Twenty – CaughtBetween
Mr. Donne sees me walking past the musicsuite. He stops me.
‘Was that you I heard inthe practice room at lunchtime?’
My cheeks redden like Phillip’s the day ofhis exile but they are not as pickable as David Tobias’s. I hadhoped that my improvisation attempts were sufficiently muffled tothe outside world.
‘Yes,’ I reply timidly,unsure that my ‘playing around with Grieg’ would be approved of bya professional musician.
‘It sounded quitearresting,’ Mr. Donne continues. ‘Who taught you to play likethat?’
‘I just made itup.’
I look away aware that my cheeks are stillripening. ‘I like to listen and watch. Have always played likethat. Can’t sight read very well.’
‘Keep at it. Not manypeople can play like that. It’s a gift.’
I mumble words of nervous gratitude andhur
