If I was being completely honest, the only reason that I absolutely could not wait two days until our Monday session to hand-deliver a practice quiz to George was because I needed to see his face. And when my need to see someone’s face outweighs my decision to stay in bed for the night, that person must be pretty damn cool.
A compact car that I didn’t recognize sat in his driveway as I pulled into their cul-de-sac, so I opted to park on the street. According to Hannah’s frequently updated Instagram story, she, at least, was home. George only made very begrudging cameos on social media, usually at the hands of Hannah. This made looking into his past life before he moved to Springdale extremely frustrating and, quite frankly, unfair. And, no matter how many times I pleaded with Grace for a single embarrassing Christmas card from George Smith Past, she refused to show me, stating that it went against “family code.”
I rang the doorbell and heard someone’s feet quickly shuffle to the door to meet me. Mrs. Smith greeted me on the other side, with a smile that spread across her entire face. Since we were about the same height, it was nice to get the full impact of her dazzling smile without having to strain my neck to look up. This is something that tall people never have to worry about. Looking up can be painful.
“Savannah! Come on in. George is teaching a lesson in the office. Can I get you a glass of water? A soda?” she asked.
Because George’s mom is a lovely human, I bit my tongue on the soda comment. I didn’t need to involve her in my passionate crusade to make pop the definitive term for the carbonated drink formerly known as soda.
“Oh, I don’t have to stay. I just wanted to drop off a practice quiz for George. I forgot to print this one out and give it to him during our last session,” I said.
“Nonsense! He’ll be done in about ten minutes. Come on, let me grab you a drink,” she said, leading me into the kitchen.
A sense of familiarity and comfort fell over me, coming back into this kitchen. Even though our dinner here had been only a few nights ago, I felt like I’d been welcomed into this space long before. I felt a peace here in this space that I’d lost in my own kitchen.
“I wanted to thank you again for letting me come to dinner the other night,” I said.
“Of course!” Mrs. Smith said. “We were happy to have you. You were very sweet to come and watch Georgie play. I know it really meant a lot to him.”
“It was seriously so cool,” I said. “I mean, I knew he had to be talented, but I didn’t know just how good he was.”
Her smile multiplied times infinity.
“Have you decided on a drink?” she asked.
As much as I would love some one-on-one time with Mrs. Smith, my growing need to see George’s face was too great. It suddenly became imperative to even get a little glimpse of him, and my legs bounced up and down in the anticipation of seeing him again.
“Actually, I have to use the restroom,” I said.
“Sure thing! Down the hall and to the left,” she said.
I started to walk down the hallway toward the bathroom but instead followed what sounded like a goose squawking. The squawking came in timed intervals, which was further proof that there wasn’t, in fact, a dying goose in the next room, but a kid learning how to play an instrument, aka my own personal nightmare.
The door to the office was cracked slightly and I could see the back of George’s head as he sat across from the tiniest human in pigtails. She huffed out a frustrated breath and set down the instrument that I identified as a clarinet thanks to my very scholarly exposure to the instrument from SpongeBob over the years.
“I’ll never get it,” she said.
“You’re so close, Adelaide! Let’s do another breathing exercise, okay?” he said. He had suddenly become so animated as he encouraged her to sit forward in her chair and take a deep breath. He counted in time as she took breaths in and out, with words of encouragement to keep her motivated along the way.
“Pretend like you’re blowing out all the candles on the biggest birthday cake you’ve ever seen!” he said, stretching his arms out as wide as they would go.
Her eyes sparkled back up at him, and I could tell that mine were equally as sparkly. Teacher George was unlike any other type of George I’d seen up to this point, but he was quickly becoming my favorite. Well, behind Blushing George, of course.
“All right, now we’re going to try it with the mouthpiece attached. Are you ready to make some music, Adelaide?” he asked.
She nodded enthusiastically, the dejected girl from a few minutes ago far gone. George attached the mouthpiece to the rest of the clarinet and held it up to Adelaide’s mouth.
“Remember how we practiced your embouchure? Yep, that’s right, keep that lip from creeping up there. Good. Now, just like we were practicing before, blow with that same breath. Direct, through the instrument,” he said.
Nothing but any airy sound followed by a loud squeak came out at first, and Adelaide was on the verge of pouting again.
“That’s okay! You’re almost there!” he said. “Tongue forward, and … again!”
This time a note emitted from the clarinet and it made my heart soar. Adelaide started giggling and tried a few more times to get the note out, hitting it each time after.
“You did it! Yes! That’s open G, Adelaide, you played an open G!” he said. “Playing an instrument is all about perseverance. If you don’t get it at first, stay positive and keep practicing until you do. Keep practicing this note and it will get a little less squeaky. Can you practice for me before we meet next week?”
“Mom said that I’m not allowed to squeak so much in the house,” she said.
“Well, tell your mom that you’re practicing so that it doesn’t sound like squeaks anymore. Or I can recommend my favorite noise-canceling headphones for her to wear while you practice. Give me a high five. Today was awesome! Great work, Adelaide,” he said.
George finally turned around to open the door to walk Adelaide out of the office and his hand froze just above the handle when he saw me in the hallway. My heart jumped into my throat and my blood tingled as it worked its way through my body. A small half smile crept onto his face before he turned back to Adelaide.
“Adelaide, this is my friend Savannah,” he said. “Can you tell her what you just accomplished today?”
“An open G!” she said with a toothy grin. “Do you play clarinet, too? Or do you play saxophone like Mr. George?”
“I wish! I can’t play an instrument,” I said. “My mom never forced me to play piano, and I think I might resent her a little bit for my lack of talent for the rest of my life.”
“Well, he can teach you how to play. He’s a good teacher,” she said.
George quickly became Blushing George, and my heart continued to melt in a puddle on the floor.
“Maybe I’ll have him teach me sometime,” I said.
“Well, I’m going to go walk Adelaide out to her mom’s car, but I’ll be back in a second,” he said.
He led Adelaide down the hallway before she yelled, “Good-bye, Savannah!” over her shoulder. I waved back at them until I assessed my situation.
I’d come to a guy’s house, unannounced, and just crept on him while he was doing his job. If there had been any chance that he was remotely starting to like me, I probably blew it in one fell swoop by showing up here today. I had two options in this situation: sneak out the back without telling anyone, or wait for him to come back and ask (politely, because it’s George) for me to leave. Before I even had the chance to be politely rejected by George, I decided to save myself from the pain. I started heading toward the sliding glass doors at the back of the office when I heard footsteps shuffling back down the hallway.
In an effort to look like I hadn’t been planning a masterful escape just seconds before, I sat down in the seat where Adelaide had just left as George reappeared in the doorway.
“Savannah Alverson, as I live and breathe,” he said.
“Surprise?” I said, my voice going up an octave at the end of the word.
“What brings you to my practice room today?” he asked, sinking into the chair across from me.
“I heard you’re especially good at teaching people how to play open G on the clarinet. Coincidentally, it’s my dying wish to learn how to play,” I said.
“You’re dying?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“We’re all dying, George. We’re all part of this big wheel called life,” I said.
“Hmm, yes, I’ve heard of this wheel before,” he said. “Well, you’re in luck that I happen to have a clarinet on hand courtesy of Hannah’s brief stint with playing. I can’t promise that it’s the cleanest instrument ever, but it still works.”
“That’s what counts,” I said. “As long as I can fulfill my dying wish of the open G.”
He audibly snickered, and the butterflies in my stomach had a celebratory dance party. I could spend a whole lifetime just trying to make George laugh.
“So are you serious? Do you really want to learn?” he asked.
“I’m always serious,” I said.
He shook his head and hesitated for a few moments before opening up the old clarinet case and reaching inside, pulling out the mouthpiece and taking off parts that I had no idea of their purpose. He put a small piece of wood under his tongue for a few seconds before attaching it to the mouthpiece. I watched him place just the mouthpiece in his mouth before he blew into it, making arguably the worst noise in human history.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“This is how you start to learn! You have to work up to Adelaide’s level,” he said.
He handed the mouthpiece over to me and went into a detailed description of how to properly adjust your lips around the mouthpiece and how your tongue should hit the reed, and all this talk of mouths and tongues in the presence of George did nothing for my concentration. I mostly nodded and smiled as I watched his lips move and imagined other, very PG-13 scenarios involving George’s lips.
A deafening squeak erupted from the mouthpiece when I blew into it for the first time and I wished, for both of our sakes, that I would have had a few more seconds to sneak out the sliding glass doors. We were both trapped in this situation that neither of us wanted to be in because I had to play it cool.
“On a positive note, I think you might have broken my record for loudest first attempt ever,” he said.
“I don’t realize my own strength sometimes. R.I.P. to your eardrums and all eardrums within a mile radius,” I said.
“Let’s do that again, but this time … less force,” he said.
This time it was less of a squeak and more of an obnoxious buzz, which I took as a good sign. He pulled out the clarinet case again and started to assemble the rest of it.
“So, how often do you teach lessons?” I asked.
“Right now I have three kids who come in for lessons. Most of the young ones come in for clarinet because they usually teach clarinet first before you can switch to saxophone. It’s just a little something to make some extra money here and there. Plus, it’s good practice, since I want to be a music teacher down the road,” he said.
He handed me the rest of the clarinet, and I attached the mouthpiece. I let it sit in my lap for a few seconds, and I almost felt like a real player. Almost, until I remembered the first horrific sound that I produced.
Just before more nervous words tumbled out of my mouth, George scooted closer to me, rendering me speechless (which is very difficult to do, mind you). He picked up the clarinet from my lap and held it out in front of him.
“You see how your thumb rests here? This is how you hold it,” he said.
I took it back from him and placed it on my thumb. He raised his eyebrows to me, asking silently if he could adjust its position in my hands, and I nodded. His fingers grazed mine as he repositioned the instrument on my thumb, and I wondered if he could feel the same spark that went through my fingertips in that moment.
“So open G is just blowing the same amount of air as before, but through the instrument. Easy enough, right?” he asked.
“For most people, yes, but I’ll mess it up somehow,” I said.
“Impossible,” he said, “Not when I’m right here. Make sure that you’re tilted down a bit—yep, just like that.”
This time a more refined sound came out around us and for the first time in my life, I was making actual music. Sure, my benchmark had been an eight-year-old completing the same task in less time and with better sound, but I still did it. George really must be a miracle worker of a teacher.
“I did it!”
“Is Savannah Alverson genuinely shocked about something? I never thought that I’d see the day,” he said.
“There seems to be a lot of that going down with you around,” I said.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. I was suddenly very aware of how close we were sitting, our knees nearly touching and his arm braced against the back of my chair.
“Definitely not a bad thing,” I said.
The space around us snapped and crackled with energy, and it felt like we were most definitely in the middle of a moment. A moment that could only last so long in my unlucky universe.
“There you are!” Mrs. Smith said at the doorway. “I was worried about you when you didn’t come back after a while. But I see you found George!”
“Yep, we’re doing great, Mom, thanks,” Blushing George said.
“Savannah, would you like to stay for dinner?” Mrs. Smith asked.
“Um, thank you so much for the offer, but I’m meeting Grace tonight to talk about a school project,” I said.
“Next time! You’re welcome anytime, dear!” she said.
“Thank you so much,” I said, smiling. George sat silently in the chair next to me. I tried to look back over at him, but he refused to make eye contact with me. Mrs. Smith left, and George started to pull the clarinet back apart to put away.
“So … I guess I’ll see you at school Monday?” I said.
“I guess,” he said, still not meeting my gaze.
“Thanks for the lesson. What do I owe you? I can pay in pizza or rap performances. Up to you,” I said.
“Ah, I’ll send a bill your way,” he said, barely playing along.
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” I said.
“See you,” he replied, closing the case and standing up to put it away. I waited around for a few beats to see if he’d turn around, but he continued to unnecessarily rearrange things in the closet across the room. I turned and left, secretly hoping that he would call back out to me and we could pick up our banter right where we left it, but he didn’t.
They should put a warning on all clarinet cases: May Cause Sexual Tension.