My violin teacher…

I played violin, even graduated the school. Do I play now? Of course not, Im not that smart anymore….

However, those were interesting years and definitely a memorable experience.

We had the violin teacher, young lady, from the capital. She was a white skin, beautiful, I can remember she was not that tall, round face, short hair which she was dying mix colors like brown and blond together.

She had the same perfume always, any time she would enter the room the fragrance would fill the room and hit our noses, enchant and charm us to follow her every move.

Her hands were soft, no, very soft, her fingers were not that long as you would predict for a violin player but…. she was moving those so smooth and fast and making that sweet music out of my instrument which never-ever played properly with me!

Yeah, you can say, I was in love with her, totally…

I had hope, I really had hope one day I will confess her. Did I tell you I was only 7 back then? But… before I was thinking how and what, which took of course couple of months, if not a year, she got a partner. That monster accordion teacher. He had that blue car Moskvich which was pimped-out but still ugly, ufff…

They started to date actively, the guy would finish his lessons as quick as possible and come down (his classroom was on the second floor and ours on the first) to see her. Apparently I was a good student and my teacher would schedule me the last so she would have more time to practice with me. Would she? Of course not. That guy would come in, they would ask me to go out and play for a while and what was happening inside was just plots of my imagination.

Actually, once I couldnt help myself and started to look through the key hole, I love soviet time door locks, providing proper observation lens. At some point they figured out that someone is staring at them and stuck a piece of a napkin into it.ย They finished their fun, I was let in, angry, nooo furious but showing like nothing happened, they were unhappy, actually the guy, but couldnt say anything, who would argue with a 7 years old? ๐Ÿ™‚

All the other times the schedule was repeated. All the time I would get into the classroom and that piece of the napkin would be laying on the top of the piano to remind me about my lost love and failed attempt of seeing them making out.

I remember that every time going home I would curse them, would be so angry as I was so late to go home, it was getting cold, I was hungry, havent done my homework, ah what a disaster.

A year later our teacher got married and left Armenia, fortunately not with that guy ๐Ÿ™‚

Why I remember all this? Just today I saw the director of our school after 30 years, pure coincidence. He said that he is in touch with my teacher and she is Yerevan now. Gosh, I might see her again.

Am I going to tell her all this? Of course!!!