Fridays mean oboe lessons Gripping my instrument case and hunching my shoulders against the cold I walk four blocks west to my music teacher’s house I love walking If I lived in the city instead of boring old Bennett Corners I’d walk everywhere Especially the Kimmel Center for concerts But I’m only twelve It’ll be years before I can move to Philadelphia As I walk up Mr Rimondi’s driveway I count my steps Eleven An odd number is not a good number Something will go wrong I could add an extra step a tiny one but that would be cheating Dread fills my chest like cold sludge This will not be a good lesson Crushed leaves rotting against the stoop smell like the turkey feather I use to clean the saliva 2
from my oboe especially when too much spit clots the feathery tips together into a sodden lump The leaves smell of mold and sadness and leftover rain They smell of November My Real Name You’re late Mr Rimondi says But he smiles his crooked smile so I know he’s only kidding I glance at the big clock on the wall above the music stand with the red second hand sweeping past the two and smile back If I can make him laugh maybe it will still be a good lesson Twelve seconds Not that late He throws his head back and laughs a bright brassy sound like trumpets Madrigal you could be a metronome 3
You’re so precise He wipes his eyes with a handkerchief chuckles some more Mr Rimondi is the only one who uses my real name Everyone else calls me Maddie except Aria calls me Mad and Strum calls me M They both hate the musical names our parents gave us But I like them They define us as a family even if sometimes there is dissonance My Oboe While my reed soaks in a small cup of warm water I assemble my oboe gently screwing in each piece in the right order Order is good Order is calming Just like even numbers Order helps me to stop thinking bad thoughts About me throwing up 4
People bleeding Or someone dying The last thing to be inserted is my reed It tastes earthy the way fallen leaves smell before they get wet Oboe reeds are fragile Twin pieces of cane carved out and pressed together My best friend Emma plays the clarinet which uses a wider single reed sturdier and less breakable Clarinets also sound different deeper and mellower Oboes sound a lot like ducks That was why Prokofiev chose the oboe to represent a duck in Peter and the Wolf Peter and the Wolf There is an oboe solo in Peter and the Wolf that’s so beautiful it makes my throat burn That solo reminds me of the time Daddy took us 5
