Chicken Butt

Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I have my music theory class at 10:30 sharp, but I’m usually late. Now, my music teacher isn’t one of those old and decrepit, nazi-like teachers. Oh no siree, she’s an old and decrepit, goodhearted teacher. That was just for some comic relief; Mrs. Lamprey is actually an altruistic woman with the wisdom of many seasons of musical experience.

I am sharing my piano with some nameless guy, who I’ll call “Guy”. Mrs. Lamprey is walking around and testing everyone while Guy is hogging up the piano. I’m stuck with the high-pitched over treble clef side and he gets the perfect C-clef side. How unfair. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is that we are being tested on the major chords. Oh, how I loathe the major chords. Sure, C, D and G are pretty easy, but when more flats and sharps come into play, it starts to get pretty difficult. My forearms are cramping up. It’s that kind of pain that you think is a symptom of carpal tunnel syndrome, but after you jiggle your wrist enough it goes away. I jiggle my wrist a lot during music class.

These sharps and flats are tough to hit. B flat and E flat are arduous major chords. I can play the chords by memory, but here is my dilemma. As I memorize one chord, I forget the one before it. Yeah, I know what you’re saying. “Dude, just give it up. This is only a G.E.” or “Yo Homie, music ain’t yo thang’” or even better “Music, my young lad, is for the enjoyment of ones’ audience and your music… just can not be enjoyed.” Fortunately, I don’t listen to you Mr. Doubt and you know what? “What?”

Chicken butt.

© Copyright by Kurihi Chargualaf