopping mid-sentence.
“All I’ve ever wanted to do was be a concert pianist, for as long as I can remember. Now here I am on the verge of realizing that dream. I need this like I need air to breathe. Does that make sense?”
Sarah responded, “Believe me, I understand exactly what you are saying. The problem is in trying to find a balance so you can still have time for her, if that’s what you want.”
“I do want her in my life. I love her. I just don’t know if I can change the way I’m doing things. I’m not sure I would want to change it.”
“Even if that meant ending your relationship with Cindy?”
I thought about that for a second before I said, “Even if.”
“Well then, I guess the only thing you can do is wait and see if she decides you’re important enough to her to put up with not being the center of your world.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“I know, but that’s what it boils down to really.”
A rather uncomfortable silence settled over us before in an attempt to lighten the mood I said, “You know, I didn’t like you much when we first met.”
“I kind of suspected that. I can’t tell you how glad I am we got past that.”
“Now, I’d have to say you’re my best friend. How weird is that?”
“Not weird at all. A bit unusual maybe, but…”
I cut her off, “But certainly not the weirdest thing going on in my life. That’s for sure,” I began to chuckle, quickly joined by Sarah.
I forced a yawn and said, “Wow! Would you look at the time? Maybe we should try to get some sleep?”
“Sounds like a good idea. I’ll just say goodnight then,” and with that Sarah got up and went to her room, leaving me to my thoughts. Without even undressing, I laid down on the couch and much to my surprise was out.
The next couple of days were pretty uneventful. I went to classes, had a lesson with Dr. Caroll, rehearsed with the orchestra, and slept on Sarah’s couch. It felt nice to not have so much turmoil in my life, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think it was just the calm before the storm.
On the third day of my ‘exile’ I decided to stop by the apartment to check on things and pick up some books and extra clothes. I knew something was wrong when I went to unlock the door and found it was already unlocked. I cautiously opened it and walked in to find that nothing major had changed from the previously ransacked condition.
Once I had checked the closets and knew that Cindy had been there to get more of her things I felt myself relax, despite the wave of sadness that flowed over me. Just as I decided to grab what I needed and go, my peace of mind was shattered by a voice saying, “So nice of you to join me.” The voice paused before adding, “Kayla.”
All the blood drained from my body at the sound of his voice. I wanted to run, to hide, but felt as if my feet were permanently attached to the floor. When I finally found my voice I stupidly asked, “What do you want?”
My question prompted a cackle that could only be described as insane. When his laughter subsided, Dr. Wyler said, “Don’t worry Kayla, your virtue’s safe with me…for now.”
I still wasn’t sure where the voice was coming from until he grabbed me from behind and forced me into a kitchen chair, where he proceeded to zip tie my hands and feet together so I couldn’t get away. He then pushed me into a chair that he had apparently moved into place before I knew what was happening.
When finally he came around in front of me, the man I saw bore little resemblance to the conductor I had so admired when I first met him. His hair was wild, he was unshaven, and worst of all his eyes shone pure evil. He was playing with a rather large knife, which he used to keep me from saying anything until he wanted me to speak by pushing the point up from under my chin just hard enough for me to feel it without drawing blood.
The ice in his voice when he spoke freaked me out as much as what he said next. “I thought we had something special, you and I. Then you go and make that recording and turn me in.” The point of the knife dug in just a tiny bit more until I thought it might have actually drawn blood.
“You realize you’ve destroyed my life. Now, how could you possibly make something like that up to me, Kayla?” he withdrew the knife and I felt a trickle of blood go down my neck.
In a shaky voice that betrayed my fear I asked, “What do you want me to do then?”
He once again laughed that evil cackle and looked me in the eye as if he were searching for my soul. He then said, “I want to destroy your life. Quid pro quo, as it were.” Again, the laugh sent shivers down my spine all the way to my toes.
He walked away for a moment leaving me with my thoughts before saying, “Wouldn’t want anyone just walking in while we’re having our chat, would we?”
He pulled me to my feet and made me hop into the living room, where he plopped me down on the sofa before seating himself on the other end. “It’s true that you had great potential as a pianist. But potential isn’t enough, Kayla. I could have helped your career a great deal, if only you’d played ball with me.”
I felt the urge to throw up, but managed this time to control it. Once the wave of nausea had passed I asked, “So you would expect me to submit to your personal desires in exchange for a little assistance in starting my career? That’s the very definition of sexual harassment.”
“Such an ugly term.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“Mentoring a young artist,” he said as what he may have thought passed for an angelic look crossed his face.
Unable to take it any longer, I blurted out, “That’s sick.”
The previous demonic visage once again descended over the doctor as he played with the knife in front of his face, turning it back and forth to allow the light to glint off the blade. He smiled and I felt my stomach drop.
Just then there was a knock at the door. Upon hearing it Dr. Wyler hissed, “Be quiet. Were you expecting anyone?”
Probably louder than I should have, I replied, “No. Nobody.” He gave me a small cut on the arm closest to him as punishment for being too loud.
Another knock at the door, followed by the sound of keys jingling and the door starting to open only to be stopped by the chain lock. A moment later there was a crashing sound as the door jam gave way and door banged open.
Just then Dr. Wyler lashed out with his knife and I felt something like a punch in my stomach. There was a mad rush of activity all around me with yelling from every direction before I passed out…
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Sergei Prokofiev, Piano Concerto No.1, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-1-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-2-arm...
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/prokofiev-10-3-arm...
Notes:
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As I opened my eyes once more the light wasn’t as bright, but it still seemed strange and I couldn’t quite place where I was. I had all these disjointed images floating through my head and as hard as I tried to make sense of them, it just wasn’t going to happen. Again sleep overtook me.
The third time I came to, I still wasn’t sure where I was. All I knew was that I seemed to hurt all over. The pain helped me focus my energy and I once again tried to listen for clues as to my location.
When I heard the intercom voice page a doctor I knew I was in a hospital, but what for? That’s when the nagging ache in my stomach overwhelmed the unfocused pain and I started to finally remember what had happened. I replayed the events in my mind as a way of gaining some sense of control. As I reconnected with reality, I finally noticed all the tubes that were attached to me.
So it wasn’t a nightmare after all? It really happened? Details of the altercation started returning to my memory slowly, but there were some bits of information that I was still lacking.
Who was it that came in and saved me? I would assume it was the police, but who knows? Maybe it didn’t really matter.
I tried to move my hand and that’s when I realized someone was holding it. I had to try several times to raise my head so I could see, but when I did I saw that it was Sarah sitting there with her head laid down on the side of the bed, asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, I then turned my attention to my other side.
Much to my delight Cindy was there, sitting in a chair asleep while holding my other hand. A feeling of warmth surged through me and I couldn’t help but smile. I then allowed myself to drift back asleep, still holding hands with my best friend and my love.
When next I awoke, a nurse was doing something with a machine beside me. She noticed I was awake and said, “I won’t be a minute, then your friends can come back in.” She made some notes in a folder and walked out of the room.
I must have lost consciousness again, because the next thing I remember is lying there with Cindy beside me, stroking my hand. I turned my head toward her and smiled. She responded with, “You’re awake. Thank God.”
A million questions swirled inside my head, but all I could get to come out of my mouth was, “How?”
She smiled at me and replied, “Sarah called me as soon as she heard what had happened. You’re looking a bit worse for wear, I must say.”
I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much so I stopped. When I felt I was able to put together a few words at one time I asked, “So is this what it takes to get you to come back?”
A veil of sadness descended on her face as she said, “Save your strength. We can talk about things later.”
When she said that, what little bit of hope that had sprung to life in my heart upon knowing she was there began to wilt. I don’t know for sure whether she noticed, but just before I went back to sleep I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks.
“Mr. Bronson, how are you feeling this morning?” the question jolted me out of my sleep. When I opened my eyes I saw a man standing there in surgical scrubs, looking at my chart and making notes.
“Everything seems to be progressing nicely. We’ll start getting you up and walking a little bit later today, but take it slow. No marathons for at least a week,” he laughed at his own joke.
The dazed look on my face must have finally sunk in, because next he introduced himself, “Sorry, I’m Dr. Long. I was the surgeon on call when you came in. You were a lucky young man, Mr. Bronson. Not everyone who suffers this sort of injury lives to tell the tale.”
I had a little difficulty finding my voice as my throat was so dry, but I managed, “Thanks, doc. I guess I owe you one.”
He patted my hand, gave the chart to the nurse who was accompanying him and left the room. For the first time since arriving I was alone and awake. I took advantage of the time to do some serious thinking.
What really was important to me? Was it my burgeoning career as a concert artist or my relationship with Cindy? It occurred to me that a lot was riding on the answer to that one, not only for me but her as well.
Before all this happened, I couldn’t understand the question. I was so obsessively focused on my playing that I failed to show Cindy any attention whatsoever. But now, it seemed I was finally figuring out that maybe my priorities were a little out of whack. The remaining question was, if it was too late to make it up to her?
Just then Cindy walked back into the room looking about as tired as I felt. As she approached me I couldn’t help but smile. I think I saw a smile on her face as well.
She reclaimed her seat beside my bed and said, “You’re looking a little better this morning. How are you feeling?”
“Better thanks. How are you holding up? I know you must be exhausted after spending all this time sitting here.”
“I’ll survive. What’s important is getting you better.”
My heart melted when she said that as I’m pretty sure she noticed, since she then smiled at me. I’d forgotten how that smile made me feel.
Deciding to pursue the course of action I had thought about before she came in I said, “I know that maybe it’s too little too late, but I’m sorry.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I know I’ve let myself kind of ignore you much of the time lately. I would love nothing more than to be able to make that up to you.”
She started to get a little misty-eyed, but looked away before it became full-fledged crying.
I wasn’t sure how to interpret her actions. At first I thought maybe she just didn’t want me to see her crying, but that couldn’t be it. We’d seen each other cry before and I couldn’t understand why she would try to hide it from me. That led to my mind running amok wondering what was going on.
The more I thought about it, the deeper I fell. I came to the realization that if a heart made a sound when sinking, mine would have made it hard to hear anything else at that moment. Cindy noticed this and started to cry more openly.
As I watched her I too started to cry. Through my tears I asked, “So is it too late?”
She looked at me with her eyes glistening and by way of response took my hand in hers and leaned over to kiss it. My heart, which mere moments before had fallen into the depths of despair, soared above the clouds as the joy exploded within me.
“There are still a couple of issues that need to be addressed,” I said trying to sound as serious as I could.
Her face clouded as she wracked her brain trying to figure out what I might be meaning. Seeing that I had her confused, which was my intent, I asked, “So will you be moving back in with me?”
The clouds parted and her face shone bright as she said, “Yes!”
“Good. Now, I guess I need to make this official. Will you marry me?”
She smiled so widely it nearly blinded me, then she raised her left hand to show me that the engagement ring was already back on her finger. Silently she stood up, moved in close, and bent over me. She kissed me gently, which set off fireworks inside my heart.
We were interrupted by the entrance of two gentlemen in suits who, as they walked toward us, held up badges indicating they were with the police department. The first one said, “Kyle Bronson? I’m Detective Sanders,” then indicating his associate, “and this is Detective Frost. Might we have a moment of your time?”
Cindy spoke before I had the chance, “He’s awfully tired. He’s been through a horrible ordeal. Can’t you give him a little peace?”
“Ma’am, we really only need a moment of his time and we promise we’ll be gentle.”
I found my voice and said, “It’s okay, Cin. Let them ask their questions.”
“Thank you sir. Now, how much do you remember of the attack?”
“More than I’d like, I can tell you that for sure.”
“Then I assume you’d have no trouble identifying your assailant?”
“I will never forget Dr. Wyler’s face, no matter how much I may wish I could.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bronson. That’s really all I needed for now.”
Cindy jumped in, “Wait a minute! What do you mean ‘all you needed for now’?”
Detective Frost, who up to that point had remained silent said, “The fact is, we have a signed confession from Dr. Wyler. However, our District Attorney likes to have all his ducks in a row so to speak, so he wanted to make sure if necessary we could count of you for testimony.”
I looked at each of them before responding, “I remember every second, up until he stabbed me and if it means putting him away I will repeat every detail for whoever needs to hear it.”
Detective Sanders then said, “Thank you for your time. If necessary, we’ll be in touch concerning any possible court appearances.” Then both gentlemen turned and left us once again alone.
Following the detectives’ departure we continued hashing things out. There were still a lot of things left to work out, but at least we knew we would continue to work on them.
When Sarah arrived later that day, she took one look at Cindy and myself and said, “I see the two of you have made up?”
“Looks that way,” Cindy said as she cracked another one of those blinding smiles.
“Thanks,” I said to Sarah.
“For what?” she asked, confused.
“For being such a good friend.”
She too smiled radiantly, leaving me wishing I had a good pair of sunglasses. We spent the remainder of the day talking about nothing in particular. It was possibly the best day we’d had in a long time.
Over the next couple of days I had a myriad of visitors, ranging from Dr. Caroll, who actually came by every evening on her way home from the school, to a few members of the orchestra who just wanted to let me know that they were all looking forward to my return. It all had a very warm and fuzzy feeling, making me feel more liked and appreciated than I had ever felt in my life.
The doctors eventually got me up and walking, saying that I needed to do it in order to regain my strength. On one of my first therapeutic strolls, Sarah was keeping me company, “So have you and Cindy talked about your dressing?”
“Not really. I know we need to, but the opportunity hasn’t really arisen yet.”
“Don’t put it off too long. This is an important factor in your relationship, like it or not.”
“I know. I’ve reached a point where whether or not I want to admit it, I need to dress more than just when I’m playing. I’m hoping we can figure out a way for it all to work out,” I said as I sighed.
I was really starting to slow down and Sarah noticed, “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?”
I took as deep a breath as I could without causing pain and said, “Yeah. Can we head back to the room?”
When we arrived at my hospital room, I had an unexpected visitor. “Kyle, it’s so good to see you up and about,” said Dr. Parkinson as he rushed over to help me back into bed.
“Thank you sir, you have no idea how good it feels to hear that. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“When my star soloist suffers injuries that threaten to postpone his much anticipated appearances, I take it upon myself to check up on him. So how are you feeling?”
“Still weak, but getting better, sir.”
“Have they told you anything about when you might be getting out of here? What about restrictions to activities?”
“Not really, though I’m starting to get a little antsy not having a piano to practice on,” I joked prompting a round of laughter from everyone in the room.
Before leaving, Dr. Parkinson assured me that should I not be out of the hospital in time my upcoming appearances could and would be rescheduled. I wasn’t really worried about that at the time, but it was good to know all the same.
Later that day I was again walking the halls, this time with Cindy in tow. “There is still something we need to talk about,” I said in as low a voice as could be audible.
“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?” she quipped.
“I’m serious.”
“Sirius died in the fifth book.”
I started to laugh but had to stop because of the pain it brought on. Once I had myself back under control I said, “No kidding around this time. We really do need to talk about this.”
“I know,” she replied.
“When we first met things were different. The clothes were just something to help me focus my thoughts away from the minutiae of playing so the music could flow better. But as time has passed I’ve reached a point where not only do I really like wearing them, I feel like I need to.”
“I won’t lie. This doesn’t thrill me, but I’ve done a lot of thinking the last few days. I’ve realized that what I’ve had a problem with in our relationship hasn’t been the dressing as much as it’s been the fact that you have been so self absorbed.”
“I know,” I said as I started to slow down due to exhaustion. “All I can do is promise to try not to let it happen. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try.”
She came around in front of me and stopped, causing me to stop as well. “I guess that’s all I can ask,” she said as she stepped closer to me and kissed me there in the corridor.
As she stepped back from the kiss she added, “Now, you are looking like you need to lay back down. Let’s get you to your room so you can rest.”
I must have been even more tired than I thought, because the next thing I knew my parents were sitting beside my bed patiently waiting for me to wake up. As I slowly achieved consciousness and recognized them I asked, “What are you guys doing here? Weren’t you on that trip you had talked about taking since I was like two?”
My mom was the first to respond, “I’m sorry we weren’t here sooner. We never should have decided to go to Australia. We got here as fast as we could. Are you okay?”
“A little tender still, but yeah.”
My dad then said, “You gave us quite a scare, young man.”
I looked at them and realized that they both appeared extremely tired. When I thought about it I could understand why, however that knowledge did nothing to dissuade my guilt at being the reason. As I was thinking about all of that, the only response I could come up with was, “I’m sorry.”
That did it. My mother burst into tears, quickly followed by Dad and myself. I don’t know how long we cried, but we didn’t stop until after we had run out of tissues.
Mom and Dad, joined by Cindy for much of the time, stayed with me all evening, right up until the nurses were physically threatening to have them all removed from my bedside. Suffice it to say by then I was completely exhausted and was probably asleep before they reached the parking garage.
Everyone was present at 8am the next morning when my doctor came in and started giving us all instructions about what to do in terms of wound care. I must have been the last to get the memo, because I was the only person even tempted to ask, “Does this mean I get to go home?”
The doctor looked at me as if I should already know the answer before with a twinkle in his eye he said, “Well, duh!” That prompted a peel of laughter all around the room, which momentarily stopped the home care instructions.
After covering everything from limitations to my activity to changing my wound dressings, I was released from my doctor’s care and sent on my merry way. On the way home it suddenly occurred to me that when last I saw it, our apartment was in a fairly severe state of disrepair. Understanding what I was thinking from the look on my face, Cindy tried to reassure me that all had been tended to. I hoped she was right.
As promised, everything was back in order around casa Bronson. Even, to my surprise and delight, my digital piano…or a reasonable facsimile. I made for the keyboard a bit like a junkie for his dealer, and much like that junkie I visibly relaxed as my fingers stroked the keys.
Once we were settled back in Mom and Dad decided to leave us alone for a while, much to my delight. Cindy and I retired to the bedroom so we could properly be reacquainted.
Later as I was practicing, sans headphones, Cindy interrupted me saying, “Kyle, there are still a couple of things we need to cover.”
Taking my cue, I lifted my hands from the keyboard and switched it off before joining her on the couch. Once settled in together I asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“If we’re going to make it, I need to know that I’m not second or third in your life. I’m not going to delude myself into thinking I can expect to be the clear number one in your life. I know your music is incredibly important to you. That’s your career after all. But if I’m going to have to always take a back seat to that and your dressing, then we’re not going to make it.”
I swallowed hard. I suspected this was coming, but that didn’t make it any less stressful being confronted. I looked meaningfully into her eyes before responding, “I didn’t realize I was forcing you to take a back seat before. I’m sorry. I promise you that won’t happen again and it won’t.”
She smiled and moved closer to give me a kiss. At that moment I couldn’t even remember what a piano was, let alone know how to play it. In other words, life was good.
Backstage was becoming a familiar place for me, but that didn’t mean I was immune to the nerves that played havoc with me just before I performed. Luckily, this time I had my secret weapon against nerves…Cindy. As we waited for my time to walk out on stage to perform the first of two concerti that evening, she held my hand and through that connection passed to me a sense of peace that I doubt I would have had on my own.
We listened as the Civic Orchestra was taken through it’s paces on first the Wagnerian concert staple “The Ride of the Valkyrie” and then the “Bolero” by Maurice Ravel. As we sat there listening I found it easier to ignore the butterflies, so I made a point of not thinking about what was to come.
Cindy seemed to understand what I was doing and simply sat there with me, holding my hand and looking at me. She did reach over every once in a while and act like she was straightening the ruffles on the front of my blouse, or checking to make sure the cuffs were just so. Mostly however she looked into my face and tried to send me all the love she could.
I found myself overcome by the moment during the Bolero and by it’s end had kissed each of her hands, her cheek, nose, and especially her lips enough times for it to seem almost indecent. I don’t think I had ever felt as close to her as I did at that moment. If I had ever had any questions about our love they were long gone.
As I walked out on stage I was overcome by the sheer intensity of the audience’s welcome. Many of them may have heard me play before, but I was sure they had all heard about what had happened between Dr. Wyler and myself. It almost felt like they wanted me to know that what he did would never be allowed again. There was a love in that concert hall that filled me with such warmth as I had never before experienced. I felt truly lucky.
Sitting at the piano, I allowed all the swirling emotions to flood my senses and, once I began playing, channel them into a performance that I hoped would be memorable enough to overshadow all the problems in everyone’s memories.
I knew right away that this rendition would bear little resemblance to my first performance of the work. That one was so full of pain and broken heartedness, but this one was filled with joy and love and peace. Perhaps not everyone would notice the difference, but for those that did I hoped this version would be the one they preferred. Even as I played it, I knew it would be for me.
Where before, being conscious of the bra straps and the silk and lace served as a distraction preventing me from derailing my performance, starting with that night it simply served as a comfort that allowed me to control my nerves. Where before, if I caught sight of the light glinting off of my manicured and polished fingernails it would have kept me from worrying about some minute detail of the performance, that night it simply looked right to me. That’s how I knew I truly was maturing as a musician.
As my thoughts wandered through the performance, it wasn’t all joy and light. The memory of my confrontations with Dr. Wyler forced their way to the surface letting their darkness color my playing with some of the pain I’d infused the piece with before. But even with that, there was still so much love pouring out of my heart as I played that it couldn’t be overshadowed by something as weak as bad memories.
I concluded the Mozart and was treated to an outpouring of appreciation that brought a tear to my eye. I’d heard audiences applaud my work before, but this was different. Before, I had always appeared as a student and had been treated as such. The crowds were appreciative, but this was different. Most of them were here specifically to hear me play. Not like at recitals at school, but simply because they wanted to hear what I could do.
It wouldn’t be right to say I felt obligated to acknowledge the audience, but I definitely felt as appreciative of them as they seemed to be of me. I had wanted to play my best regardless, but on that night in front of that audience, my desire to communicate through my music pushed me beyond anything I’d ever before accomplished. On that night, I began to understand the true power and nature of music.
When I rejoined Cindy backstage for intermission it was clear to see she’d been crying. “Why the tears?” I asked as I gave her a huge hug.
She returned the hug and replied, “It was just so beautiful.”
I gave her an additional squeeze, then eased the strength of the hug so I could kiss her. Maybe I wasn’t as discreet as I could have been, but the truth was I didn’t care who saw us. I was in love and I was enjoying the moment with the one I loved.
Following intermission, the orchestra reclaimed their positions on stage and once they were ready, I joined them to the sounds of an ovation that threatened to knock me over as I made my way to the piano once again.
As I took my seat, I couldn’t help but feel I was the luckiest guy in the world. I had a girl who loved me, plus the ability to touch other peoples’ souls merely by playing the piano. Put simply, life was good.
Dr. Parkinson mounted the podium and raised his baton, which brought the entire hall to silence. He looked at me and I at him in a way that communicated more than words ever could. Where Dr. Wyler had always had an undercurrent of lust in his gaze when he looked at me, Dr. Parkinson’s felt more like a parent watching his child. That look was not only one way, as I too felt like our relationship had taken on a parent/child dynamic.
With a subtle nod I signaled my readiness and watched as he raised his hands signaling to the ensemble that we were ready to begin. From the very first note, I felt a surge of emotions cascading from the orchestra. When I began playing I rode the wave, adding my own emotions to the surge. It washed over the audience as well and by the end of the concerto, everyone in the hall was emotionally exhausted.
I could barely stand up from the piano when the time came, from physical fatigue yes, but also from emotional exhaustion. The audience, the orchestra, and Dr. Parkinson felt the same thing as we all rose to our feet together in acknowledgement of the artistic moment we had all just participated in.
When I had once again made it backstage, Cindy was waiting for me with open arms. As the orchestra played the opening phrase of “Don Juan”, we quietly made our way to the stage door in search of a few moments alone.
That night as I drifted off to sleep I recalled the words of my theory professor, “There are no wrong notes, only passing tones.” I came to realize he was speaking as much about life as music. At that moment I vowed to live my life by that tidbit of wisdom.
There are no mistakes,
only passing tones.
Richard Wagner, The Ride of The Valkyrie
http://www.archive.org/audio/audio-details-db.php?collection...
Maurice Ravel, Bolero
http://www.amazon.com/gp/recsradio/radio/B00002MXMX/ref=pd_k...
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...
Ludwig von Beethoven, Concerto No.4 in G Major, Opus 58
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-1-hu.mp3
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/beethoven-58-2-3-h...
Richard Strauss, Don Juan
http://www.amazon.com/gp/recsradio/radio/B00000J7BR/ref=pd_k...
Notes:
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