In my Junior year of high school, our school hired a student teacher to help with our music program.
His name was Mr. Tea, and he was gorgeous. He had curly blonde hair, button brown eyes, and a mustache. I developed an instant crush on him. Naturally, when I found out he was holding semi-private lessons for the trombone, I jumped at the opportunity!
One day after school, my friend Greg and I were working through a difficult run of eighth notes in a march called “Black Horse Troup.” Greg, being the better player, had already mastered the cluster of black menaces, while I was still struggling. Mr. Tea, of course, was patient and took me through the passage note by note.
I just couldn’t get it. I don’t know if I was distracted by Mr. Tea’s handsomeness, or unable to grasp the complexity of the music. Either way, I sucked. My friend Greg, trying to lighten the mood a little, said “That sounds more like Black Horse Poop!”
I started laughing hysterically, and when I did, a huge booger flew from my nostril and landed on my right leg.
The room went silent.
I looked at the booger in horror and ran from the room, red faced and trying not to cry.
Luckily, neither Mr. Tea nor Greg mentioned my mucous mishap. I guess it was our nasty little secret! It took me a while before I could look at either one of them, though.
© Copyright 2007 Ravenwand, Rising Star! (UN: ravenwand at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Ravenwand, Rising Star! has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|Log In To Leave Feedback|