I attended a music school once. Classes were held privately on Saturdays where I studied Jazz Performance. I was a singer with plenty of anxiety for two. I had this fear of being laughed at and my parents thought that it would be a good idea to go to this school to get rid of that fear.
The school was good. The teachers were exceptional musicians, and they were apt at teaching. As I continued to attend this school, my performance skills improved, and my nervousness slowly disappeared. And, in turn, I also learned a lot about jazz, blues, and swing music.
Even though I liked studying there, there was something that I liked paying attention to more: the classical music department. Each weekend as the students from the jazz department went to their classrooms, another group of students entered a series of classrooms on the other side of the building.
A friend of mine from school was in that group. Alex. We had been friends for about a year, and we attended the same school. We were in the same graduating class. But it wasn’t her that I was fixated on. There was another girl: Elizabeth or “Liz.”