At home I quickly ate a sandwich, grabbed both my history books, and tore out of the house with ten minutes to spare. I figured it wouldn't be too bad, though, since I was going half an hour earlier than I ever have before. Parking would be better than for the seven o'clock classes, I figured. I might even get to park close to my classroom. I drove up the hill as fast as traffic would allow. Up, up, curve, twist, down, up, wheels squealing, zoom zoom zoom, around the bend of the campus, almost there and oh shit.

It was a madhouse. Cars circling everywhere. Zero parking spaces to be seen. Students darting into the street, students trampling the lawn, students wandering haplessly through the campus parking lot getting in everyone's way. By the time I got into the lot itself class had already started. I cut someone off to pull into a parking spot, jumped out, and hoofed the half mile to Building 2 as fast as I could. My history books were really heavy; I was fairly sure I didn't need them the first night but I couldn't be certain of that. I climbed up the three stories to room 2305 taking the stairs two at a time and came to a screeching halt.

The room was dark. No notice about meeting elsewhere on the door, no class. It was now 6:40. Shit shit shit.

I thundered downstairs and dashed into the Student Services center. "Where's my class meeting?" I asked somewhat breathlessly, thrusting my list of classes at the Information Desk girl. She looked it up on the computer and said 2305, Building 2. "I was just there! It's dark!" I replied.

"Well, yeah," the girl said, looking at me oddly. "It meets tomorrow night."

SHIT! I HAVE PIANO TONIGHT!

At least I was early. I went across to Building 1, clattered downstairs, found the right room, and waited a couple of minutes with everyone else until the teacher showed up. My workbook was at home, of course, but luckily it wasn't necessary to have it as she handed out some sheet music and taught us the rudiments of notes, staffs, clefs, tempi, and proper positioning of hands.

It's a combination class. Some people are taking Music 665 and are studying complicated Russian piano pieces, whereas my level is Piano For Boneheads. I'm studying things like scales, and how to read sheet music, and dorky mood pieces called "Wistfulness". I was, however, the only person out of a class of twenty-five who was an actual music major. Everyone else was taking piano for their own edification and pleasure, not a concept that had ever previously crossed my mind. I hated piano classes when I was a music student at the University of Washington. I thought it was impossibly hard and boring, I had terrible trouble reading two clefs at once, my hands wouldn't work together properly unless I watched them on the keyboard which made reading music kind of hard, and it was a disaster term after term. I had three courses in piano at the UW and got my one and only D as a music student in that final course.

I wasn't sure how it would be this time around. "I'm sorry, it's been twenty five years, I don't remember how to play piano at all," I said apologetically after getting my fingers in a tangle for the eightieth time. The teacher watched me practice the two short pieces she had assigned my level. "It's coming back to you fast," she said mildly. "You'll whip through the workbook in no time, I can tell. So what would you like to work on in this class?"

"Bach," I said without thinking. It was a surprise to me, but apparently my subconcious is pretty clear on the topic. The teacher seemed delighted and went to get me some simple Anna Magdalena Bach preludes. She had me work on those for the rest of the class.

I was terrible, but I did it. All I could manage was to play two of the measures with great effort, but I was so thrilled with my accomplishment that I played them over and over. Then I worked on the pentatonic scale for a while. After that I tried to play the dorky mood piece with artistic expression, and "take" the keys instead of pushing or pounding them. I attempted to channel wistfulness by reciting a Robert Frost poem in my head but I don't think it worked. After two and a half hours my hands gave out and I left, but that was about half an hour longer than anyone else at my level stayed.

So it wasn't the class I'd planned to be at, but it was really fun and I was more than a little shocked at my ability to read music and then play it. Wow. I can still play piano. I mean, I thought I hadn't learned anything back during the days when I wept and gnashed my teeth over every single hour of practice, but apparently I did. It's still there in my fingers. I am definitely going to enjoy this class. I am definitely going to have to practice at least two nights a week or more. There's just one eensy weensy problem.

Wuthering Heights Community College, a college, lest we forget, that serves fully half its student population as a night school, doesn't have evening or weekend practice room hours. I can, if I wish, make special arrangements each and every time I want to practice by finding a music teacher who's not busy teaching and ask them to unlock one of the four piano rooms so I can practice. That's insulting and impractical, and it pisses me off to no small degree. It's like the bookstore and the counselors not being available in the evening except for a narrow window of time during the first week of classes when all the night students are in class or during the day when all the night students are at work. It sends a message that I don't like, telling me I'm not as important as a day student and scoffing at my temerity for daring to expect student services in the evening.

Anyway, it's quite clear I need a keyboard at home. I looked at some online. They're all far too tricked out and expensive for what I want. I just want to practice piano, not fruit around with sampling and MIDI. If anyone has any suggestions for a cheap, decent, electric portable keyboard please give me your advice. I've got to find something quickly. Renting isn't an option, I could buy a refurbished Casio for less than eighteen weeks of rental (I checked). I'm perilously close to being upset about this and it's not worth it. I'm going to stop thinking about it right now.

And here I was congratulating myself on not having any ruinously expensive textbooks to buy this semester. I should have known. I really should have known.

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