The piano teacher

It’s not my fault he wanted to dance.

I simply played the music and let him waltz me to me feet, spin me across the room.

This was only supposed to be a lesson, but before I’m even aware, his lips are on mine and his hand under my skirt.

And then she walks in.

“I’ll excuse myself.” I scurry to the bathroom down the hall.

These walls have always been known for their acoustics. In the evenings, the opera students come to practice their harmonies.

From the vent overhead the screaming pours down, fills the room, and my conscience.

Let me know I'm not talking to myself.

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