The Note Under the Door

Tomas was eleven and had been learning the trumpet for three weeks. Every afternoon at five o'clock, he stood in his small bedroom on the third floor of Linden Court and practiced. He knew the trumpet was loud. Most of his notes sounded like a goose with a cold.

One Thursday, he found a folded piece of yellow paper under the front door. His name was written on the outside in neat blue letters. His stomach dropped. He was 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 woman with grey hair 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 came out clean 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 at that one. 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 say thank you properly. Mrs. Halloway opened the door. Behind her, Tomas saw a silver trumpet in a glass case on the wall and an old photograph 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."