((Would you believe that this is my most quickly reviewed story? I'm only
on chapter two and already have this many reviews...I LOVE YOU ALL
REVIEWERS!!))
"Let's take it from the beginning of Jingle Bells." Said Mrs. B. Three months later, I had learned more than three notes (in fact, I learned lots of notes!) and now we were preparing for the first concert of the year. This would in fact be my first concert ever! We had three songs we would be playing, and among them a simple "Jingle Bells". Now, my lessons were no longer alone, but with the flutes because it was easier and my notes were closest to them. So here we were, playing "Jingle Bells", very easily.
The flutes messed up again, and we went from the beginning again. The flutes annoyed me. Most of them were the popular people of my school here, and most of them had trouble playing. Also, for some reason I was so often associated with them (little did I know this would be the beginning of long years of "Flutes, play! Oh yeah, and oboe too."). Just because of the music! My instrument wasn't anything like theirs, and I was proud of it.
But this time after lessons, I had something to show Mrs. B.
You see, we started working on Jingle Bells about two months ago. I got it in the first month, and then had a second month. . . of what? I certainly wasn't going to sit there and be bored. I was going to do something.
The only thing we did of Jingle Bells was the beginning part, the "jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way" part. We did that over and over three times with different sets of instruments. But what of the "dashing through the snow" part? We didn't have it in our music, and we evidently weren't going to play it.
But I knew it.
You see, one of the things I found I was good at, strangely enough, was playing by ear. I could hear a melody, and after trial and error on my oboe for a long time, I could figure it out ((For example: Just the other day, I was trying to figure out the "Cosette, it's turned so cold. . ." part from "Come to Me: Fantine's Death" from Les Miserables. . . I didn't have the music, but I knew the melody)). My mom called it 'playing by ear', so I guess that's what I did. After many days (leading into weeks) of trial and error, I finally figured out the "dashing through the snow" part. I had been dying to play it for Mrs. B to see if she liked it.
"That's enough for today, flutes. And oboe." She said, sitting down in the band director chair up front. The flutes nodded. Most of them decided to take their instruments because they were bored and wanted to get out of class for lessons. None of them, so far as I could tell, were really serious.
"And oboe, Kathryn." Added Mrs. B as the flutes filed out, and I stood there still holding my oboe.
"Mrs. B, I don't want to go yet." I said.
"Why not? The low brass is coming in soon."
"'Cause I got somethin' to show you." I replied, nodding my head in anticipation. She had to hear it! It was good, too. . .
Mrs. B sat up, now looking more interested (probably her hearing returning from a half-hour with those shrill flutes). "What do you want to show me?"
"Somethin' I made." I continued, leaving out the most important detail, my young mind wanting to keep the teacher interested. "A song." I said.
She tilted her head at me. "You made a song?"
"Naw. I figured out a song." I replied. "In Jingle Bells. The 'dashing through the snow' part. I figured it out, I can play it. Wanna hear?" I finished eagerly.
Now Mrs. B looked interested. "You figured it out? Without music? Yes, Kathryn, I'd definitely like to hear it."
With Mrs. B's words of encouragement, I stuck the reed in my mouth and played. I did it the best I could from memory, glad to see I remembered most of it. When I finished, I turned to Mrs. B to see what her reaction was.
She was staring at me, one hang on her chin, her head tilted slightly, looking extremely ponderous. She didn't say anything for a moment, just stared, then nodded slightly. "Mrs. B?" I asked, anxious to hear her reply. "Did ya like it?"
Mrs. B blinked out of her daze. "Kathryn, do you mean to tell me that you came up with that all by yourself, without music?" She asked increduously.
"Yes, Mrs. B." I answered obediently. No one helped me. I made it up. Yes, me, all my myself!
Mrs. B looked ponderous again, and then said, "I like it. I can't believe you did that, though. Could you do it again if you wanted?"
"Yes, Mrs. B."
"Hmm." She pasued once more. "Well. . ." There was a knock on the door, and two boyish faces peered in. "The low brass. Come in," She opened the door for them, and the baritone and trombone players came stomping in. "Hi Kathryn," Said Nicky, sticking his tongue out at me. I crossed my eyes back at him. "Well, I have to think about something. Come back your next lesson, and by then I'll have it decided."
~Have what decided?~ I wondered as I put my oboe back in the case and left the band room. ~Why did Mrs. B look so ponderous?~ I did wonder. All I did for her was play a song. Decide what? It would haunt me until next week, when my next lesson would be.
~next week, when I had my next lesson~
After a half hour of shrill flutes and the occasional sound of an oboe (better than the flutes, in my ears), Mrs. B dismissed them and went on to telling me what she was thinking about last week.
"I was amazed when you played that part of Jingle Bells. I didn't think you, having only started, could figure out something by ear. So I want to propose something to you."
Propose? Did she want to marry me or something?
"I'd like you to play that as a solo in our annual Christmas concert."
I blinked. "A solo, Mrs. B?"
She smiled. "Yes, a solo. After you, the flutes, and the clarinets play that beginning part of Jingle Bells, I want you to play the "dashing through the snow" part. . . as a solo. What do you say to that?"
My mind was reeling. A solo? Me? A little fourth grader, barely educated in the key of Bb, playing a solo? But I liked the idea. Oh yes, I liked it a lot. They'd all know about me, the oboe player, when I did it! In an instant, I loved Mrs. B's idea and agreed whole heartedly with it. "I'll do it!" I exclaimed.
She looked surprised. "You will? I mean, I know you just started, so. . ."
"No, I want to!" I continued, my heart swelling with elatedness. "I want to do a solo! Because I have oboe power!"
She smiled at that. "Then I'll help you work on it, and by the Christmas concert we'll have it ready, right?"
"Right!"
I left that lesson today surprised and happy. I never expected, not in a thousand years, that I, the little fourth grade oboist who was often forgotten in the flutes, was going to do a solo. Really! Me, a solo! And a pretty big one, too! I couldn't wait to share the news with my mom when I got home. This was my first solo. . . MY first solo!! And I'd start practicing right away. . . it was going to be absolutely perfect for the concert!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Two months later, when the time of the Christmas concert came, I felt ready to do this. I walked into my fourth grade classroom, where all the instrumentalists of this concert were assembling, and put my oboe on my desk. I looked around nervously and smoothed my maroon dress, the one my mom insisted I wear for my first concert and my solo. I was feeling the nervousness now. I had never played before in front of such a large audience! What would become of me?
Well, to be honest, I actually did feel ready for it. I had gone over my solo with Mrs. B countless times and even though I didn't have music I committed it to memory. I still memorized the solo and knew it perfectly. I knew all the songs perfectly, I could do this!
I put my oboe together, and chatted a bit with my friend Elaine. She played the trumpet and was at the concert today. She knew I had a solo and wished me the best of luck with it. So then about fifteen minutes before we were supposed to head out, I went to the bathroom. I took my reed with me, not trusting to leave it alone in a classroom full of fourth graders.
I stuck the reed into my mouth and went into the bathroom. I did my business and fixed my hair, then took the reed out of my mouth and carried it. I left the bathroom and began walking down the hall back to the classroom, the reed in my hand hanging by my side. "Hi Kathryn!" Said a voice of a classmate who wasn't in band. They surprised me. . . I jerked around in surprise, and. . .
And the reed bumped my leg. I could feel it as the wooden tip struck my dress against my leg. . .
I jerked up in surprise. I flung my hand up to my eyes, looking at the reed in utmost horror, terror forming in my eyes. No way this had just happened! No way the reed had just hit my leg. . . reeds usually break when they hit things, especially oboe reeds, which I was coming to learn were very tempermental.
But no, I had to face the truth. The top of the reed was bent a bit, and there was a hairline crack (such cracks as those can be fatal to reeds) running from the top to the mid-length of the wooden part. My reed-my only good reed-had indeed broken. And the very night of my first concert, my debut, my solo! There was nothing else to do, so I did the only logical thing a fourth grader would do in this situation--
I ran into the classroom, bawling my eyes out.
One of the teachers ran over to comfort me. "Don't cry now, Kathryn, don't cry." The teacher whispered, handing me a tissue to wipe my now-red eyes. "You nervous for the concert? Is that what's wrong?"
"M-my reed!" I sobbed. "It's broken! Look!" I held up the reed, showing her the bend and the crack, my tears coming afresh. "I can't play when it's broken! I've got a solo and it'll sound bad and they all will laugh at me. . ." I buried my head into the teacher's dress.
Mrs. B came in. "Kathryn?" She inquired. "What's wrong?" I raised my head. She was the band director. She'd understand.
"My reed!" I said. "It broke, Mrs. B! I banged it against my leg and now it's broken! I can't play!" I rubbed my running nose against the sleeve of my dress. "I can't do my solo! Look!" I handed the reed to Mrs. B, somehow hoping that her allmighty band director-ness could magically fix my reed. She took it and examined it.
"It's a very small crack," She said reassuringly. "I'm positive that it won't affect your playing. You just have to use it for tonight, and then it'll be fine, right? Come on now, you can't play if you're crying." Mrs. B said sensibly, drying my tears with a tissue. "You have oboe power, don't you?"
"Yes, I do." I sniffed. "I have lots of oboe power."
"Then use that oboe power, and get out there and play your best. They won't be able to tell, I promise."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
By now, most of the people in my band had gone outside into the gym and was setting up. I was one of the few left in the classroom. The other ones left were so nervous the teacher had to all but force them out. "Go out there and show them your oboe power." Mrs. B said, drying the last of my tears and indicating for me to go out in the hall. I ran and grabbed my oboe, taking care to balance the reed safely in my mouth, and went into the gym with the rest of them.
I got into the gym last. My parents waved to me. . . my dad with his notorious video camera, ready to film my first solo. I managed a smile to him, because he was filming already. Then I squeezed in to my place between the flutes and the clarinets. I took a look at my music, strewn with its large and easy notes, and fingered my solo to myself. ~You can do this,~ I thought. ~It's just a small crack. It'll work. No one will know the difference.~
Mrs. B got up. She made a quick speech to the audience, introducing our band and the instrumentalists. She said that we had all worked hard, and we were getting very good at our instruments. And now for our first song, "When the Saints. . ."
The first song went well. We played good, but then. . .
"The next song we'll be doing is 'Jingle Bells'. This song will be having a soloist doing the "dashing through the snow" part in the middle. I give you Kathryn, our oboe player, who will be playing this. Now, she had a bit of reed trouble earlier on, so she might be a little off. But she will do good, because our Kathryn has oboe power!"
I had oboe power!
We began the song, me and the flutes playing the intro. I felt ready now, despite my reed problems. . . I felt the oboe power and felt the renewed confidence that Mrs. B gave me. This was MY solo and I could DO THIS! One...two...three...
I raised the oboe to my lips, taking the reed in between, and played. . . dashing through the snow. . . in a one horse open sleigh. . .
My honking notes, the notes of a young oboist who has barely picked up the instrument and has only been playing for three months, rang out through the hall. My notes did not squeak and they were all right, and when my solo, MY solo, was finished, I felt such pride and joy as the entire audience clapped. . . for me. Yes, for me. . . for the little fourth grade oboist with the broken reed that just played. . . ME!
I went through the rest of the songs in a happy daze. The music, however simple it was, sang through me in my oboe happiness. But I didn't care about the rest of the songs-they were no matter to me now! No matter at all. . .
When we finished, the first thing I did after I put my oboe away was run back into the auditorium to find Mrs. B. "Did ya hear me?" I said, clapping my hands together, the music still bright in my eyes.
Mrs. B smiled proudly down at me, and then at my parents when they came to greet me in my jubilation. "Kathryn, you are probably one of my best students right now. I've never heard someone who has picked up an oboe only three months ago play a solo like you've done tonight--and with your reed problems and everything." She smiled at my parents. "You have quite the little musician here," She said. I grinned up at my parents. My mom nodded and said, "She's been practicing quite alot. I'm very proud of her with this."
"So am I." Mrs. B said with a nod.
I clutched my oboe case jubilantly. I had done this! My first solo was more than a success. . . it was a triumph! I loved this instrument and I loved being an oboe player, and it was all worth it.
And I had wanted to play the clarinet.
((more coming, fear not, if I ever get around to it :P I'm very busy, actually. . . I've got a concert with the conservatory I study with next week, a few performances, and I'm trying out for the NJ Youth Symphony on June 12th and am already nervous about that))
"Let's take it from the beginning of Jingle Bells." Said Mrs. B. Three months later, I had learned more than three notes (in fact, I learned lots of notes!) and now we were preparing for the first concert of the year. This would in fact be my first concert ever! We had three songs we would be playing, and among them a simple "Jingle Bells". Now, my lessons were no longer alone, but with the flutes because it was easier and my notes were closest to them. So here we were, playing "Jingle Bells", very easily.
The flutes messed up again, and we went from the beginning again. The flutes annoyed me. Most of them were the popular people of my school here, and most of them had trouble playing. Also, for some reason I was so often associated with them (little did I know this would be the beginning of long years of "Flutes, play! Oh yeah, and oboe too."). Just because of the music! My instrument wasn't anything like theirs, and I was proud of it.
But this time after lessons, I had something to show Mrs. B.
You see, we started working on Jingle Bells about two months ago. I got it in the first month, and then had a second month. . . of what? I certainly wasn't going to sit there and be bored. I was going to do something.
The only thing we did of Jingle Bells was the beginning part, the "jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way" part. We did that over and over three times with different sets of instruments. But what of the "dashing through the snow" part? We didn't have it in our music, and we evidently weren't going to play it.
But I knew it.
You see, one of the things I found I was good at, strangely enough, was playing by ear. I could hear a melody, and after trial and error on my oboe for a long time, I could figure it out ((For example: Just the other day, I was trying to figure out the "Cosette, it's turned so cold. . ." part from "Come to Me: Fantine's Death" from Les Miserables. . . I didn't have the music, but I knew the melody)). My mom called it 'playing by ear', so I guess that's what I did. After many days (leading into weeks) of trial and error, I finally figured out the "dashing through the snow" part. I had been dying to play it for Mrs. B to see if she liked it.
"That's enough for today, flutes. And oboe." She said, sitting down in the band director chair up front. The flutes nodded. Most of them decided to take their instruments because they were bored and wanted to get out of class for lessons. None of them, so far as I could tell, were really serious.
"And oboe, Kathryn." Added Mrs. B as the flutes filed out, and I stood there still holding my oboe.
"Mrs. B, I don't want to go yet." I said.
"Why not? The low brass is coming in soon."
"'Cause I got somethin' to show you." I replied, nodding my head in anticipation. She had to hear it! It was good, too. . .
Mrs. B sat up, now looking more interested (probably her hearing returning from a half-hour with those shrill flutes). "What do you want to show me?"
"Somethin' I made." I continued, leaving out the most important detail, my young mind wanting to keep the teacher interested. "A song." I said.
She tilted her head at me. "You made a song?"
"Naw. I figured out a song." I replied. "In Jingle Bells. The 'dashing through the snow' part. I figured it out, I can play it. Wanna hear?" I finished eagerly.
Now Mrs. B looked interested. "You figured it out? Without music? Yes, Kathryn, I'd definitely like to hear it."
With Mrs. B's words of encouragement, I stuck the reed in my mouth and played. I did it the best I could from memory, glad to see I remembered most of it. When I finished, I turned to Mrs. B to see what her reaction was.
She was staring at me, one hang on her chin, her head tilted slightly, looking extremely ponderous. She didn't say anything for a moment, just stared, then nodded slightly. "Mrs. B?" I asked, anxious to hear her reply. "Did ya like it?"
Mrs. B blinked out of her daze. "Kathryn, do you mean to tell me that you came up with that all by yourself, without music?" She asked increduously.
"Yes, Mrs. B." I answered obediently. No one helped me. I made it up. Yes, me, all my myself!
Mrs. B looked ponderous again, and then said, "I like it. I can't believe you did that, though. Could you do it again if you wanted?"
"Yes, Mrs. B."
"Hmm." She pasued once more. "Well. . ." There was a knock on the door, and two boyish faces peered in. "The low brass. Come in," She opened the door for them, and the baritone and trombone players came stomping in. "Hi Kathryn," Said Nicky, sticking his tongue out at me. I crossed my eyes back at him. "Well, I have to think about something. Come back your next lesson, and by then I'll have it decided."
~Have what decided?~ I wondered as I put my oboe back in the case and left the band room. ~Why did Mrs. B look so ponderous?~ I did wonder. All I did for her was play a song. Decide what? It would haunt me until next week, when my next lesson would be.
~next week, when I had my next lesson~
After a half hour of shrill flutes and the occasional sound of an oboe (better than the flutes, in my ears), Mrs. B dismissed them and went on to telling me what she was thinking about last week.
"I was amazed when you played that part of Jingle Bells. I didn't think you, having only started, could figure out something by ear. So I want to propose something to you."
Propose? Did she want to marry me or something?
"I'd like you to play that as a solo in our annual Christmas concert."
I blinked. "A solo, Mrs. B?"
She smiled. "Yes, a solo. After you, the flutes, and the clarinets play that beginning part of Jingle Bells, I want you to play the "dashing through the snow" part. . . as a solo. What do you say to that?"
My mind was reeling. A solo? Me? A little fourth grader, barely educated in the key of Bb, playing a solo? But I liked the idea. Oh yes, I liked it a lot. They'd all know about me, the oboe player, when I did it! In an instant, I loved Mrs. B's idea and agreed whole heartedly with it. "I'll do it!" I exclaimed.
She looked surprised. "You will? I mean, I know you just started, so. . ."
"No, I want to!" I continued, my heart swelling with elatedness. "I want to do a solo! Because I have oboe power!"
She smiled at that. "Then I'll help you work on it, and by the Christmas concert we'll have it ready, right?"
"Right!"
I left that lesson today surprised and happy. I never expected, not in a thousand years, that I, the little fourth grade oboist who was often forgotten in the flutes, was going to do a solo. Really! Me, a solo! And a pretty big one, too! I couldn't wait to share the news with my mom when I got home. This was my first solo. . . MY first solo!! And I'd start practicing right away. . . it was going to be absolutely perfect for the concert!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Two months later, when the time of the Christmas concert came, I felt ready to do this. I walked into my fourth grade classroom, where all the instrumentalists of this concert were assembling, and put my oboe on my desk. I looked around nervously and smoothed my maroon dress, the one my mom insisted I wear for my first concert and my solo. I was feeling the nervousness now. I had never played before in front of such a large audience! What would become of me?
Well, to be honest, I actually did feel ready for it. I had gone over my solo with Mrs. B countless times and even though I didn't have music I committed it to memory. I still memorized the solo and knew it perfectly. I knew all the songs perfectly, I could do this!
I put my oboe together, and chatted a bit with my friend Elaine. She played the trumpet and was at the concert today. She knew I had a solo and wished me the best of luck with it. So then about fifteen minutes before we were supposed to head out, I went to the bathroom. I took my reed with me, not trusting to leave it alone in a classroom full of fourth graders.
I stuck the reed into my mouth and went into the bathroom. I did my business and fixed my hair, then took the reed out of my mouth and carried it. I left the bathroom and began walking down the hall back to the classroom, the reed in my hand hanging by my side. "Hi Kathryn!" Said a voice of a classmate who wasn't in band. They surprised me. . . I jerked around in surprise, and. . .
And the reed bumped my leg. I could feel it as the wooden tip struck my dress against my leg. . .
I jerked up in surprise. I flung my hand up to my eyes, looking at the reed in utmost horror, terror forming in my eyes. No way this had just happened! No way the reed had just hit my leg. . . reeds usually break when they hit things, especially oboe reeds, which I was coming to learn were very tempermental.
But no, I had to face the truth. The top of the reed was bent a bit, and there was a hairline crack (such cracks as those can be fatal to reeds) running from the top to the mid-length of the wooden part. My reed-my only good reed-had indeed broken. And the very night of my first concert, my debut, my solo! There was nothing else to do, so I did the only logical thing a fourth grader would do in this situation--
I ran into the classroom, bawling my eyes out.
One of the teachers ran over to comfort me. "Don't cry now, Kathryn, don't cry." The teacher whispered, handing me a tissue to wipe my now-red eyes. "You nervous for the concert? Is that what's wrong?"
"M-my reed!" I sobbed. "It's broken! Look!" I held up the reed, showing her the bend and the crack, my tears coming afresh. "I can't play when it's broken! I've got a solo and it'll sound bad and they all will laugh at me. . ." I buried my head into the teacher's dress.
Mrs. B came in. "Kathryn?" She inquired. "What's wrong?" I raised my head. She was the band director. She'd understand.
"My reed!" I said. "It broke, Mrs. B! I banged it against my leg and now it's broken! I can't play!" I rubbed my running nose against the sleeve of my dress. "I can't do my solo! Look!" I handed the reed to Mrs. B, somehow hoping that her allmighty band director-ness could magically fix my reed. She took it and examined it.
"It's a very small crack," She said reassuringly. "I'm positive that it won't affect your playing. You just have to use it for tonight, and then it'll be fine, right? Come on now, you can't play if you're crying." Mrs. B said sensibly, drying my tears with a tissue. "You have oboe power, don't you?"
"Yes, I do." I sniffed. "I have lots of oboe power."
"Then use that oboe power, and get out there and play your best. They won't be able to tell, I promise."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
By now, most of the people in my band had gone outside into the gym and was setting up. I was one of the few left in the classroom. The other ones left were so nervous the teacher had to all but force them out. "Go out there and show them your oboe power." Mrs. B said, drying the last of my tears and indicating for me to go out in the hall. I ran and grabbed my oboe, taking care to balance the reed safely in my mouth, and went into the gym with the rest of them.
I got into the gym last. My parents waved to me. . . my dad with his notorious video camera, ready to film my first solo. I managed a smile to him, because he was filming already. Then I squeezed in to my place between the flutes and the clarinets. I took a look at my music, strewn with its large and easy notes, and fingered my solo to myself. ~You can do this,~ I thought. ~It's just a small crack. It'll work. No one will know the difference.~
Mrs. B got up. She made a quick speech to the audience, introducing our band and the instrumentalists. She said that we had all worked hard, and we were getting very good at our instruments. And now for our first song, "When the Saints. . ."
The first song went well. We played good, but then. . .
"The next song we'll be doing is 'Jingle Bells'. This song will be having a soloist doing the "dashing through the snow" part in the middle. I give you Kathryn, our oboe player, who will be playing this. Now, she had a bit of reed trouble earlier on, so she might be a little off. But she will do good, because our Kathryn has oboe power!"
I had oboe power!
We began the song, me and the flutes playing the intro. I felt ready now, despite my reed problems. . . I felt the oboe power and felt the renewed confidence that Mrs. B gave me. This was MY solo and I could DO THIS! One...two...three...
I raised the oboe to my lips, taking the reed in between, and played. . . dashing through the snow. . . in a one horse open sleigh. . .
My honking notes, the notes of a young oboist who has barely picked up the instrument and has only been playing for three months, rang out through the hall. My notes did not squeak and they were all right, and when my solo, MY solo, was finished, I felt such pride and joy as the entire audience clapped. . . for me. Yes, for me. . . for the little fourth grade oboist with the broken reed that just played. . . ME!
I went through the rest of the songs in a happy daze. The music, however simple it was, sang through me in my oboe happiness. But I didn't care about the rest of the songs-they were no matter to me now! No matter at all. . .
When we finished, the first thing I did after I put my oboe away was run back into the auditorium to find Mrs. B. "Did ya hear me?" I said, clapping my hands together, the music still bright in my eyes.
Mrs. B smiled proudly down at me, and then at my parents when they came to greet me in my jubilation. "Kathryn, you are probably one of my best students right now. I've never heard someone who has picked up an oboe only three months ago play a solo like you've done tonight--and with your reed problems and everything." She smiled at my parents. "You have quite the little musician here," She said. I grinned up at my parents. My mom nodded and said, "She's been practicing quite alot. I'm very proud of her with this."
"So am I." Mrs. B said with a nod.
I clutched my oboe case jubilantly. I had done this! My first solo was more than a success. . . it was a triumph! I loved this instrument and I loved being an oboe player, and it was all worth it.
And I had wanted to play the clarinet.
((more coming, fear not, if I ever get around to it :P I'm very busy, actually. . . I've got a concert with the conservatory I study with next week, a few performances, and I'm trying out for the NJ Youth Symphony on June 12th and am already nervous about that))
