GUMMY

I am playing the keyboard at my friend’s wedding, as his fiancé walks down the aisle, and all I can think about, is the day I started learning how to play the instrument.

***

I carried a small stress-ball in my jacket, and during moments like these, it gave me immense relief. I squeezed it, and tried to control my breathing. I couldn’t understand what had me so nervous. It was just a Music Academy, filled with people who enjoyed music as much as I did. Why was I so afraid to make a fool of myself? Why did it matter what random strangers thought of me?

“Are you going to move?” a voice said, and I turned around to see a girl, a year or so older than me, with a guitar case hung over her shoulder. Mumbling an apology, I scurried inside, opening the door and standing to the side, so that she could pass. The Reception Area was small, with a raised desk-area on the side, decorated by a small plushie, which seemed out of place, and yet, perfect. It was brown, with a mischievous expression on its face. I wanted to take a closer look at it, but before I could, the receptionist called out to me, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I am joining today. I signed up for learning the keyboard. My name is Aria.”

She clicked a few keys on her keyboard, and in my peripheral vision, I felt someone had come and stood next to me at the counter. Wondering if I should give way, I shifted to the left, closer to the plushie. I must have been looking at it with interest, because the stranger beside me said, “His name is Shooky.” Startled, I swiveled to look at the speaker.

He must have been twenty-something, with straight brown hair falling lightly on his forehead. He was taller than me, and had this solemn, almost poker face, with a nearly faded thin scar running from his right eyebrow to his cheek. His eyes flitted away when we made eye-contact. He looked embarrassed.

“Yes, Ms. Aria. You will be practicing in the Agust D Room. Your instructor is a little late today, so you can go and wait there. He should be here soon.” I was still looking at the boy, who seemed to find his shoes rather interesting. I snapped out of my reverie, and thanked the lady. As I started making my way into the corridors of the academy, I realized I should have asked her for the way. After about ten minutes of desperate searching, I found the room. I twisted the door knob and entered, to find it empty. There was a white-board, two keyboards and chairs. I decided there was no point in standing, so I sat down in front of one of them, and switched it on. I had played it a couple of times, but I was pathetic at it. My fingers trembled, as I lifted them to the keys.

“Why are you scared?” I jumped, and my hand collided with the E, F and G keys. The room was filled with a sharp sound.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you. I practice in this room, too, so I thought I’d get some homework done before our teacher came.”

“Oh. It is alright. I am a little out of sorts today.” I did not look at him, but I knew it was the same boy I had met at the reception.

“I noticed. Why?”

“Well, eighteen is not really the age to start learning an instrument. By this time, people are experts, and I am worried I am going to be really bad at it.” Why I had started blabbing to him, I couldn’t decipher.

He sat down at the adjacent keyboard. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but it was decorated with stickers of basketball. Almost immediately, he played the tune of one of my favorite songs, Seesaw. I smiled, despite myself. “I love that song. It is easy to dance to.”

“I learnt this around the time I turned 24. This is the first song I could play without making any mistakes. It took me more than two decades to realise that I wanted to. Does that make me, in any way, less capable than those who had the same epiphany at the age of eight?” He looked at me intently, his brown eyes searching for an answer.

“Weren’t you scared you would fail? The older we get, the harder it is to learn.” He laughed, and for a second, I was enamored by his gummy smile. His cheeks seemed to glow. A different kind of Prince Charming.

“I still fear. But then, if we let fear control the way we live our lives, the things we do, the people we love, how are we really living? I hear notes of music, everywhere I go. I use cutlery to play tunes, and I dream of melodies. When this is such an important part of my life, how can I let fear drive it out and away?”

“Sometimes the idea that you might not succeed at something you love is enough to stop you from doing it. What do you do then?”

“If you truly love it, and if you find the passion within yourself, then you are wronging yourself and the art by giving up, without trying. You are here, you made it to this room, you are sitting in front of the instrument. Do you really want to turn back now? I know it can be tempting, to run in the opposite direction, and convince yourself that the conditions did not allow you. It is safe. But all you are doing is letting fear take away from you what you treasure.”

I felt myself without words, and just looked at him, a person I did not know, who had somehow managed to give me a boost of strength, while being so absolutely candid. He looked at the keyboard with endearing eyes, as though it was the outlet for everything his heart held.

“Lord, you did not scare her on her first day, did you?” Our teacher had come into the room, and was staring accusingly at his older student.

“Did I?” he smiled, almost shyly, and I shook my head. As we sat down for our lesson, I whispered, “I am Aria, you might already know that. What is your name?”

He pursed his lips, and hummed, as though he was deep in thought. “Yeon Ki-Min.”

***

The memory makes me laugh gummily, and I see it mirrored in the groom, as he says, “I do.”