The Note Under the Door

Tomas was eleven and had been learning the trumpet, a musical instrument you play by blowing into it, for three weeks. Every afternoon at five, he practiced in his small bedroom on the third floor of Linden Court. He knew he was loud. Most of his notes sounded like a goose—a large water bird—with a cold.

One Thursday, he found a folded piece of yellow paper under the front door. His name was written on it in neat blue letters. He felt suddenly nervous, sure it was a complaint.

He opened it slowly. The note said:"Dear Tomas, the fourth note in your second song is too low. Push more air, not more lips. Mrs. Halloway, Flat 2B."

Tomas read it three times. Mrs. Halloway lived directly below him. She was a small, grey-haired woman who always carried a cloth bag full of oranges. He had never heard her say more than "Good morning."

That afternoon, he tried her advice. He took a deep breath and pushed more air. The note sounded clear and bright. He laughed out loud in his empty room.

The next week, another yellow note arrived."Better! Now relax your shoulders. You look tense even through the ceiling." Tomas smiled. More notes followed, each short and helpful. He began leaving his own notes under her door:"Thank you. What about the high notes?"

After a month, his mother sent him downstairs with a plate of honey cake to thank her properly. When Mrs. Halloway opened the door, Tomas saw a silver trumpet in a glass case on the wall behind her. Beside it was an old photo of a young woman playing it on a stage.

"I played for forty years," she said quietly."Then my hands got tired, and I put it away. I thought I didn't miss it. But your terrible goose sounds woke something up."

Tomas looked at the case, then at her hands."Could you teach me in person?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. Then she opened the glass case.

"Only if you promise to be patient," she said."I haven't practiced in twelve years. I might sound like a goose too."