Infatuation With A Teenage Pianist

I wrote this for my English 12 Portfolio. Descriptive writing.

When the bell rings, marking the end of third period, we both remain seated along with one or two others. The rest of the students begin to file out of the classroom. A students might stick around for a moment or two, talking to our teacher or with each other. After the stragglers leave they’re quickly replaced by the announcement crew. Three girls who have been close since elementary school and it shows through their behavior. About five minutes have gone by since the bell. One of the girls takes the phone off the hook, dials the code and the announcements begin. He gets up to join then while I remain seated taking my notebook and pencil out of my bag. About five minutes later, the announcements end with a simultaneous “Peace” and click of the phone hitting the receiver. The girls stay and chat for a moment, going over plans and then they leave along with a few others. Some going home, others to their class and some going to the classroom across the hall. Our teacher is now in his office preparing for the weeks events. I stay seated, having nowhere to really go since I have to be at practice right after school. I continue writing. He crosses the short distance from the phone to the piano and hardly sits down before he starts playing. I write and listen. He’s not paying attention to me, or anything else that may be going on at this point. Chords fly from his fingers, and I can’t quite make out what song he’s playing, but I believe it’s beautiful regardless. He plays chord after chord, I write word after word. I don’t try to make small talk or even ask what song it is, content to enjoy the music without any other students talking over his playing. He closes his eyes and begins bobbing his head along with the music. Even more reason to not interrupt. 

It has probably been less, but it feels like at least ten minutes have gone by. I’ve gotten to the third page of my writing. The music has intensified and then he begins to play a run. Despite the silent promise to myself not to look or stare at him while playing, I look up. He looks up too and we make eye contact, both of us smiling. That’s the little moment when we connect over the music. I go back to my writing, he never stopped playing. Another student comes in. Someone we had a class with last year. He stops playing briefly, turns and greets him, then continues without missing a beat. The other student watches over what he’s playing. Then the student makes their way to the other piano and joins in. The student plays well too, but my ears don’t have the same reaction. I’m on page four and my writing has gone into cursive shorthand. I’m almost done, but they’re far from finished. The music hits a crescendo and I stop writing, but I continue looking down. I’m completely distracted. Just as the music starts to calm again and I put my pencil back to the paper, our teacher calls him. He gets up from the piano and into the office. The other student sits there a moment and then begins playing on his own. I realize I have nothing else to write and I close my notebook, planning to read over it later.