rachel.

rachel was the kind of girl who wanted only to know your favorite color and when your birthday was. when you asked, she told you she was twenty-seven, but it was impossible to tell. there was a certain sweet, childlike look in her countenance as she smiled at the world. amy, the teacher who had passed her to me just before leaving for college, had told me this student had down syndrome, but i hadn't expected this, not having worked with kids like her much before. then again, i had no idea what to expect.


ostensibly, each violin lesson commenced with scales, segued into a flashcard session, and ended with playing songs from her collection of music books. somewhere in between, a review of her practice log added up her total minutes spent practicing during the last week, and sometimes we would supplement the music with a CD of accompaniment tracks, if the book included one. for me, though, the true start of each lesson was from the moment i entered her house, unfailingly amazed by her perpetual smile upon seeing me. early on, i discovered that the best way to measure the time gone by were the questions and the stories. between unpacking my violin and tuning the strings, she would ask about how school was treating me, tell me where she was going for vacation soon. scales meant get-to-know-you questions, the kind that incite groans from most high school students but felt perfect here.


"what's your favorite color?"
"i don't know. blue, i guess. what's yours?"
"i really, really love pink. and purple. those are my favorite colors."
"yeah, those are great colors. that's really awesome! you ready to try the e major scale?"


by the time we reviewed her practice log, she was ready for more personal inquiries. "do you have a boyfriend?"
"i do have a boyfriend," i replied while adding up the total minutes she had practiced. as i told her his name and how he played in the orchestra like i did, i could feel her smile even as my eyes remained trained on the paper before me. switching the focus of the conversation back to her, i asked, "rachel, you said you have a boyfriend. what's his name?" eagerly, her lips spilled over with kyle, how they met in the seventh grade, how he did so many favors for her and her family. listening to her came too easily; i wished talking was the same. every thought i shared with her was spoken with a heartbeat's hesitation. i handed her the completed practice log and her new, empty one for next week. "ready for the next part of the lesson?"


during the flashcard session, it was my turn to ask questions. "here, what's this note?" i laid down a card with a single note printed onto the staff, the fifth or sixth of many. she considered it for a moment, decided on an answer. "is it C?" she looked at me. 
"yeah, you got it! that note is C!"
she giggled, eyes brightening. "C for christie, and that's you!" 
"it is indeed! here, what's the next card?"
"it's A."
i smiled at her. "that's right!"
"that's funny, A is for amy! A is for amy, C is for christie...it's like all my teachers have a note letter for their name." she paused. "i miss amy. but now i'm happy with you."


rachel had an entire tote bag of songbooks from which we played after exhausting the theory material for the day--there was a book for wicked, another full of the beatles' tunes, one devoted to music composed by john williams, and countless more filled with songs from various other movies and musicals. her favorite songs, though, were the love songs. "because we're both in lo-ove," she would coo. and i'd just smile to compensate for not knowing what to say, because i never went around proclaiming that i was in love. i didn't even know if i could honestly say that i loved my boyfriend, only that i was deeply attracted to him. all that i knew was that i was just old enough to know that i didn't have a definition for love yet. but rachel, this childlike girl who was eleven years my senior, was young enough to know that definitions didn't matter. she trusted in her happiness, and that was enough for her.


amy had advised me not only to be a teacher to rachel, but to be her friend as well. "well, rachel, it's time for me to go."
"aw man, not already! please stay."
"oh, i really want to. but i can't. my mom's waiting for me at home."
and as i packed my violin into its case, almost ready to return to junior year homework and family plans, i caught a twinge of regret tugging beneath my stomach, because oddly enough, i truly was sorry to leave. i hadn't expected myself to feel that way--not this soon, either. this was only our second lesson together. "but i'll see you again next week, right?"
"yes, next week! bye, christie!"


until next week, rachel. until next week.