What the heck, maybe I'll write the story despite my lack of time.
Tempo
by Sablesword
“It’s a shame,” Professor DiDominico said, looking at the coed seated across from him. His office was cluttered but not messy, with sheet music, recorders, tambourines, shawms, and extra hammers for a dulcimer. The obligatory computer screen on the corner of his desk looked like an alien visitor. “It’s a shame,” he repeated. “You have perfect pitch and good hands. Very good hands. It’s just that your sense of tempo is, is… well, not so good.” He smiled apologetically, a friendly enough smile on a thin face that featured a great beak of a nose. The rest of him matched the face, lean and gangly, dressed in a casual shirt and khaki pants.
His visitor looked back at him, prettier and very much darker than the Professor. Lisa Peterson was black (or rather a chocolate-pudding brown) with bright brown eyes in an oval face and body that displayed the health of youth. Her clothing was brighter too: A sleeveless blue-and-white dress that came down just past her knees, and tan leather sandals on her feet. “Is there anything we can do about it, Professor?” she asked at last. “I’ve tried. I really have, and I can’t think of anything else to try.”
“I can,” DiDominico answered. “I know you have a sense of tempo – I saw it in the introductory course. That’s why you haven’t already flunked out.” He folded his hands in front of him. “However you have lost your timing since then, and haven’t been able to find it. I can think of one way to try to fish it back out, but it’s rather extreme.” His hands unfolded so that his fingers could make their usual precise gestures as he explained.
“I’m willing to try it, Professor DiDominico,” Lisa blurted out when he finished.
(To Be Continued. Maybe.)
