Chapter 6 Piano for a Dummy #3
A DVD player. An actual, physical DVD player, the kind that probably hadn't been manufactured in a decade.
It sat on her doormat in its original box, faded but intact, positioned with the same careful deliberation as the DVD had been. On top of it was a neon sticky note:
No need to bother Mary.
She unlocked her door and brought everything inside.
The groceries got shoved into the fridge and cabinets without any real organization; milk next to pasta sauce, and cheese in the crisper drawer meant for vegetables.
She'd deal with it later. Right now, all her attention was focused on the DVD player sitting on her coffee table next to Piano for Dummies.
Setting it up took longer than it should have. But after some fumbling, the DVD player finally came to life with a nostalgic mechanical whir.
Piano for Dummies loaded with the kind of childish menu screen that confirmed this was definitely from the early 2000s with its garish colors, Comic Sans font, and a MIDI version of a classical piece playing in the background.
Theo pressed play on the main feature and waited to see what Catherine had subjected her to.
The video opened with an overly enthusiastic instructor, a middle-aged man with a mustache that had been deeply unfashionable even when this was filmed.
He sat at an upright piano in what looked like someone's living room, and his first words were: "So, you want to understand the piano!
Congratulations! You've taken the first step on a journey that will enrich your life in ways you can't even imagine. "
Theo bit her lip to suppress a snort. It was exactly as cheesy as the cover suggested, complete with graphics that looked like they'd been made in Microsoft Paint.
But as the instructor began explaining basic concepts like the staff, the clefs, and how to count measures, she found herself actually paying attention. It was ridiculous, sure, but it was also kind of informative in a way that made music theory feel easier rather than intimidating.
The instructor moved on to discussing different periods of classical music, playing brief examples from each era.
When he got to the Baroque period and demonstrated with Bach's Prelude in C Major, the same piece Noah had been playing that morning, something in Theo stilled.
Hearing it explained, understanding the thought behind it, made her appreciate it in a way she hadn't expected.
She thought about Catherine playing, she imagined her fingers moving across the keys with total control, and about the countless hours it took to make something that complex look effortless.
She thought, too, about the fact that Catherine had actually gone to the trouble of giving Theo a way into her world.
Her eyes grew heavy somewhere around the discussion of Romantic period composers.
The instructor was playing a Mendelssohn nocturne, explaining the use of rubato and expressive dynamics, and Theo felt herself drifting.
She should get up and put away the groceries properly, or do a hundred different productive things with what remained of her Sunday.
Instead, she let her head fall back against the couch cushions, the DVD still playing, Catherine’s note still within reach on the coffee table. She slept there, curled up with the remote still in her hand, and dreamed she was taking piano lessons from a certain blond teacher.
* * *
In the days that followed, her shifts blurred together, broken up by stolen hours of sleep between twelve-hour stretches and evenings spent on the couch with Piano for Dummies playing as she tried to tell Baroque from Classical.
By the end of the week, Theo had watched the DVD twice, taken notes like she was studying for boards, and found herself actually enjoying it, which raised several uncomfortable questions about her mental state.
On Wednesday, she'd correctly identified Vivaldi playing in the hospital cafeteria.
Then, on Thursday, she caught herself humming a Mozart melody during rounds, earning a strange look from one of her interns.
By Friday, she'd accepted that classical music had somehow become part of her routine, woven into the fabric of her days in ways she hadn't anticipated.
Now, it was the following Wednesday, another eleven p.m. arrival home after a shift that had been long but mercifully straightforward.
Theo dropped her bag by the door and went straight to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She hadn’t even reached the couch before the piano started.
But this time, instead of grabbing her phone to text Catherine a suggestion about retiring from piano in favor of something more suited to her personality, like the triangle, Theo paused mid-step and listened.
The piece was aggressive, demanding, full of sharp dissonances and rapid passages that sounded like an argument set to music.
She knew this one. She’d learned about it yesterday from the second DVD Catherine had left outside her door, Advanced Classical Listening for the Determined Student, which had made Theo smile so wide her cheeks hurt.
This was Prokofiev, if she had to guess, though she wasn't confident enough to bet money on it.
She settled onto her couch, wine in hand, and grabbed her phone. This had become routine too over the past week, Catherine playing, Theo listening, the nightly text exchange that walked the line between provocation and something that felt almost like friendship… or at least friendship adjacent.
She typed:
Theo
If you're trying to scare me off with Prokofiev, you'll have to try harder.
The piano paused, and Catherine’s reply came within seconds. She must have had her own phone next to her, waiting to see if Theo would engage tonight.
Catherine
Sounds like someone's been watching my DVDs.
Theo took a sip of wine and typed back:
Theo
I have. Soon I'll know enough to expertly critique your playing.
Your left hand was a bit heavy in that last passage, by the way.
Catherine’s response came quickly:
Catherine
My left hand was intentionally heavy, Theodora. It's called artistic interpretation. Something they don't teach in "Piano for Dummies."
Theo grinned and fired back:
Theo
Is "artistic interpretation" what we're calling mistakes now? Good to know.
This time, Catherine's response took longer. She pictured Catherine at her piano bench, phone balanced precariously on the edge of the keys, trying to suppress an eyeroll.
But when the message finally came through, the tone was different, more sincere.
Catherine
I appreciate you watching the DVDs. I'm glad you've been enjoying them.
Theo’s fingers hovered over the screen. The honesty caught her off guard, but it didn’t feel out of place, just… unexpected.
She typed:
Theo
I have, actually. More than I expected to.