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WHY SHOULD SHE FEEL nervous? This was her fourth singing lesson with Miles, and since it was a Saturday and the school was closed for Christmas, she didn’t even have to worry about anyone stopping by or overhearing her if she allowed her voice to carry too far.
Surprisingly, she’d gotten comfortable around Miles over the past few afternoons. She’d been practicing her warmup exercises regularly. She’d always known that singing was controlled by your breath, but she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to access her diaphragm muscle to get it to behave the way it was supposed to.
“That’s what’s going to get you past your breathy voice and give you real oomph when you sing,” Miles had assured her. It sounded so easy in theory, and it looked simple enough when he demonstrated. Miles’ voice could be called a lot of things, but sweet certainly wouldn’t be the first word that would come to anybody’s mind.
As silly as she’d felt, she’d been practicing. Her progress was measured in baby steps, but it was progress nonetheless.
There was no reason for her palms to sweat the way they did or for her heart to flutter this fast. Even the sound of Miles’ French horn running through scales didn’t drown out the thumping of her pulse.
She walked into the music room, this time without knocking, and Miles set down his instrument. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“You don’t have to stop. It sounded nice.”
He rewarded her compliment with a grin, so frank it was easy for Katrina to answer back with a smile of her own, forgetting momentarily how uneasy she’d felt walking down these quiet halls.
He glanced at her case. “So you brought it. I was hoping you wouldn’t forget.”
She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now, or how bringing her violin to a voice lesson would turn her into a better singer. “Should I set up now?” she asked.
Miles shook his head. “Not quite yet. Let’s do our warmups like normal. Then I want to try something new. I don’t know if it will work, but I think we might have good success.”
She nodded and made her way to the piano with the sheet of warmup music she’d been practicing from.
“You won’t need this today.” Greg took the paper out of her hand and flashed another smile.
“What do you want me to sing, then?” Could he sense how terrified she was? She’d just gotten used to the page of scales, the endless ma-ma-ma-ma-me and ooh-oo-aah warmups he’d given her earlier in the week. And now he was moving her on to something different?
He played a simple C-major run on the piano. “Just follow me.”
The warmup was similar to what she’d practiced before. More consonant sounds than she was used to, but otherwise not that different. What made it harder was this time he sang each note with her, working her vocal cords higher and higher up the scale. His voice was so strong, so powerful, that she didn’t even make it a full octave before dropping out.
“Why’d you stop?” His gaze was piercing and refused to let her go.
“I don’t know. I ...”
“You were doing great,” he interrupted. “Why’d you quit?”
She licked her dry lips. “You were singing really loud. I didn’t think I could keep up.”
He shook his head. Replayed the last chord. “You went higher than this during our very first practice together. I know you have it in you.”
She gave one more valiant effort but only managed to progress two half-steps up the scale before she backed out again.
He rested his hands on the keyboard and stared at her. There was no judgement in his eyes, not even surprise. “What’s going on?”
If he knew the answer, Katrina certainly didn’t. “I’m not sure. It’s ...” How could she explain it? Singing the warmup with him, even though it was only slightly more complicated than the ones she’d gotten used to earlier in the week ... It was like a first-year Suzuki student trying to play Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto beside Itzhak Perlman. But she wasn’t exactly sure how to express herself other than by saying, “I felt like your voice was drowning me out.”
He smiled. She wondered if she would ever be as comfortable with others as he appeared to be with her. “I thought that was our problem.”
She was ready for a pep talk, a lecture, another demand for her to try harder. What she didn’t expect was for Miles to say, “Now get your violin out. I want to show you something.”
Her hands were trembling. Miles knew she’d played for the Long Beach Symphony. What he didn’t know was that she’d hardly picked up her instrument in months, and the times she did try to play usually ended in tears. She wished she had the confidence to explain to him, but instead she did as she was told, praying she wouldn’t turn into a puddle of hysterics. This was her violin, her Dmitry. Her soulmate for years. After every fight with her mom, she’d poured her insecurities into her music, bowing out her sorrows. When she first developed a crush on her youth pastor, Dmitry had been her confidant. When impatience and longing burned hot in her core, her music had been her soul’s only release. Her violin had soothed over every sorrow of hers except for one.
But she couldn’t explain that to Miles. He was so good to take time out of his Christmas break to work with her, so kind to believe that she at least had some shred of potential or he wouldn’t keep showing up. Whatever the musical hang-up was that had plagued her since the miscarriage, she’d have to put it aside for now. She was an adult, not a shy little girl.
She tuned up quickly, embarrassed that another musician might see how badly she’d neglected her instrument.
“You ready?” he asked.
No, she wasn’t, but it was better to get it over with than stand here about to faint from nerves and dizziness.
“Your hands are shaking. Are you cold? They set the thermostat so low on the weekends.”
She licked her lips. “I’m all right. Really.” She wiped her hand on her pants, hoping he wouldn’t notice how sweaty she’d already made her fingerboard. “So what do you want me to do?”
“You’re going to do that warmup we just did, but I want you to play it on your violin. Think you can do that by ear, or do you need me to write out the notes?”
She wasn’t sure if he was joking, so she didn’t laugh. “I don’t need the notes. Thanks.”
“Ok.” He started back down at middle C, playing the run once through as if she didn’t already have it seared into her mind. “I’m going to be singing with you, got it? And this time, you better be the one to drown me out.”
She gave him a quick nod. Not the kind you give to answer a yes or no question. The kind of nod you offer to your stand partner when it’s time for a page turn. Or the gesture you make when you’re playing with a string quartet and you and the cellist need to come in at just the same moment.
That quick tilt of the chin that feels so natural when you have a violin planted firmly on your shoulder. An extension of your arm. And, if you play openly enough, an extension of your very soul.
He sang with her while her fingers ran up the strings. He was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to drown him out. Where would be the musicality in that? Instead, she let her violin adjust to his pitch, his expression, his voice.
His tone changed. Not that it gained volume so much as intensity. If she’d been trying to sing with him, nobody would be able to hear her even if she had a microphone. But now, with her violin matched to his voice, their instruments in sync, the power of his voice didn’t drown her out but summoned even more passion, more focus, more energy to her music.
Her hands were sweaty still, but this time from the exertion. There wasn’t a hint of nervousness, not a trace of the shyness that had always permeated the space between her and her teacher. Nothing but the music.
Fervent. Impassioned.
Raw.
She was on the E string now, working her way higher up the fingerboard. This time, it was he who stopped first. “Sorry. I’m no tenor.”
She was breathless but hoped he didn’t notice. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. There was a closeness that came when two people poured themselves into their music. An unspoken bond. That was why listening to a string quartet felt so much more intimate, almost voyeuristic. What made the Long Beach Symphony feel like a family?
She lowered her violin from her shoulder, wondering what was supposed to happen next. The air zinged with the music they had just created. The moment they had just shared.
Ethereal.
She didn’t look away when his gaze landed on her. Funny how you could learn so much about a person through the music they made, how you could sense the passions, the longings, the past sorrows. None of it could be put into words, of course. It could only be felt, an intangible sense you can’t describe or explain away.
He reached for her instrument. Not even her own husband had handled her violin before, but Miles was a musician. She could trust him. She let go of Dmitry, surrendering her beloved instrument and her bow.
“Now,” he said, “sing it again. Without me this time. I’ll give you the starting note. You do the rest.”
And she did. It was nothing like the magic they had just created, but it was measurable progress from her feeble attempts earlier. When she finished, the room echoed brightly with the ringing sound.
“Hear that?” he asked.
She nodded, wishing to be hidden once more behind her violin. Wishing to be shielded from her teacher’s frank stare. Her lungs were full, but she wasn’t tired or drained, just energized. Excited.
She glutted herself on oxygen, taking a breath from deep in her gut. Whatever tricks Miles had been trying to teach her about using her diaphragm properly had been lost on her until now.
Until this moment.
She was still no diva. She had the self-awareness to recognize that. She’d never sing a solo on Broadway or audition for the stage.
But something had happened. As much as singing was about breathing, she realized it was also about confidence. Security. She could have never let a noise like that pass through her own throat if she hadn’t felt completely safe. Maybe she was getting used to Miles and his teaching style. Maybe she felt freer knowing that there were no students here over the weekend.
Maybe playing her violin had awakened her musical passion again.
The reason itself was insignificant. What mattered was that she’d done it. Created the elusive moment where your music is so open, so real, so raw that there’s nothing between you and your listener. No filter, no self-censoring between your soul and his.
Not only that, but she’d proven her mom wrong. She’d spent her entire life too terrified to sing in front of anybody, but now everything had changed.
Katrina had found her voice.