Fred

Fred was my mystery. I would have loved Fred, did love Fred. I applied to him all qualities of good, even though I knew little about him.

Every class was another clue:

Nick is 71 years old, and stops playing when he gets frustrated, or tells the rest of us we aren't keeping good time when we go to fast for him. He is my duet partner. We were to meet at 6:30, but I was in a practice room, and he in the waiting room and he didn't find me until 7. His voice was annoyed on the phone message. I had looked for him, but not to hard, thinking he would look in the practice rooms, but not really caring;

Fred's color was better yesterday. He had gone to the gym, his young friend Nak said. Nak is Asian (Hawaiian? I thought Fred was Asian too) The teacher commented that Fred seemed to be looking thinner and having an easier time getting up and down from the piano;

The teacher has a son with a suspended license;

Louis has jumped ahead in the book to one of the harder pieces. His midterm solo will be a full page;

For the midterm, all the men have chosen the longest piece we have played so far;

I think mine is more complicated, but it is only two lines;

Lauren chose a shorter piece. She is very pretty.

The night of the recital, our teacher says that our first performer is dressing, and then Fred entered wearing a bowtie. He walked immediately to the piano and began picking notes. The class was used to this, because Fred usually sounded a few notes as he lowered his arthritic self to the bench. This time he really seemed to be launching into his piece, Ode to Joy. Wrong hand position Fred, called the teacher from the back. She shuffled forward to orient his hands correctly.

There was cake afterward. There was a group picture. Fred and his bowtie are in the middle.