Combat High: Music and Mania
The underbelly of a secondary school
I step out of the elevator and impulsively wrinkle my nose. It smells faintly of piss and bleach. I can already hear the notes of Emmerson’s piano dancing down the hall. Minuet in F by Mozart is Emmerson’s latest piece. My brother plays it on a loop so the notes are engraved in my memory. Often, it sounds like victory. Emmerson’s music lessons mean I am successful at least in one part of my life. Tonight, there is desperation in the notes. My stomach rolls, and I attempt to quiet it by pressing my bruised and bloody hand to it. Emmerson bangs the keys more heavily. I can hear Gabriela’s lilting voice counting the beat a little ahead of time. The chords don’t last as long.
While Emmerson finds the keys, I stop in the hall to listen and close my eyes. I can already picture my mom with her tired brown hair twisted up into a knot on the top of her head. In my head, she stirs a pot in the cramped but sparkling galley kitchen or folds laundry in her bedroom. Always in my dreams, she attends to the music. I can see her crushing a clean shirt or pair of pants to her chest, mid-fold, while she listens to the notes and refocuses, fighting the demons in her head.
Mom greets me at the door with bright, shiny eyes. She throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight. She holds me at arm’s length…
