2009
"That was good!" Lyanna said with a smile. "This part right here, though," she pointed at the sheet, "it's meant to evoke jealousy. Fury. A scorned lover. You want to really puncture these notes out like you're so angry you keep punching the wall. Can we try it again?"
My tutor was a fan of pushing me out of my comfort zone when it came to our lessons. As a fan of romantic composers who tended to stray toward a more whimsical and mythical dance, I needed work when it came to pieces that evoked something harder.
In general, I wasn't loud or strong in the way I operated. Anger wasn't an emotion I felt I had much of a grip on, not the explosive kind that seemed to have a mind of its own. It wasn't that I didn't understand it or experience it ever. Me punching Lake Williams in the face last year was evidence of that. When pushed to the edge, I knew I could topple over. But getting there felt so unnatural to me that even when I did, I couldn't truly process my thoughts. Drifting slowly underneath the surface came more naturally to me. As if my anger was something that bubbled beneath the surface; a pot of water someone stared at so I never reached a rolling boil.
Lyanna helped a lot with it. Even when I stumbled more than a handful of times since I wasn't playing the oboe every day anymore, she went easy on me. Not just because my parents were paying for these lessons. She understood how vulnerable it could be to open up to something seemingly innocent. And she didn't make me feel bad when I didn't know how to play something or when I needed her to show me how it was done.
Once every two weeks, I caught the bus down to Manoa and met up with Lyanna on campus where she was able to reserve a private room for our lessons. I had to bring my own reeds with me, but I was able to use one of UH's oboes for practice, which worked out since I didn't own one myself.
Although I was grateful for the opportunity to play again after quitting band, it wasn't the same and I was still trying to figure out if that was a good or bad thing. It felt good more often than bad. I worked at my own pace and could ask Lyanna to teach me certain things that interested me. There was no pressure. If I wanted to cancel a lesson at the last minute because my anxiety was flaring up, Lyanna understood.
But it was an exchange more than something organically collaborative. As well as Lyanna and I got along, we were still here as part of a business transaction. When that ended, I would go back to sitting in my room and staring up at the ceiling, wishing I could be dedicated enough to make something I was passionate about into a career that worked for me.
"You're doing really well, Hoku," Lyanna said as I packed up my things at the end of our session. "I think if you practice a little more, you'll be able to finish this by the next time we meet."
Flushed, I shrugged. "Thanks but I don't have anything to play at home so I just read over the sheet music between lessons."
She glanced around the room even though we were the only ones in it. "Look, I asked and they said it's okay if you want to take it home every once in a while. Just make sure I can reach you in case they need it for something."
I stared at her. "It's okay?"
"Sure."
Bullshit. "Then why do you look like you're afraid of getting caught?"
"'Cause I'm afraid of getting caught." Quickly, she closed the case for me, almost snapping it on my fingers in the process, and shoved it against my chest. "But it's okay. Everyone that works here is old and doesn't know what's happening around them half the time. It'll be fine. Just make sure you check your texts in case I need to do an emergency drive-by for it. Okay?"
As much as I didn't want Lyanna getting in trouble, the prospect of being able to play by myself was too tempting to turn down and I found myself clutching onto it like it was my baby. "Thanks, Lyanna."
"No problem." She finished packing up her things as well. She had a midterm to study for. "Us ladies got to have each other's backs, right?"
I nodded.
...
"Can you just load the dishwasher once in your damn life instead of drinking and spilling beer over my couch?"
"I just got home less than ten minutes ago. It's not gonna kill us to wait for another ten for the dishes to go inside, fucking hell."
"You know what, Bronson—"
I locked myself in my room, effectively cutting off the rest of the house. My parents didn't argue a lot but when they did, I learned it was best to stay out of it. The one time I tried to butt in—what for, I couldn't remember—we all ended up not speaking to each other for a few days.
Maybe it was just the hub of musicians I had been surrounded with, but oboes got a bad rep at both Niu Valley Middle School and Kaiser High School for being the nasally cousin of the clarinet. (A sound produced due to its double reed.) Most students who weren't in band had never even heard of it before. I wouldn't even be able to count on my fingers how many times I had been asked in a class what I played after seeing me carrying around my case, only for them to stare blankly back at me before turning away without saying another word.
It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful instrument I had ever heard, far more expressive than many other instruments I've tried playing before, including the clarinet, though I would never admit that to a clarinetist. The oboe could sound rich and full but also light and airy; a tree trunk with roots that ran deep throughout the forest or a pillowy cloud that held everyone's wishes until the stars came back out to play. While it blended extremely well with the sound of other instruments, it also stood out on its own as a statement—here it was, loud and proud.
After jumping onto my bed and placing the black hard case down in front of me, I snapped open the metal latches and slowly eased the top up. For some reason, it felt like a prerequisite for every single instrument case to have a creaky sound whenever it was opened, and the one it made now in the comfort and solitary confinement of my room was thunderous.
Admittedly, it did look quite similar to the clarinet, just a little bit thinner, so I understood the mix-up whenever someone mistook me for playing that. (The fact that I had to substitute playing the clarinet for marching band only aided in that confusion.) On both instruments, I admired the glossiness of the wood. (Or resin in the case of my instrument during middle and high school.) All of the oboes I had played, including this one that Lyanna let me borrow, were old, so some of the silver of the keys were worn down, but they still shined under the lights of my bedroom ceiling. I ran my fingers over them, smooth and cold to the touch still from the air-conditioned practice room. There were so many long lines and round shapes that jutted out in every direction. It amazed me how I could blow into two thin pieces of wood that were attached to the top of this thing and produce a beautiful melody, warped by the simple action of pressing these pieces of metal down at different intervals and with different arrangements. Even the sheet music I read in order to know how to play all of this music was a work of art. Black lines and dots—sometimes faded—drawn onto pieces of paper guided me into the ultimate form of escapism. The only acceptable form of running away I had done, had been encouraged to do. And all of this was at my fingertips whenever I wanted it, for the most part. Touching the instrument now welcomed a certain strange source of power that coursed through me. I felt the understanding of my abilities and how I could tell stories in such a beautiful way, even if I wasn't the one who created them, even if I wasn't necessarily the best at telling them. I held abilities that so many others didn't, and I shouldn't take advantage of that, my uniqueness affiliated with an instrument known to many as being difficult to learn. There was power in that and always would be.
Since I had just played earlier, my reed didn't need to soak for long in the water. After about a minute, I placed it in its spot and started playing the song we had been working on for the past couple of weeks.
What I told Lyanna earlier was the unfortunate truth. Since I didn't have an oboe to play at home—I probably could have asked Mr. Murray if I could borrow my old one every once in a while and I'm sure he would have let me, but I didn't want to become a burden or take advantage when I had already transferred out of his class—I spent most of my time just staring at the sheet music, occasionally holding my hands up like I was actually playing it and mimicking the fingerings. I spent so long staring at them that I had them memorized and could hear them even while sitting in complete silence staring up at my ceiling. The ceiling fan blades spun around and around as all of the notes splashed across my vision in scrolls of black.
Filling up the absence of sound with something for the first time in a long time was unimaginatively gratifying. The added bonus of drowning out the sound of my parents arguing was a plus. (Maybe they had stopped already and I didn't know.) (I wasn't sure I cared either way at that moment, even though that made me feel like a bad child.)
I hadn't noticed when Kanani walked in. The sight of her made me jump.
"Oh my god," I gasped, dropping the oboe onto the bed. I went into panic mode making sure my reed hadn't gotten snagged on the bedspread, and, after checking it was okay, placed it back down, a little more gently this time. "A warning would be nice."
"I knocked twice." She walked across the room and sat down at the foot of my bed which was closest to the window. I liked being able to stare outside at night. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It just... sounded so nice. I wanted to listen."
"It's fine." I shook her surprise appearance off. "How was school?"
What wasn't a surprise was Kanani's easy transition into college. Although the social climate was completely different at her new school, she had still already made a ton of friends. And, like the superhero she was, working part-time was just as much of a breeze for her. Not to mention how her social life had grown along with her newfound freedom in that she went out a lot more too. Just the thought of going to school, going to work, and then going out with friends made me want to throw up.
"A pain in the ass but it is what it is." She laughed.
Even when she was struggling with something, she made it look so easy. Meanwhile, I had minor inconveniences and spent my entire life looking like I had been run over. I didn't know how she did it.
Kanani dropped backward with her arms fanned out. After a second, she unbuttoned her jeans. "I went to eat Korean BBQ with a bunch of friends. So, I'm stuffed."
"Cute."
"And I might have... met someone."
The oboe had been discarded like the inanimate object it was. "Oh?"
Turning onto her side and resting her head on her palm, Kanani smiled at me. While my sister had no shortage of dalliances in high school, they were mostly for fun. She had no illusions of settling down with someone she met in high school. And while college was only slightly a step up, it was still something better, assuming whoever she met wasn't someone she had already gone to school with and just didn't meet before.
"His name's Keali'i."
"Okay, Hawaiian. Dad will approve." Not that Dad ever had much of a strong opinion about anyone any of us dated. While he wanted us to be happy and make good (and smart) decisions, he trusted us to know what was best for ourselves. Our dad would never be the type of person that threatened a guy just for liking us. (Though he would be the one to joke about it because he knew they would be intimidated by him and he'd find it funny.)
"Obviously." She dropped back down, looking up like a wistful teenager. (She technically still was, but her teenager was different from my teenager.) "God, he's gorgeous. And smart which, you know, is totally unfair. Plus he's way nicer than any of us."
"Not hard to be."
"I asked him out. And he said yes."
"He would be a loser if he didn't."
"Stop." She laughed, slapping my knee. "I don't know what we're going to do yet but I'll let you know."
"Well." I pulled a pillow onto my lap out of habit, needing something in front of my stomach whenever someone else was around. (And when someone wasn't.) (But that was a conversation for a day when—if—I ever went to therapy, probably.) "I hope it goes well."
Kanani smiled. "We'll see."