With a flourish, Mr. Capianelli placed new music before me. "Brahms's Sonata no. 1 in G Major," he said. "Our work from now on, because with this you will make your debut."
He turned to my mother "I think that by late spring, Tess will be ready to give her first recital."
"I've been in recitals before," I told him. "My last teacher—"
"No, no!" Mr. Capianelli exclaimed as though I'd said something amusing "I don't mean to hide you among a dozen children in a program that only parents could enjoy. No! You, my precocious Tess, will give your own performance, and I promise that it will be one no one ever forgets!"
I held back a giggle. That was just the way Mr. Capianelli talked, and I'd learned to listen for the sense beneath his words. Besides, the music he'd set out was pages longer than anything I'd ever tried. Of course, I'll need my own recital, I thought. There won't be time left for anybody else if I play all this.
My lessons increased from one to two a week, and Mom began driving me to school and picking me up afterward so that I didn't waste practice time sitting on a school bus. And we had to squeeze in other sessions, too, when I could work with the pianist Mom hired to accompany me.
That part was mostly fun, but one time I asked Mom, "Can I skip today? I'm tired."
"I don't see how you can," she said. But then she put her arm around me. "I know how hard you're working, What if you do just one hour right now, and then afterward we'll go to that new ice cream place and you can order whatever you want. And I won't even tell you not to spoil your dinner!"
Mom rarely mentioned the recital around Dad, and I didn't think he realized how special it was going to be Not until Mom brought home the invitations she'd had made up. They weren't just copies of something she'd put together on her computer; but real ones like for weddings.
YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO A VIOLIN RECITAL
GIVEN BY TESS THALER,
NINE-YEAR-OLD STUDENT OF MR. VINCENT CAPIANELLI,
WITH MRS. BESS ARMITAGE AT THE PIANO.
SUNDAY, APRIL 28, AT THREE O'CLOCK
MUSIC RECITAL HALL, UNIVERSITY OF MONTANA
Dad exploded. His face reddened, and a vein in his neck pulsed in and out. "What do you think you are doing with this child? Do you have any idea?..." He got louder and louder although I'd never ever heard Dad yell before.
I covered my ears and slipped away to my bedroom, but my parents' angry voices followed and pushed through my hands.
"Mr. Capianelli believes..."
"...exploiting her ... Who the hell does he think he is?"
"Good experience working with an accompanist..."
"...and a recital hall! What is this going to cost?"
"...just renting..."
"You're out of your mind," Dad said. "A pianist, formal invitations ... She's a nine-year-old, for god's sake. You have gone way over the top."
I took my blanket into my closet and shut the door Curled up in the dark, I closed out everything but the music that I carried in my head.