Everybody has someone who is inspirational to him or her. It took State auditions for me to finally realize who my inspiration I entered my specially selected audition room on the second floor of the instructional building, my heart pounded in my chest, threatening to jump out of the window at the end of the hallway and fly away. My head was askew with things I had overcome that had been much more tedious than auditioning for State Honor Band.
Life was not as lenient on me as it is today; I took a lot of bullying when I was in elementary school. I never understood how someone could be so mean to others who are just looking for a friend, someone to care for him or her. I was that girl that sat in the back of the class drawing in my special red notebook, trying to stay away from the girls who would torment me. My least favorite bullying event was in third grade when my class took a trip to the Booth Western Museum in Cartersville. I had been so excited to go- field trips are always the most thrilling events to children- that I ignored the fact that I rode alone on the bus ride. I remember goofily staring out the window at the passing blurs of green that I understood as trees and watching the occasional side railing dash by. I had psyched myself up so much, that I grew dreary and laid my head against the muggy window for a brief moment to rest my eyes. I do not know how I managed to fall asleep with the commotion of the other students and the rattling of the window against the side of my skull, but I did. I jumped when Reillie, my best friend, tapped my shoulder, slamming my head into the window. I laughed at myself, of course.
Reillie allowed me to get in front of her, and I was in line to get off the bus. As we got off, we were handed a 'name-tag-thingy', as we all referred to them as, stating that we were from Chatsworth Elementary. I took the paper off the back of the sticker and slapped it onto my shorts, right above the knee. I liked to put it there; the teacher said it was okay and nobody else did it: the two most perfect reasons to be different. I draped my arm over Reillie and we walked through the glass doors into the open area. Evening sunlight radiated into the room, reflecting off of the spotless floor and casting faint shadows around bends of strange objects displayed on tall, rectangular blocks. I craned my neck up at the arched, white ceiling stretching above the second floor, its vastness astonishing to an eight-year-old. Off to the left there was a glass elevator being boarded by a group of people and their guide. The doors glided shut and the elevator slowly glazed up the side of the wall and rested at the second floor. The museum entrance was so silent and open that the ding from the elevator echoed three times. Footsteps pitter-pattered upstairs and trailed off behind an enthusiastic woman's cheerful voice. Reillie nudged me in the ribs with her elbow; we had fallen behind the group. I dropped my arm from around her shoulders and we jogged after our classmates, our feet plopping against the glistening floor.
We followed a lady in a white shirt, grey jacket, matching knee-length skirt, and heels. Her face was rounded with soft features and she seemed very excited to tell us about the carriage we were gazing upon. I do not recall all of the information she poured into us like an encyclopedia, but I remember her telling us that it had been a passenger carriage between towns and had been looted by bandits dozens of times throughout its journeys. If you looked closely at the black siding, you could see multiple bullet holes from occasional shootings. She told us about how men and women would squeeze together on the seats for hours without any elbow room; I remember stretching my arms out above my head and popping all three knuckles on each finger because the thought of an entire day cramped in a carriage made my joints stiff. Rebekah cringed at the sound that echoed in the display room; she's never liked the sound of popping knuckles.
Other details of the tour around the dazzling museum are fuzzy to me, until the bus ride home. As we boarded the bus for our departure, many of the kids in front of me ripped their 'name-tag-thingies' off, wadded them up, and threw them in the trash-bin. I had such a wonderful time, I decided to keep mine and put it in the scrapbook my Aunt had given me for Christmas the previous year. We sat in the same seats we came in, so again, I was alone, but I didn't mind. Halfway home, we pulled over at a rest-stop to eat lunch the school had supplied. Carrots, a nasty red apple that I threw at Reillie, chocolate milk, and a peanut butter sandwich-my favorite! I sat with Reillie, Hunter, Beka, Kirstin, and whoever else joined us that evening at a cement picnic table to eat. We laughed and joked a lot before we had to leave, but I had a huge smile on my face. My day was going great; there wasn't a thing I wanted to do more. We threw away our trash and repacked the giant banana vehicle. Reillie and Beka sat across from me, Trevor in front of them, Kirstin behind me, and behind her: Sara, Mikayla, and Rebecca: AKA the Tormentors. Back on the road, I jumped into the conversation Reillie and Kirstin were having.
"What's your favorite song?" Kirstin asked.
"I don't really have one, but I'll listen to just about anything but screamo. I can't stand it!" I replied.
"I don't know the name of mine, but I can sing it!" Reillie giggled and cleared her throat,"I work at Burger King; I work at Burger King. Makin' people happy with my paper hat; makin' people happy with my paper hat. Would you like an apple pie with that? Would you like an apple pie with that? DING fries are done; DING fries are done; DING fries are done, YEAY!"
The bus driver yelled at us for being loud because we were laughing so hard at the childish way she had sang it. Reillie's always been great at making people laugh. She may have her moments when she likes to be secluded, but she has a very humorous personality. And she's always been my arm rest since her head only comes up to just above my shoulders. Her main priority has always been to make her friends happy, so she really doesn't care that I lay my arm across her shoulders every now and then.
As usual, Beka stole Reillie away from the conversation. She herself was easily distracted, and that made her an expert at doing so to others. She wanted Reillie to listen to a song she had on one of the CDs she'd brought, so she poked her in the arm until she turned around with a frustrated grin. With Reillie and Beka off in their own little world, I turned my attention to the green blurs speeding past the window. Those blurs had become my best friend on road trips. Whenever I didn't have anyone to converse with or I didn't feel like talking to anyone, I'd look outside the window, and those blurs would always be there for me. They were one of the only things I could trust to never turn their back on me. As the bus pulled off to an exit ramp, I heard my name two seats back.
"…Prescilla. Oh, and that ass! Ain't she just hilarious?" laughed Sara.
"I know!" Mikayla agreed.
"I bet it has a zip code!" Rebecca added, trying to fit in with the 'cool' group.
"Well, I know that is has a song." Sara chortled.
"Really?" they both leaned in, eager to hear her majestic words.
Sarah went on to sing a made-up-song that to this day, I still remember the words to. Her voice claws at the inside of my head, tantalizing my every nerve whenever I think about it. I realize now that it was foolish to cry, but I had been under attack from Sara for over a year, and it upset me to hear my friends laughing along with her. But it was okay for my friends to laugh at me, I knew my precious blurs would never betray me. I looked back at the window to see buildings and cars flying by. I guess I had been wrong. Even my blurs had abandoned me when I needed them the most.
Beside me, the seat indented and I plopped an inch into the air. Upon resettling, I glanced over to see Reillie's petite blue eyes staring up at me. I turned my gaze back to the window and rested my head against the cool glass. Reillie's small hand fell onto my shoulder, forcing my gaze.
"What's wrong?" she inquired.
"You were laughing with her. What do you mean what's wrong?" I angrily shrugged her hand off.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Prisc. Beka and I were joking around and she saw you crying. What's wrong?"
"It was Sara again."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Priscy. Why don't you come sit with me and Beka? We can plot how to kill her," she joked.
Even though Sara had ruined my day with just the simplest of words, Reillie had fixed it with just the same. She became one of my best friends after that day. Whenever I cried, Reillie was there for me; she was the first person I went to whenever I had a problem. She made me realize that I was better than Sara and that I could overcome anything if I just put my mind to it. I thought about all of the inspiring things Reillie had said to me over the years as I entered my audition room.
"You're beautiful; don't let anyone tell you differently."
"She's just jealous cuz she ain't you, Prisc. You're smart and pretty and you're going to go somewhere in life."
"Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't do something."
Reillie has been my inspiration through life. Without her, I wouldn't have been able to struggle through some of the hardest times. I silently thanked her, picked up my clarinet and entered the audition room. Just like last year, the room was empty except for a blank stand with a chair in front it and a large black screen shielding 3 judges. I sat down and the man who ushered me into the room told me the procedure of the audition.
"You'll play your etude in this room; then you'll go next door and sight read two pieces. You may begin when you're ready."
My limbs shook in a way they'd never done before. I'd never been this nervous for anything in my life. I couldn't understand why I was so uneasy. I'd stayed after school until 6 o'clock everyday practicing nonstop for this. I was ready; I had the music under my fingers. I could play this forward, backward, and while juggling 5 burning pins while riding a unicycle on top of a ball. I closed my eyes, took three deep breathes, patted out my tempo, and took off.
My fingers nimbly danced across the keys, creating a melody sung by angels. The notes echoed into the room, soothing the ears of the deaf. Suddenly, the angels started chanting a deep, ugly moan from the back of the throats. It clashed with the previously harmonious beauty. One by one, the angels reached out and stole the breath from my body and cut off the tips of my fingers. I was paralyzed at their deceitfulness. My mind went blank and the dots and lines on the page became a jumbled mess of black. I had stopped playing. I urged my mind to focus, and I resumed perfectly. I grabbed my paper and forced my wobbly legs to exit the room. Outside, I slid down the side of the wall, hugged my legs to my chest, and hung my head between my knees.
What had I done?
Coal, the only other contender from Murray County auditioning, tried to reassure me that I did great, but all I could do was scold myself. How could I have been so stupid? I messed up on something I was so sure of. How could I? Reillie's words echoed in the back of my mind: "Just relax and have fun." Don't sweat it I thought to myself. When I went into the second audition room, I replayed Reillie's words over and over in my head as I looked over the music. When the metronome started ticking for me to play, I was relaxed and just did what I enjoy the most: playing my clarinet. I sight read both pieces almost perfectly and wasn't nervous at all.
When I left the audition room, Coal told me I did great. I thanked him and -silently- Reillie. I may not have made State Honor Band, but Reillie inspired me to just forget about winning and always being the best and to focus on the fun things in life. Reillie has always been a huge inspiration to me, and this is just one of the many inspiring stories she has given me to share with others.