she sits beside me now

In the beginning, she sat on her bench.   and I sat on mine.

Conversation flowed, but not without hiccups.

She was always cordial, always energetic, always positive.  But still, I felt anxious when I thought about spending an hour in her studio every week.  I wasn't afraid of her, per say.  Intimidated, yes.  But she was never mean or cruel.  She just didn't waste any of our precious time buttering me up, affirming things that I had done right.  It was her job to make me a better musician, and she was going to spend time fixing all the problems, instead of bolstering my ego.

So she sat on her bench.  and I sat on mine.   And I marveled at how she could repeat exactly what I had just played, even things she'd never played before, with NO SCORE in front of her....and sound one hundred times better than I had.  I loved her sound, and was continually amazed at how she could make even the worst of instruments sing beautifully.

Occasionally, she would get up to come feel the tension in my arms or play something on my arm so I could feel what kind of touch her fingers were utilizing.  Every once in awhile, she would need to peek at the score to remember what chord came next.

But mostly she sat on her bench.   and I sat on mine.


Honestly, I didn't feel the need for a change.  This has been my experience in my lessons since 6th grade.  All but one of my teachers have had two pianos in their studios, and we have worked well that way.

And honestly, I don't remember when exactly it changed.  But one day...perhaps sometime towards the end of last semester...she pulled the folding chair out from her desk and set it beside my bench.  And in that simple move, she threw out the sense of formality and comfortable distance that had reigned for so long.


As I play, she reaches up to loosen my neck or check the tension in my arms. She sings along with me or plays the singer's part in the highest octaves of the keyboard.

The fallboard on the other keyboard stays down now.

Because she sits beside me.

When she needs to demonstrate something, she stands and scoots me off the bench.  We have it down to a science now - one smooth motion so rehearsed and fluid that I'm pretty sure the seat of the bench doesn't even see the light of day.

It may not seem like a big deal - even to the other students in her studio who have perhaps had similar experiences.


But to me, it is the difference between formality and intimacy.
To me, it is the difference between teacher and colleague.
To me, it is the difference between coach and team member.


Sure, she is still my teacher and my coach, and there will always be a level of formality that comes with that.  I will always respect and admire her wisdom and talent; she will always have more to teach me.

But her actions speak of the level of familiarity we have achieved together.  We began this journey as perfect strangers, and while we still have plenty left to learn about each other, we have managed, in a year and a half, to bridge the 4-ft. chasm that lies between the two benches.


In the beginning, she sat on her bench.  and I sat on mine.
but she sits beside me now.