As it turned out, Mr O’Donoghue was an amazing teacher and when Clara watched him walk into the lesson she practically melted.
“Oh my god, isn’t he just gorgeous?” She whispered to me in a high pitched, girly voice.
Mr O’Donoghue was fairly tall and dressed stylishly. His hair was dark and cut short and his eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and passion for his subject. He also had an Irish accent, which Clara described as heart melting.
“Right class,” Mr O’Donoghue said, clapping his hands as he addressed the whole room, “I think we’ll do some practical work today.”
Half the class celebrated, the other half of the class looked like they were about to commit suicide.
Mr O’Donoghue’s face fell, “Aw, come on guys.” He encouraged, “I’ll let you pick your own songs to play.”
This seemed to make some people happier.
“Do we have to preform?” Amy called out.
Mr O’Donoghue frowned then sighed, “Not if you don’t want too.” Then he sparked up again.
“I have an idea!” He announced, “Pick a song and, as long as you look like you are working, I don’t mind what you do. But as soon as someone messes around, I’ll have you each stood at the front of the class singing Summer Nights from Grease . . . in pairs!” He threatened. I think it was safe to say that no one wanted to do that.
“So it’s a relaxed, chill out lesson then,” Mr O’Donoghue smiled, something that made Clara melt all over again just when I thought she’d gotten a grip.
Everyone charged into groups and to the keyboards and began searching for songs on the internet that could be easily translated from notation to the right keys to press.
I wondered over to where Mr O’Donoghue was sat at the teachers keyboard, one earphone on and one off so he could hear the class as well as what he was playing. He looked to be composing a song as he kept stopping and scribbling a few notes down before resuming playing again.
“Sir?” I asked, feeling bad about interrupting. He looked at me then smiled and I wondered if Clara would have passed out had she been me at this moment.
“Hello!” He said cheerfully, “You must be the new girl, Rosie? Yes, Rosie. What’s wrong?”
I pursed my lips, “Uh, well nothing’s wrong, sir. I just thought I ought to introduce myself.” I admitted.
Mr O’Donoghue considered this then smiled, “How polite of you. Well Rosie Walker, I’m Danny O’Donoghue, but for professional reasons you need to call me Mr O’Donoghue.”
I smiled at him, “Yeah, I gathered.”
“So,” He began, removing the headphones completely, “Do you play an instrument?”
I thought for a moment, “Well, I’ve been playing acoustic Guitar for quite a few years now, and in Austria, where I lived before, I had a friend who played the keyboard really well and she taught me, then I’ve done a little bit of recorder and violin and cello.” I paused then added quickly, “But mainly guitar and keyboard.”
Mr O’Donoghue nodded, “Any good?” He got up and gestured down to the seat where he’d been sat.
I swallowed and he smiled, “No need to be nervous.”
I licked my lips nervously then slipped down onto the stool at the keyboard and looked at the notation in front of me. It looked difficult but was nothing compared to some of the pieces Maybella had taught me when in Austria.
“Do you want me to play?” I asked dumbly.
He nodded then smiled, “Now, it’d be no use to either of us if you just sat there staring, would it?” He laughed then unplugged the headphones and turned the volume of the keyboard down so that it was just loud enough for us two to hear over the chatter of the class but not loud enough so the class would hear it.
I looked at the keys and wondered what I should play.
I fixed my eyes on the music Mr O’Donoghue had been composing then shrugged.
I began to play, studying the notes and their individual beats and rhythms. Maybella had always told me never to focus too much on my fingers pressing the keys, just focus on the music. She reckoned that your fingers found the right keys anyway, you didn’t have to watch them, just trust that they’d play the notes right.
I came to the end of the sheet, sometimes pausing slightly when I came across a note I was unsure of, or what beat it lasted for.
A lot of the time I slipped up on things like making sure my semiquavers lasted for one and a half beats and my ties dragged on, I messed up slightly on one of the slurs as well but found the right notes again.
When I was done I sat with my hands on my knees and looked up at Mr O’Donoghue who was tapping a finger against his lips thoughtfully, a smile playing there.
“Very good,” He commented, “You’ve definitely got the basics covered. Is there anything you can play from memory?”
I thought of all the evil and difficult classical pieces Maybella had had me play. One though, was my absolute favourite and we’d spent hours and hours practising it and perfecting it until neither of us needed the music sheet and we could play it by ear and memory.
“Um . . . ,” I said gently pressing some of the keys to familiarise myself with the notes, “Beethoven’s Moonlight, the piano sonata in C sharp minor.” I said, reeling off its title as I tried to remember all the details.
Mr O’Donoghue frowned, “A classical piece?”
I nodded, “Yeah.”
He gestured to the keyboard, “Go for it.”
I switched the keyboard into its grand piano setting and pressed a trial key to make sure that it was the right kind of noise.
Then I began to play. The music was soft and graceful, a piece that relaxed my mind and toyed with my emotions of love and loneliness. Sorrow and compassion eclipsed my body as I continued playing the piece, remembering Maybella’s words of how you had to feel the piece, live the piece and embrace it. Only then would you be able to play it to its full potential.
I finished, letting the last note ring loud and clear before listening to it die down.
I looked up into the emotion filled eyes of my music teacher.
I noticed that several people in the class were looking my way and I blushed, trying to hide my face.
“That was very impressive, Rosie.” Mr O’Donoghue finally said, with a clap of his hands.
“I prefer guitar.” I mumbled shyly and he nodded.
Just then Tony began going hell for leather on the drum kit at the far side of the classroom. Everyone listened as he played the instrument with fierce passion and accuracy. When he was done he cheered loudly like he was at a rock concert.
“Black Sabbath!” He said.
I was happy the attention was now off me.
If I could dedicate this to all the script fans out there I would (*cough* @Spannah and @HazelJ ) lol anyway that's all I've got time to upload so bye bye!!! I'll keep you hanging on for Part 2 :) (coz i'm evil) ~x~