Page 76 of Strings
He opens his car door for me and I slide in. As soon as he’s inside, I let loose. “That was devious, even for you.”
He smirks. “Those kids are hard to say no to, aren’t they?”
“They’re impossible to say no to. And for the record, you’re amazing with them. It’s obvious they worship you.”
He flips his turn signal on and pulls out onto the street. “If I could, I’d never leave.”
“What do you mean? You would work there more?”
“I mean if I could, I’d just teach. Maybe not exclusively at the center, but at a school or a university. I don’t know.”
“Are you serious? But you’re the first chair.”
“You think I don’t know what I am?”
His tone is defensive and I raise my hands. “Whoa!”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know what I have at the Sym. I love my job, it’s just...”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, so I attempt to finish it for him. “You love teaching more?”
He nods. “I’m sure you think I’m nuts.”
“Why would I think that?”
He glances at me briefly before his eyes refocus on the road. There’s barely any traffic. “Anytime I’ve ever mentioned giving up writing, playing, or chairing, I’ve been ridiculed for it. My whole life has been about what everyone else wants me to do.”
I listen intently.
“I adore my parents and I know they want what’s best for me, but sometimes I feel like they’re only happy with me when I’m doing what they want instead of what I want.”
“What do they want?”
“They want me to be a conductor and to produce my own music. They also think I should be trying to get a music deal. I seriously think they want me to be the next Yanni or something.”
“Yanni?”
He huffs out a small laugh. “For someone who’s been working in this industry for years, you sure don’t know much about music.”
“I know a lot about music. Just because I’ve never heard of some group called Yanni doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about music.”
“Yanni is one person, not a group.”
“Whatever. So your parents want you to be a Yanni?”
He tries not to smile. “And a conductor. And a writer, and an author, and a philanthropist.”
“Jesus.”
“He hasn’t made the list yet, but I’m sure they’d add being God to my goals if they could.”
“And what do you want?”
He gazes over to me and pulls at his lips. “I love music. I always have. I got my first taste for teaching when I was young and I was asked to show one of my parents’ friends how I play. There’s something about having a gift and being able to share it with others that makes it feel that much more special.”
“Some people would say you are sharing it when you play for sold out venues.”
“But who am I sharing it with? Who am I reaching? People with pocketbooks lined with gold? No. I want to share my gift with people who need it. People who have music in their blood. Children who crave it like they crave food to eat or water to drink. Being around someone who feels that kind of passion only makes mine grow even stronger.”
