dear piano teacher,

i still remember how petrified I was that first lesson, your bumpy cat glaring at me as you scritch scratched notes in the big blue binder.

from first to fifth grade
i backtalked you,
refused to practice,
raged when you ate coffee cake in front of me “sorry madison, i’m just really hungry”
sat, back straight and silent on death row with your other students waiting to perform,
loathed the way your dark curly hair bounced as you kept time with a cheap mechanical pencil,
rode my bike at .2 mph on the way to your house.

but last summer, when i saw Talia for the first time in five years and said, “remember Rita, our piano teacher? i hated her!” she nodded and said, “yeah. she got cancer and passed away about a year ago.” not that everything i just said isn’t true, because it is. but i can’t trash talk a dead person, so i guess you i owe you an apology. probably a thank you too. i’m sorry i was (am) such a brat. and thank you. thank you for being patient enough to correct my stupid mistakes and help me discover how to do what i love. hope there’s a Steinway in heaven.

love,
your stubborn student
m.r.

p.s. your pencil scritch scratches and stickers still decorate the Faber books i teach my own students with. but i don’t eat cake in front of them