The Guitar Tutor

I sat down and our teacher got on with the lesson. We were studying variations; we were given the sheet music for Pachelbel’s canon in D and over the course of the term, expected to make at least 5 different variations. It was a relatively small class, so we each got our own keyboard, but within five seconds I completely forgot what I was doing. All I could think about was him.
He was sitting in the corner, taking notes. The concentration in his brow while he was writing was as if he was a statue, carved out of marble and frozen in time. Michelangelo said how he always saw angels in a block of marble and carved the marble to free them. Now I see what was meant by that.

He brushed his hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear and my mind went as blank as a sheet of paper.
I snapped myself out of it.
Get a fucking grip on yourself, I thought, he’s a teacher. You can’t feel that way about a teacher.
I tried to think back to my last lesson and what I was doing. I couldn’t let a teacher get in the way of me failing my favourite subject as a GCSE. I pulled out some of the sheet music I was working on and plugged the headphones in the audio jack. I started to play, but my fingers faltered. I couldn’t believe that the teacher I dreamt about last night was actually in this room, sitting in the corner taking notes.
What the fuck is happening to me.

Oh fuck. He started putting the paper he was writing on away, got up out of his seat and made his way to the table nearest to where he was sitting. I was probably about six students away from him. Fuck fuck FUCK.
Stop getting nervous, he’s just a teacher and probably doesn’t give a shit about you. I thought to myself.
I tried to read the sheet music, my hands wobbling and my heart beating rapidly – too rapidly. It felt like I was about to pass out or something. I focused as hard as I could on the notation and my hands miraculously started working. My first variation wasn’t too complex; I just put the piece into a minor key. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t see Mr Way come up behind me. He tapped me on the shoulder and I whipped my head around and took my headphones off.
“Hey, were you the one that I bumped into in the corridor yesterday?” he asked, looking curious.
I stuttered. My mind was numb. I remembered back to the dream I had and inwardly cringed so hard I almost puked.
“Um, y-yeah. Sorry about that.” I stammered. I swept my hair more into my face in a half-assed attempt to hide the fact my face was the same colour as his hair.
He chuckled “don’t be, it was my fault. If that was me and my guitar broke I would’ve had a fit and probably murdered someone. Your guitar is ok, right?” he asked.
“yeah, my guitar’s fine. Thank you for catching it.” I was blushing like a beetroot now.
“don’t mention it,” he sat down on the chair next to me “can I listen to your variations?”
“um, sure. I’ve only completed 3 and I've just started the fourth.” I handed him the headphones and started playing my first piece – the one in minor with a bass drone. My hands were shaking and the burn I sustained from yesterday’s coffee accident hurt like fuck. I focused as hard as I could on the piece and played. I finished the piece and I hadn’t realised that I was holding my breath the whole time. I let out a huge sigh and tried to breathe normal again – my heart rate fluctuating wildly. He took the headphones off his head and eyed the scarlet burn mark on my hand. His brow scrunched in a concerned manner.
“how’d you do that?” he asked, pointing to my hand.
I had to restrain myself from bursting into laughter. What was I supposed to say? That I was so distracted by thinking of him that I poured searing hot water on myself?
“oh, I just accidentally poured boiling water on myself while making a cup of coffee.” I murmured.
“let me see that.” Mr Way gently took my hand into his and looked at my burn. He cautiously touched my hand with his fingers and my muscles tensed with excitement. He looked so caring, his deep hazel eyes overcome with pensiveness. Fuck, his eyes.
He brushed his thumb over the red mark and I winced.
“sorry.” He murmured.
“that’s ok.” I said.
He looked into my eyes. His had suddenly changed from a golden-brown to a brown-green. The colour shifted like clouds on a windy day; they looked exactly the same when you looked at them for a long time, but as soon as you take your eyes off them, the shape completely changes.
“uh, anyway,” he said, immediately snapping out of it “I thought that piece was actually really good, not too complex but pretty interesting at the same time. I like your use of drone, maybe add some kind of melody on another instrument to improve.” He smiled.
“thanks sir” I replied, turning around to practise my other pieces.
“oh, sorry but I didn’t catch your name.” he said, tapping me on the shoulder again.
“it’s Frank. Frank Iero.”
“I look forward to talking to you again, Frank.” He smiled and walked towards the next table.

My mind was flooded with thoughts. What does ‘I look forward to talking to you again’ even mean? Why did he look like he cared so much when he looked at the burn? Was this guy even real?
The bell went and I rushed to the back of the canteen to meet Jamia again. She wasn’t there.
shit I thought to myself, as I remembered that she was changing from her PE lesson. Two minutes later, I saw her turn the corner.
“oh sorry, where you too busy gawping at someone’s tits?” I asked.
“it’s funny you say that-“
“oh god” I whispered.
“-because have you seen the size of Melodie’s boobs? I swear to god I was this far away from diving headfirst into her cleavage.” She exclaimed, sitting down.
“TMI Jamia, T.M.I.”
“boob envy, Frankie. Boob. Envy.” I acted as if I was disgusted.
I pretended to clear my throat, “SLUT”, I screamed. She slapped my arm.
“go fuck yourself with a cactus, Frank,” I laughed “and that reminds me, feel free to join me in the pride alliance tomorrow.”
“Fuck no.” I exclaimed.
“Yeah but you’re always completely alone every Thursday lunchtime. Please Frank, I'm begging you.” She looked at me with her best puppy dog impression, which, just like her Italian mafia impression, was shit.
“not a snowball’s chance in hell, J, not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Notes

i'm probably going to update this quite a lot this week because it's half term, and please comment and tell me what you think!