One

An Original Composition

The university was two centuries old, a beacon of hope and a symbol of knowledge positioned on the highest hill of the sleepy town of Harmonville. The view from the third floor of the music building was one of a kind. From there, it was possible to not only see the entire town, but the three smaller towns surrounding it. Beyond that: the Pacific shoreline and sequoias.

In a large classroom with bare walls, November sunlight streamed in through the small windows, illuminating the otherwise dingy atmosphere with a warm, golden glow. Stadium-styled seats were occupied by undergraduate students, all filled with dimming aspirations to take their love of music and turn it into something tangible. The mood was somber and serious. Anxiety hung in the air like a misplayed chord.

Late and flustered, Sharleen Vega entered the room. The noisy entrance immediately killed the serious vibe. Strapped to her back was an overstuffed school backpack. It was black and blue, looking more like a bruised shell, a large hump that seemed intent on punishing her with pain for every step taken. The weight of it made walking a struggle. Finally, Sharleen made it to a seat. In the process of sitting, she accidentally smacked a fellow student in the head with her backpack.

Did I just hit poor Beverly with my backpack? Why am I such a mess today?

“Oh, sorry, Beverly,” Sharleen said, tone genuine, voice warm and kind.

For a moment, other students appeared concerned blonde Beverly may have been knocked unconscious. Worry turned to relief when Beverly offered her classmates an enthusiastic thumbs up and gave the tambourine in her hand a light shake.

Standing near a piano was their professor, Lena Richter. She was formidable, German, and nearing retirement. She cleared her throat to command the attention of the room. At once, the students shifted their focus to her.

“Sharleen Vega, who always knows how to make a timely entrance, will be performing for us first today.” The professor turned to Sharleen with a questioning stare. “And this is an original composition?”

Nervous, Sharleen stood, making her way through the sea of students until she joined her professor. One hand reached down and smoothed out invisible wrinkles in her skirt with damp palms.

“Yes, it is,” she replied.

Sharleen sat down at the piano. Having put extra effort into her appearance for the occasion, her feet ached in the heeled shoes she wore. Her face felt hot. She now worried her makeup had melted into a sweaty mess. Feeling the eyes of her professor and classmates, she looked down at the keys.

“This is for my parents.” Sharleen’s whispered words were meant only for herself.

After a deep breath, Sharleen placed her fingers on the piano and played her song. A few notes in, the wrong key was struck. Embarrassed, she cringed.

“I’m sorry. May I start again?” she asked, avoiding the professor’s eyes.

“Yes, you may,” Professor Richter granted. “Without an apology in your words, or your notes this time.”

Please let me get this right.

Sharleen performed the song with perfect execution. As usual, the students in the room were mesmerized, awed by her talent. Some looked envious as they watched Sharleen’s fingers connect with the piano keys with seamless ease and fluid movements.

The song came to an end. That last note hung in the air, bittersweet and melodic. Professor Richter struggled to show no response but, in the end, couldn’t help but look at Sharleen with a sense of pride. In similar fashion, the students applauded Sharleen’s efforts. Beverly raised her tambourine and shook it vigorously until another student finally stopped the motion of her hand.

“The melody is haunting,” noted Professor Richter. “The arrangement is superb. Your parents will be very moved. Have you played it for them?”

Sharleen swallowed the sudden wave of emotion rising in her throat. The mention of her parents always made her take pause; she needed a moment to keep composure intact and sadness at bay. “No,” she replied. “but I know they heard it.”

To Sharleen’s surprise, Professor Richter approached. She leaned in as if to make certain her words were only heard by Sharleen. “May I see you in my office after class?”

Tensed, Sharleen held her professor’s gaze. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Lena replied with a slight shake of her head. “Not this time.”

Filled with anticipation, Sharleen sat across from Professor Richter, who was poised behind the desk. The office was small but very organized. It was clear from the degrees on the walls and the awards displayed around the windowless room that Lena Richter was accomplished in her field. Sharleen stared at the accolades in awe as nerves dissolved into admiration.

On impulse, Sharleen reached toward the desk and helped herself to a few gumdrops, taking them from a green glass candy dish. Immediately she regretted the decision. The candy was chewy, very stale. She struggled to speak while gnawing away at the last bit of it.

“Professor Richter, I just want to start by saying how grateful I am,” said Sharleen, still chewing. Panic struck, and she wondered if the obnoxious candy had caused her to drool in front of her favorite professor and unofficial mentor. “I know you recommended me for this scholarship. I wouldn’t be able to finish the program next semester without it.”

These things are horrible. I can’t stop chewing. I will never eat gumdrops again.

The gray-haired professor projected a look of confusion and concern. “I’m so sorry, Sharleen,” Lena said. “I didn’t ask you to meet with me about your scholarship application.”

Sharleen’s cheeks burned with embarrassment by the sudden awkward moment. She stopped chewing, swallowed, and said, “You didn’t?”

“No, the committee decided to give the scholarship to Beverly Schwartz.” Lena slipped on a pair of reading glasses and glanced over handwritten notes on a yellow notepad. “Yes, they awarded it to Beverly last week.”

“Beverly Schwartz?” Sharleen repeated, struggling to hide her shock and disdain. “She plays the tambourine. No offense, but is that even a real instrument?”

The professor’s expression softened, as did her tone. “Sharleen, I asked you to meet with me because I’m afraid I have some difficult news to share with you.”

At once, Sharleen gripped the wooden arms of the chair. “Is it about my song?” Was it that bad? You can tell me. I can take it.”

It was rare to see Professor Richter smile, so Sharleen was surprised when a gentle one appeared on her face. But within a few seconds, it disappeared. “No. I’m rather impressed by your talents.”

“Wow. Thank you. I’m impressed with yours, too.”

“I know you’ve been working in our piano lab for a few semesters now,” Lena continued. “Several students have mentioned you’re a terrific tutor. In fact, I hear you’re their favorite. I’m not surprised by this, at all.”

Enthusiasm surged through Sharleen. It shone through her words, her eyes. “I love teaching. It’s my thing, my passion,” she explained. “Next to music, of course.” Parched, Sharleen stopped. “By any chance, do you have any water in here?”

“No, sorry, I don’t,” Lena replied. “I’m sure you’ll make a great teacher one day.”

“I hope so.”

The professor took a quick, deep breath before her next sentence. “Unfortunately, the university is making some budget cuts, and they have eliminated several part-time positions.”

Already knowing the answer, Sharleen asked, “Is one of them mine?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. Moving forward, the piano lab will only be available by appointment and will be covered by one of our adjunct instructors.”

Defeat carved through Sharleen's core like runes. Her posture went limp as if she were a balloon and the air keeping her alive was seeping out, and fast. “So, what you’re saying is not only did the scholarship I needed go to someone else, but I also need to find a new job?” she said. “And figure out how I’m going to come up with the money to pay the remainder of my tuition. By January? Not to mention my rent.”

A glimmer of empathy flashed in Lena’s blue eyes. “Yes, I would say that pretty much sums it up. That’s exactly what you’re dealing with.”

Not wanting to hear another word, Sharleen stood to leave. “Great,” she mumbled, and even though it was only November, she added, “Merry Christmas to me.”

She stopped at the office door with a hand on the antique doorknob. “By the way,” she announced, “those gumdrops are awful. Seriously, someone could lose a tooth eating those things.”

The professor gave a slight nod in agreement. “I would assume they are. They were a gift when I started teaching here.” She held Sharleen’s stare. “Seven years ago.”

Feeling she had nothing left to lose, Sharleen gave in to the held-back anger. “Well, you might consider throwing them out.” Sharleen returned to the desk and picked up the candy dish. “Here. Let me save you the trouble.” Holding the dish above a wastebasket, she flipped the container upside down. Gumdrops plopped into the trash in sticky clumps. A few stuck to the sides of the glass, so Sharleen gave the dish a few hard shakes. Finally, she returned the now-empty candy dish to its home on the professor’s desk.

A second before she strolled out the door, their meeting ended with her final words on the matter, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the computer lab to submit my resume and cover letter to anyone who’s hiring. And apparently, I need to sign up for tambourine lessons, too.”