A Puff at a Time BY PARSA LAJMIRI ‘22 “You’re late.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, Mr. Tarr, but I…”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t want to hear it! You’ve already wasted enough time. Take a seat and get out your Liszt étude.”
The boy sits on the piano bench.
The boy takes a seat on the cold piano bench, struggling to find his book in the mix of things. Ugh. I know I brought it. Damn. Damn! He pulls out the book but accidentally drops it under the piano. After reaching for the book, he glances up. Mr. Tarr disappeared. “Mr. Tarr?” he calls. “Mr. Tarr, I am ready. Mr. Tarr?” Ugh, every time! Where is he? Our lesson time is running out. Well, not like it matters. He wastes the whole lesson performing his Yelling Études. Hopefully that cigarette he’s probably having shows him a thing or two. Mr. Tarr still hasn’t returned after five minutes, so the boy heads out back to the patio. He sees Mr. Tarr’s husband, Jim, gardening.
“Well…what do you want to play first?” “What should I play?” “Just take out a damn book.” Ugh! I didn’t practice my Starer. Calm down…calm down…he never asks me to perform that in the lesson. “You know what, why don’t you take out your Starer. I am in the mood to hear some of your rhythmic-deficient clapping and counting. You practiced it, right?” “Yeah. Yeah.” The boy takes out his book. “It was exercise number…85?” “86.” “Oh, yeah, yeah. 86. I forgot for a sec.”
“Mr. Tarr, I’m ready. Mr. Tarr, where are you?”
“Yeah, now start damn it.”
Oh god, did I wish him dead? Did that cigarette kill him? Wait, no, no, that’s impossible. I didn’t do it. I didn’t. He’s in the 30-year club for those cancer sticks. It wouldn’t be my fault anyways. Oh, maybe a new teacher is being godsent to me…
The boy begins clapping and counting the exercise.
“What are you doing there, kid?” “Nothing…nothing, Jim.” “If you are looking for Mr. Tarr, he’s somewhere being a pain in the ass. Aren’t I good with directions?” The boy heads back to the piano room. Mr. Tarr is sitting on the bench eating a donut. “Why the hell were you roaming around my house?” “I was just looking for…” “Looking for what? Some talent?” “I won’t find any here.” 20
“Stop. Stop! What did you even do this week?” “I…” “You what? If you’re gonna say you didn’t have time, don’t bother. There are sixteen hours in a waking day. If you failed to do the assignment, you chose not to do it. Nice try!” “But I had finals –” “I don’t want to hear it anymore. We are moving on to more important things. So, how else do you wish to waste your lesson time?” The boy holds his tongue. Mr. Tarr leaves the room for another cigarette. The boy hears him yelling at Jim. Good god. Here he goes again. Mr. Tarr returns.
